Testimony from Mr. Nabouhane Abdallah, 77, Head of the Reforestation Committee, regarding the consequences of deforestation for water resources and land fertility. Published by HaYba FM

“My name is Nabouhane Abdallah; I was born in the Barakani neighborhood of Adda in 1944, before the cyclone of 1950. I am the father of 12 children.”

The forest near our village was considered the life-sustaining mother of the Nyumakele region, thanks to its abundance of natural resources. I remember from my childhood that the forest lay right next to the village. It was home to various animal species—such as the Mniyakanga, the Comorian Ninga, and the Kanga—that are no longer seen today. In our fields, one could spot bird nests high up in the trees. Due to massive, illegal deforestation, one must now travel deep into the forest to have any chance of encountering them.

When the colonists were in the village, we were not permitted to farm in the forest; doing so would have resulted in penalties. At that time, the primary crops grown by most farmers were upland rice and maize. These crops were planted very close to the village. The harvest was always insufficient to feed a family for the entire year.

The 1980s:

It was during the era of President Ahmed Abdallah, in the 1980s, that I first observed large-scale forest clearing. People began to intensify the cultivation of bananas and taro beneath the canopy of large trees, even though forest rangers were present. As the population grew—and with few employment opportunities outside of agriculture and livestock farming—the process of clearing land, particularly the felling of large forest trees, steadily accelerated. This was also driven by an increasing demand for timber for house construction and to fuel the few stills located in neighboring villages (Ngandzalé, Domoni, Adda, and lower Nyumakele). The sale of timber for the production of doors, beds, and furniture in the major towns of Anjouan also contributed significantly to deforestation. At that time, however, the tools used were limited to axes and handsaws, meaning that the rate at which trees were felled was slow compared to today, following the introduction of power saws. The sale and distribution of timber were monitored; I recall that, back then, wood was typically transported to the towns under the cover of night. Corruption plays a major role in this phenomenon, as forest rangers, local authorities, and military personnel alike often turn a blind eye in exchange for monetary bribes or a share of the proceeds from the felled trees.

Expansion of agriculture:

I have also observed that agriculture has expanded over the last 20 years, with market gardening crops being introduced into the forest, replacing traditional crops such as taro and bananas. Many of us justify this by pointing to the low yields in fields near the village—a result of intensive land use over several years—even though various projects have provided support for the adoption of more sustainable agricultural practices.

As the great trees of the forest disappeared, cash crops were introduced—most notably clove trees—alongside the cultivation of food crops such as sweet potatoes, cassava, potatoes, and various market garden vegetables. Today, tree species such as *moiha*, *mhomba*, and *mvaventré* have become extremely rare.

I also wanted to add that in our village, there were several water springs in the forest and two main rivers: the Shiro and the Mtsatsa. These rivers used to flow year-round, from the forest all the way to the sea. Today, they have become intermittent and depend on the rainy seasons.

An abandoned culture:

Another important point to note is that, following the 1976 massacre in Majunga, new religious leaders arrived, bringing with them radicalized sermons. The local population began to abandon the observance of sacred rites. This led to the destruction of sacred sites—areas that were also forested and served as sources for the sacred items used during these rituals. Among these rites is the well-known "Dade," an event deeply rooted in village life, traditionally celebrated each year to seek blessings from the spirits (djinn) for a successful agricultural harvest.

Despite various community-based initiatives—some of which have been in place for a very long time—these efforts often fail to endure. They frequently run up against local mindsets—such as difficulties in reaching community consensus, complex family dynamics, or political and religious divisions—which in turn lead to a lack of broad-based legitimacy for both state-imposed and local rules among the inhabitants.

"I believe we must think of future generations, as, at the current rate of deforestation, even the little forest that remains risks disappearing within 15 years. Reducing deforestation is therefore more than urgent. The only condition for success is a genuine commitment from all sides to protect the trees that people are planting. One rapid solution would also be to allow the forest to regenerate naturally; I have observed that trees in the forest grow quickly in the absence of human activity. Finally, the government must consider other alternatives for the thousands of young people who are unemployed and see no hope for a better future."