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ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA
 IAIN WALKER

Islands in a Cosmopolitan Sea

A History of the Comoros

3
 3
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by
publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and in certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison
Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America
© Iain Walker, 2019

First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by

C. Hurst & Co. (Publishers) Ltd

All rights reserved. No part of Publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in
writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or
under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries
concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights
Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
A copy of this book’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data
is on file with the Library of Congress.

ISBN 9780190071301
 CONTENTS

Maps vii
List of Illustrations xiii
Glossary xv
Preface xix

1. The Context: Social and Geographical 1

2. From the Origins: Archaeology and Traditions 23
3. Written History: The European Encounter 49
4. The Nineteenth Century: From Sultanates to Colonies 81
5. Colonial Neglect and the Growth of Political Awareness 113
6. Independence, Revolution and Mercenaries 149
7. Federation, Separatism and Union 175
8. The Comorian People 209

Notes 233
Suggestions for Further Reading 271
Index 275

v
Map of the Comoros
Map of the Western Indian Ocean
Map of Mayotte
Map of Ngazidja
Map of Ndzuani
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1. The earliest known sketch of Ngazidja, from João de Castro’s Roteiro de

Lisboa a Goa, an account of his voyage to India in 1538.
João de Andrade Corvo, ed., Roteiro de Lisboa a Goa por D. João de
Castro, Lisbon, Academia Real das Sciencias, 1882. See another version
online on the Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal website, http://purl.
pt/27123/5/P164.html.
2. An engraving of the island of Mayotte, portraying the visit of the Dutch
admiral Jacob Van Heemskerk in 1601.
Willem van West-Zanen, Derde voornaemste Zee-getogt (Der verbondene
vrye Nederlanderen) na de Oost-Indien: gedaan met de Achinsche en
Moluksche vloten, onder de Ammiralen Iacob Heemskerk, en Wolfert
Harmansz, In den Jare 1601, 1602, 1603, Amsterdam, H. Soete-Boom,
1648.
3. A 1705 map of the Comoros and the nearby mainland coast, by Pieter
Mortier. Ngazidja is disproportionately large, its exaggerated size reflect-
ing navigators’ wariness of the island.
Pierre Mortier, Carte Particuliere des Costes de l’Afrique Depuis C. Del
Gado Jusques Rio Mocambo, et les Isles aux Environs: Levée par Ordre
Expres des Roys de Portugal sous qui on en a Fait la Decouverte, Amsterdam,
1705.
4. Moussamoudo (Rough sketch of Johanna, half the town—H.B.M.
Consulate & Anchorage) May 1875, J.E. The captions read, from left to
right: Town walls; Old ruined Arab fort; Anchorage; H.B.M.’s Consulate
with yard & landing place; Town walls with ruined fort; Mssrs Dunlop
Mees & Co of Rotterdam (Agency); River ‘Ziancunde’; Saddle Island;
Sultan’s House; Mosque.

xiii
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Courtesy of the National Archives, London, UK: National Archives,

Records of the Admiralty, ADM 127/36: ‘Admiralty: East Indies Station:
Correspondence. Islands in the Indian Ocean; and the East Coast of
Africa. Zanzibar, Madagascar, Comoro Islands and Mozambique.
1883-1888.’
5. The first issue of the government-owned national newspaper, then called
Al-Watwany, with the portrait of President Ahmed Abdallah on the front
page.
Courtesy of Al Watwan.
6. A silver 5000-franc coin, part of a prestige collector’s set of three coins
bearing the portrait of Said Mohamed Cheikh, issued as a revenue-raising
exercise in 1976 by Ali Soilihi.
7. Sultan Said Ali ben Said Omar of Bambao, Ngazidja, surrounded by the
notables of the island.
Courtesy of the Centre National de Documentation et de Recherche
Scientifique, Moroni, Comoros.
8. Sultan Said Omar el Masela of Ndzuani with, to his right, Pierre
Papinaud, governor of Mayotte from 1888 to 1890.
9. A contemporary pro-Comorian roadside sign in Moroni.
Photo taken by the author.
10. The former governor’s residence, Dzaoudzi, Mayotte.
Photo taken by the author.
11. A wooden-framed mud-plaster house, Mwali.
Photo taken by the author.
12. Aerial view of the town and port of Itsandramdjini.
Photo taken by the author.
13. Bull-baiting during an ãda wedding at Fumbuni, Ngazidja.
Photo taken by the author.
14. The zifafa, a procession in the ãda wedding on Ngazidja, during which
the groom is escorted to his future residence.
Photo taken by the author.

