The culture is fatalistic. This is not to deny the existence of ambition; there’s always the shipbuilding entrepreneur or fisherman who sends his children to an expensive school in Tulear. But focusing too much on the future implies an ability to change one’s circumstances by altering the natural course of events. The Vezo, after centuries of following nature’s ebb and flow, see such an attitude as arrogance. “Many still migrate,” Veloko tells me of his friends. “Most of the net fishermen have already left with their families heading north. We will move on too, when the sea stops giving here”.
The wind changes and we seize the chance to make it back before nightfall. The crew’s tuneless, heavily accented rendition of a pop song accompanies our return to the mainland. As we near Belo sur Mer, we catch sight of other lakanas, on the same wind, making for the natural harbor. On the beach, the wives wait. Their husbands do not always return. As the canoes are forced into ever deeper water in search of a catch, more boats are lost forever.
Getting a clear response from a nomadic culture, it turns out, is beyond my abilities. The Vezo society, I gather, is built around a response to the rhythms of nature; moving with the fish. They invest only in the essentials of their livelihoods—boat and equipment. They eat from that day’s catch, trading for other essential foodstuffs, such as rice. They celebrate with any money left over. Denis recalls when a huge haul of sea cucumbers had earned them AR 1,500,000 ($ 450) a few months ago. The crew bought a new sail and mast, then went drinking. They woke up, two days later, with empty pockets and returned to sea.
