@Emma_Gregg
An indri’s song was something I’d never heard before. It was as soulful as a husky’s howl and as abstract and mystical as whale song. I thrilled at every note. The forest hung in dense, dewy folds around me. Somewhere deep in the shadows, the melody was becoming a chorus. I had travelled to Madagascar in the hope of seeing lemurs, and we were on the right track. All we had to do was dive into the tangle of trees and perhaps I’d catch a glimpse of something black and white, bounding from branch to branch. The Anjozorobe-Angavo forest corridor, an extensive natural forest in Madagascar’s central highlands, is one of the last strongholds of the indri, one of the largest living lemurs. The mighty tropical hardwoods here are hemmed in by rice fields, pine plantations and villages. As we arrived, shortly after dawn, we heard a different kind of music - young farmers singing to each other in the valley below. ‘Is it a tune you know?’ I asked Toussaint and Sesen, my guides. ‘It’s just a pop song,’ said Sesen. ‘They’re playing with the harmonies.’ To my ears, it was as perfect as a madrigal. Fresh-smelling foliage brushed our shoulders as we hiked. I knew every tree could conceal something fascinating, from swivel-eyed chameleons to sleeping mouse lemurs and tiny frogs, but we pressed on. When at last Toussaint indicated we should leave the path and fight our way uphill through knotted vines, I didn’t hesitate. We were about to encounter the indris. And it would be wonderful.
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February 2020
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