xiv
 GLOSSARY OF TERMS APPEARING IN THE TEXT

ãda na mila the body of ritual customary practice; unless otherwise speci-
fied, ãda itself usually refers to the ritual marriage (Ng); see
below
ajojo Comorians, and specifically usually Wangazidja (Mg)
banga hut where young boys sleep after puberty (My, Nz; cf. vala)
bangwe public square in village (Ng, Mw; cf. mpangahari, trengwe)
bedja ruler, pre- or early Islamic period (Ng)
bidaa “innovation” in Islam
fani ruler, pre- or early Islamic period (Mw, Nz)
galawa outrigger canoe
gungu ritual punishment that involves blackening an individual with
soot and parading him or (more rarely) her through the streets
of the village to be publicly shamed (Ng)
hinya matrilineage, clan (Ng)
itreya village of slave origin (Ng)
kashikazi wet season, summer
kusi dry season, winter
kwasa kwasa speedboat used to carry migrants to Mayotte, generally
illegally
mafe local rulers, pre-Islamic period
maferembwe local rulers, pre-Islamic period (Ng)
makabaila aristocracy of Arab descent (My, Nz)
manyahuli land collectively owned by a hinya (Mw, Ng)
mdji village (see also ritual terminology below)
mfaume “king”, used prior to the adoption of the title of sultan
mila na ntsi body of customary law governing, amongst other things, ãda
na mila (Ng, see pp. 34, 117–8, 176–8)

xv
 GLOSSARY OF TERMS APPEARING IN THE TEXT

mpangahari public square in village (Nz; cf. bangwe, trengwe)

ntibe meat dish eaten at ãda meals; Sultan Ntibe, the paramount
sultan on Ngazidja
ntsambu seed of a cycad (Cycas thouarsii) typically eaten on Ngazidja
ntsi land, kingdom
sabena Comorian repatriated from Mahajanga in 1977 (cf. zanatany)
silamu Comorian in Madagascar, Malagasy of Comorian origin (Mg)
trengwe public square in village (My; cf. bangwe, mpangahari)
ulapva customary banishment of an individual or a mdji (Ng)
ustaarabu the state of being civilised; cf. washendzi
vala hut where young boys sleep after puberty (Ng, Mw; cf. banga)
wamatsaha “Bushmen”, the original inhabitants of Ndzuani
washendzi uncivilised people, often used to refer pejoratively to African
mainlanders
zanatany Comorian born in Madagascar (Mg, but used on all islands, cf.
sabena)
ziyara pilgrimage to a local shrine; on Mayotte, a site of spiritual
significance

Islam and related terms (pp. 45–7 and 115–8)

cadi Islamic judge
fundi teacher, of any kind, but usually understood as a religious
teacher
hatwib preacher in the mosque, often a hereditary title
maulida reading celebrating the life of the Prophet; Maulid is the
Prophet’s birthday
mwalimu learned man, a healer, often drawing on both religious and non-
Islamic knowledge (see pp. 31–32)
qasida Islamic poem, often sung
sharifu descendant of the Prophet Muhammed through his daughter
Fatima

Political terminology, regime of Ali Soilihi (pp. 155–7)

bavu administrative division
liwali administrator of a bavu
Commando Moissi Soilihi’s elite military squad
Mongozi leader, guide

xvi
 GLOSSARY OF TERMS APPEARING IN THE TEXT

mouhafidh administrator of a wilaya

mudir administrator of a mudiriya
mudiriya administrative division
wilaya administrative division

