This article was published in the Frankfurter Allgemeine on September 7, 2021 by journalist LAURA SALM-REIFFERSCHEIDT with photographer NYANI QUARMYNE.

Translated from German by us. 

Original title and link: Ein fast verlorene paradises

September 7, 2021 – Comoros will lose more than a few old trees if forests under the clouds continue to be sacrificed for agricultural land, construction and firewood.

The slope of the field where Sidi Abdoulatif works is so steep that the sixty-year-old can barely stand: he supports himself with one hand while weeding with the other. This former telephone pole keeper does not receive a pension and wanted to plant taro, cassava and sweet potatoes, to obtain income from his field, bought a few years ago when he stopped working. Previously, the land was fallow, the soil exhausted, and each rainstorm washed more soil down the steep slope. Nothing grew there until Adboulatif planted Gliricidia sepium, fast-growing locust trees belonging to the legume family. This tree, rich in nitrogen, whose roots allow water to rise and reinforce the stability of the soil, also helps increase its fertility. In addition, its leaves are used as fertilizer or fodder for livestock.

The field is located about 700 meters above sea level, near the village of Adda-Daouéni, in the south of the volcanic island of Anjouan. Along with Grande Comore and Mohéli, it is one of the three main islands of the Union of the Comoros, in the Indian Ocean, between Mozambique and Madagascar. The slopes near Abdoulatif’s property are divided into plots cultivated by small farmers. “I was young at the time, but I remember well that this area was still a real forest until 1997,” says Samirou Soulaimana, 36, a reforestation expert for the environmental organization Dahari. But in 1997, Anjouan separated from the Comoros and the island was embargoed. Then followed a period of shortages of oil and building materials. So locals took up chainsaws and cleared a large area in a short period of time. “We really did a lot of damage during that period,” says Soulaimana. “The numbers for Anjouan are very alarming,” confirms Misbahou Mohamed, co-director of Dahari, at a meeting in the capital Mutsamudu.

In Anjouan, 80% of the natural forest area disappeared between 1995 and 2014. With Grande Comore and Mohéli experiencing a sharp reduction in forest space, the embargo should not be considered the only reason for deforestation. According to reports from the United Nations World Food Program, it is the country where deforestation is progressing the fastest, in fact, only 30% of the Comorian primary forest remains. Since independence from France in 1975, the population has been growing, trees are being cut down to build new homes, cooking and distilling ylang-ylang flowers, including essential oil by the cosmetic and perfume industries European. 40 years ago, the Comorian population was made up of 335 people, today it is estimated at 000 individuals, 870% of whom depend on agriculture. The steep terrain of the volcanic islands limits the available agricultural space, so that trees are replaced by fields, which has serious consequences.

Of the 45 rivers on the island, less than ten are supplied with water all year round, some are only supplied during the rainy season (from November to April) and the others are completely dry.

From about 600 metres above sea level, there is usually a forest under the clouds. Anyone who clears this forest disrupts the delicate balance. Ecologist Aida Cuní Sanchez, who researches rainforest as a habitat at the University of York, speaks of natural “water towers”. The mist that drifts across the landscape hits the leaves, mosses, lichens and ferns that grow on the gnarled trees and condenses. What is not retained by the plants regularly drips onto the ground. Under the fog cover, the air remains humid and cool. “This reduces the rate of photosynthesis. Organic matter also decomposes more slowly in this environment, the soils are poorer in nutrients,” says Cuní Sanchez. As a result, trees in “cloud” forests grow more slowly but store more carbon. The root system absorbs water like a sponge and slowly releases it into the environment, which regulates the flow. Cutting down a cloud forest has far-reaching consequences, explains Cuní Sanchez: “When it rains, the water simply runs off. During the dry season, there is a lack of water because there is nothing to hold it.” The ecologist sees another danger in climate change. If it gets warmer, the cloud cover increases, the clouds no longer envelop the trees and remain in the form of drops – the water towers lose their flow.

“We haven’t had any rain since Ramadan,” says Ali Mohamadi Hafidhou. He is a teacher in Mramani, a village on the southern tip of Anjouan, where deforestation is widespread. That was two months ago, and the problems were predictable. The cisterns, which are fed by springs or underground rivers, are quickly emptied by women and children who come to fill their cans. “We know that rain comes from the forest and the ocean,” says Hafidhou. Yet trees are being cut down: “It’s poverty that’s to blame.” During the dry season, villagers must walk long distances to fetch water or wash their clothes in a river that is already a trickle. “Sometimes we have to buy water, which is delivered by trucks.” Twenty liters cost about 250 Comorian francs, or 50 cents.