Clothing (pp. 217–8)

bushuti, djoho, djuba, dragla gowns worn by men and which indicate a
particular status, customary or religious
kiemba, kofia headgear, the former worn usually only by the
groom at ãda weddings, the latter worn daily
by all men
mharuma shawl worn by an elder as a sign of status
nkandu gown, usually white, worn daily by men
bwibwi black garment worn by women, similar to the
Arab abaya
leso, saluva colourful garments worn by women daily
sahare, subaya more formal dresses worn by women, usually
in ritual contexts
shiromani distinctive red and white patterned cloth typi-
cally worn by women on Ndzuani

Sufism (pp. 120–1)

daira circle; a group of sufi adepts
dhikr repetitive chanting in a sufi ritual
twarika sufi brotherhood
zawiyya sufi meeting place

Dances (pp. 218–9)

bomu, lele mama, wadaha, twarab women’s dances, usually at marriages
biyaya, djaliko, sambe, shigoma, men’s dances, usually at marriages
twarab

Age system and ritual terminology (pp. 35, 117–20, 211–5; Ngazidja unless
otherwise specified)

Darweshi group opposed to the expenses of the ãda on religious

grounds

xvii
 GLOSSARY OF TERMS APPEARING IN THE TEXT

djeleo ãda marriage event at which food is distibuted to be

cooked
guzi an age grade occupied someone either close to or late in
performing his ãda
harusi wedding; hence bwana harusi, the groom, and bibi
harusi, the bride (all islands)
hirimu age grade or set
manzaraka customary wedding (My)
madjeliss ãda marriage event of Islamic inspiration
mdji literally village, but also a group of men in the age
system
mndru mndzima man who has performed his ãda; an elder (literally
“complete man”, pl. wandruwadzima)
wafomanamdji an age grade of senior young men, yet to perform their
ãda (literally, “kings of the children of the town”)
wanamdji collectively, boys and men who have not performed their
ãda (literally, “children of the town”)
wandruwadzima see mndru mndzima
ntswa shenda nine days following the zifafa during which the groom is
confined to the house
shungu meal in age system, often linked to marriage (all islands
other than Ngazidja)
zifafa ãda marriage event during which the groom is led to the
nuptial house

Abbreviations, referring to island or language: Ng, Ngazidja; Mw, Mwali; Nz,

Ndzuani; My, Mayotte; Mg, Malagasy

xviii
 PREFACE

I sometimes try to cast my mind back, to revisit my impressions of the

Comoros as I first saw them, some thirty-five years ago now, an enigmatic
group of islands lying between Madagascar and Zanzibar that called out for
me to stop and have a look. The islands were slightly mysterious, quite off the
beaten track, absent from the anglophone view of the world, and prior to my
visit I don’t recall meeting anyone who had even heard of them. I do remem-
ber that in 1985 the islands were both more French and more Islamic than
they are today. The only cars seemed to be the ubiquitous Renault 4 (the ‘4L’),
which, for a foreigner, was quintessentially French; the men, almost without
exception, wore the kofia (embroidered skullcap) and nkandu (gown) that are
today only really worn on Fridays, while the women were draped in leso, and
rare were those who did not cover their hair. There was an exotic fragrance to
the place—I only managed to visit Ngazidja—whether it was ylang ylang that
I could smell or just exotic flowers generally, I don’t recall.
There were no other tourists as far as I could tell: I appeared to be the only
guest in the once glamorous Hotel Karthala, although given the rundown
state of the establishment, that was not particularly surprising (the water from
the shower flowed across the floor, under my bed and out of the door to drip
over the edge of the balcony). But the islands were charming, the people too,
and the one beach I managed to find was, prior to the construction of Bob
Denard’s Galawa Hotel, palm-fringed and quite deserted. And then there were
the exotic volcanic landforms: eroded craters and lava flows, all giving the
island a slightly surreal aspect. As a budding young anthropologist—I had just
finished fieldwork for my master’s thesis in Mauritius—I asked a few appropri-
ate questions and found out about an extravagant big wedding and a matrilin-
eal kinship system which, a decade later, would tempt me back to do my
PhD. Most of all, though, I had the feeling of being outside the normal flow