The changes are already having an impact on agriculture, too. Soils are drier, rain makes everything slide faster, and harvests are poorer. Farmers, meanwhile, are using fertilizers and clearing forests in ever higher, ever steeper areas. But clear-cutting is also increasing the impact of hurricanes. Before “Kenneth” hit the coast of Mozambique in April 2019, the cyclone passed over the Comoros. Several people died, and Kenneth caused the most damage in Anjouan.

Added to this is the political instability of the nation. Since independence, there have been more than twenty coups and various secession attempts. The presidency is supposed to rotate between the islands and change every four years, but in 2018 a constitutional amendment granted the incumbent president, Azali Assoumani (of Grande Comore), a new term – much to the dismay of residents of the other two islands main: Anjouan and Mohéli.

Poor infrastructure hampers economic development: electricity is irregular; waste ends up on the beach and in river beds because there is no landfill. Furthermore, citizens often take government tasks into their own hands; villagers repair potholes in the roads, for example, and collect a small toll from passing cars and trucks. A good quarter of the gross domestic product is provided thanks to funds transferred by the Comorian diaspora, which has improved the standard of living on the islands and reduced the poverty rate. . However, the lack of prospects has already pushed thousands of people to flee to the neighboring French overseas department: Mayotte.

The Mayotte archipelago is geographically part of the Comoros archipelago. In 1841, it came under French protectorate until a referendum for independence was held in 1974. The results were processed by island, and in Mayotte, the majority of the inhabitants voted against independence. Politically, it now belongs to France, as the 101st department, and since 2014, it has been part of the European Union as one of the nine "outermost regions", therefore a dream place for all the other inhabitants of the archipelago. For the minority who enter legally, salaries are paid regularly, there is social security, the standard of living is higher, health care is better. As for the majority, they are illegal immigrants, living hidden in precarious conditions and earning a meager income from their work in the fields.

A young man points to the sea on the beach of Bambao, a small town on the east coast of Anjouan. Somewhere in the mist lies the French island. In fact, very close, only about sixty kilometers away. He takes his clients to Mayotte with the "kwassa kwassa", a small motorboat, which currently costs around 400 euros. Not all the boats arrive. "Far too many families, mothers, fathers, brothers have already been lost in this sea," says the 25-year-old tugboat driver. According to a report by the French Senate, between 1995 and 2012, 7 to 000 Comorians died trying to get to Mayotte. The governor of Anjouan even speaks of up to 10 deaths. Attoumani Kombo lost his daughter five years ago. The 000-year-old sits in front of his general store in Bambao, on the road leading to the beach. “A big wave capsized the boat. My daughter couldn’t swim.” But that didn’t stop his siblings from also embarking on this dangerous adventure. Five of his 50 children now live legally in Mayotte. “But even without papers, they would have a better life there than here in Anjouan,” Kombo says.

Not everyone has this view, one of Sidi Abdoulatif's sons lives in Mayotte. "He has to hide there because he has no papers. He can't work legally at all. If he were here, we could work together in the fields." The farmer does not feel that the situation in the Comoros is not as bleak as some seem to claim. His situation has improved. Since he planted black locust trees around the field, the harvest has been more abundant. Anli Ousseni, who cultivates a field on the opposite slope, has also planted trees in his potato field. "Everything that grows here now develops better, is much greener. Before, the plants were often dried out and yellow." And he himself can now work in the shade. Farmers are supported and advised in this agroforestry approach by the Dahari organization. The emphasis is on improving the economic situation of farmers in order to protect the natural resources that still exist.

“Before, we had a reforestation policy that was not adapted to the context of our country,” says Zalhat Bacar, regional director of environment and forests in Anjouan, of the Comoros’ programs dating back to the 1980s, which were not very successful. Farmers were not involved, because decisions about which trees to plant on their land were made without their consent. At the time, they were given food in exchange for planting a tree. “People understood that every time they planted a tree, they received something in return. So they would pull out the young trees at night or pour hot water on them and then say they were dead,” says Misbahou Mohamed from Dahari. Farmers saw no direct benefit to their yields from these trees, which took up their space.

"He should say, 'This is my tree, on my land, and I understand why I'm planting this tree here.'"

MISBAHOU MOHAMED, DAHARI

In contrast, Dahari follows a participatory approach: farmers decide what benefits they want from the trees – shade, water storage, fertilizer, fruit, animal feed, medicinal plants, timber for construction or firewood. The organization’s staff then determine which trees fulfill these functions and whether they can grow in the given conditions, such as location, climate and water situation. Seedlings can be obtained from nurseries supported by the organization. This should not mean that “the tree comes from Dahari and they plant it on my plot,” Mohamed explains. “But rather, ‘This is my tree, I plant it on my land and understand why.’” After six months, the farmers are visited again to see if everything is going well. This monitoring helps improve the program, and Mohamed is pleased with it. 110 trees were planted in 037, some of which were cuttings, others pre-germinated seedlings, and 2020% of which survived the first year.

With this plantation system and other methods that increase the fertility and productivity of low-lying areas, the organization wants to help reduce the pressure on the still-forested highlands. Especially in regions where water sources and endemic biodiversity need to be protected. In addition to many bird species, the remaining “cloud” forests are home to the endangered mongo macaque and the Livingstone’s bat. About 1 specimens of this rare fruit-eating species live on Anjouan and Mohéli alone, where a team from Dahari has been studying their behavior for years. Some important roosts, usually one or two trees at an altitude of 200 to 500 meters, are located on private land, which is gradually being cleared. With a wingspan of up to 1 meters, they are the largest bats in the world. To protect their habitat, Dahari works with landowners: in exchange for their renunciation of clear-cutting and reforestation, they are helped to improve the productivity of existing fields. There is also money to be made from tourists: “People come from abroad to see the animals. They then tell others about them,” says Dhoul-Kifl Attoumane, who has a perch on his land, in a narrow, densely wooded gorge, and proudly shows it off to visitors.

Ben Anthoy Moussa, who works as a project manager for the national park on the smaller, less populated island of Mohéli, is also hoping for tourism. The tourism industry is still in its infancy, he says. “We now hope that it will be developed further to generate alternative income and reduce pressure on natural resources.” For that, he says, more investment is needed – and better education for the population. Moussa is positive about the island’s future: biodiversity is still there, and deforestation has even slowed in recent years. Perhaps because almost the entire land surface of the island was incorporated into the national park in 2015, which only included the surrounding reefs and the sea when it was created in 2001. Mohéli has been a UNESCO biosphere reserve since 2020. “We have solutions to reduce the negative impacts.” But it requires cooperation from everyone,” says Moussa, who would like to see more government involvement, for example in enforcing laws that regulate deforestation and hunting. Hardly any perpetrators are punished. But that could change: Many political positions are held by young people, many of them women. “I am very optimistic. The older generation thought differently, but we young people have a new vision,” says Zalhat Bacar, 37, director of environment and forests. “We speak the same language. We want sustainable development, healthy communities and forests.”

Sheet by sheet

Most of the time we take trees for granted, even though they are essential to our survival – and not just as fruit producers or carbon reservoirs. In 2021, the European Journalism Center will award eight research grants to European media to promote reporting on global development issues. Three German newspaper projects, including the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung, are among the selected candidates; the total funding amounts to 900 euros, supported by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

With this "European Development Journalism Grant", the FAS scientific department, together with independent writers and photographers, will continue the "Tree Palaver" project in the coming months, which is based on the fact that palaver trees traditionally represent the centre of African villages. With a series of articles, we want to draw attention to the trees themselves, their function and their importance for us humans. Not only as an instrument to combat climate change, but also as a tool with which people can sustainably improve their standard of living, their health and their environment: How do forests contribute to our health and well-being? What happens to villages or cities that lack trees? And how do ecosystems interact, especially in the face of epidemics, when humans increasingly invade the habitats of animals and plants, destroy forests?

We would like to explore all these issues in different countries and feature people in stories whose ideas are driving the sustainable development of their communities, villages and towns.

Sonja Kastilan

The project can be followed in the coming months in the FAS, on FAZ.net and on Twitter at @baumpalaver.

The Comoros constitute the second part of the “Baumpalaver” project.