xix
 PREFACE

of events, isolated from the rest of the world, to which the island seemed to be
only very tenuously connected by a small handful of weekly flights.
Today the islands have changed somewhat—most noticeably both the 4Ls
and the Islamic attire have largely gone and the Hotel Karthala, alas, has also
gone (it is now the faculty of arts of the university). But, surprisingly, much of
the rest remains: the people, who have always been welcoming (and very toler-
ant of the peculiar questions that anthropologists ask); the exotic landscapes
and the perfumes; and, of course, the weddings, ever more extravagant. My
own perspectives on the islands have, of course, changed dramatically, and,
with a view to introducing what follows, one of the greatest shifts is in my
perception of the islanders’ relationships with the ‘outside’ world: isolated the
islands most certainly were not. Comorians are great travellers, and are adept
at negotiating their relationships with foreigners, both at home and away. This
should have been immediately apparent on my first visit: unlike parts of
Madagascar, where children would run after me crying Vazaha! vazaha!
(‘European’) and adults would try to sell me something, in the Comoros, and
despite the apparent absence of visitors, no one gave me a second glance: a
reflection, I think, of the familiarity with the world that Comorians enjoy.
I hope in what follows I have been able to convey a sense of both the
uniqueness and the worldliness of the islands (even if the latter is occasionally
touched by some naivety), and redress some of the more widespread miscon-
ceptions about the country (particularly its baffling reputation for violence: it
is among the most peaceful places on earth). Much history has been gleaned
from books and archives but I have, of course, also learned a great deal from
my Comorian friends and colleagues, historians of their own country and
observers and guardians of traditions, and although I am grateful to all of
them, I should particularly like to thank Damir Ben Ali, whose door I regu-
larly darken with my notebook clutched in my hand. Henry Wright was kind
enough to read a draft version of Chapter Two and provide valuable com-
ments, and Edward Alpers did likewise for Chapter Three. I am grateful to
both as well as to two anonymous reviewers of the final draft. I would particu-
larly like to thank Robert Aldrich, who read a full first draft of the entire
manuscript and whose critiques, and criticisms, were invaluable as I revised it.
I hope it is a better book for his remarks; if not, the fault is entirely mine.

Language, names and orthography

I refer to the islands of the independent state by their Comorian names,

Ngazidja, Mwali and Ndzuani, although I maintain the original names or

xx
 PREFACE

spellings in quotations. Their French names—Grande Comore, Mohéli and

Anjouan respectively—are, of course, still widely used in the literature but the
use of the local names has several advantages. First, it ‘decolonises’ the lan-
guage used, particularly desirable given that in two cases, Ndzuani and Mwali,
the French names are simply French attempts to represent the Comorian
name. Secondly, it removes the ambiguity between ‘Comorian’ as an adjective
for all islanders and ‘Comorian’ as referring only to people from Ngazidja; and
thirdly, it allows me to use, with a degree of consistency, the various derivatives
of the names for the people and the language: the prefixes m-, wa- and shi-
refer, respectively, to the singular and plural of the inhabitants and to the
language. Thus one Mngazidja is only one of many Wangazidja who speak
Shingazidja. However, I call the fourth island (Maore in Comorian) Mayotte,
since this is the official name of the French department that it now is, and the
constant use of the two names in parallel would be tedious; likewise, I use the
spelling Maorais (which to the foreigner sounds the same as the Comorian
word Mmaore) for the people, singular or plural, although I call the language
Shimaore. This should not be read as a political statement but simply a stylistic
convention that follows accepted current practice in the various islands.
As for place names, in the independent islands I use currently accepted
Comorian orthography, even if it is not yet widely used (visitors to the islands
looking for Washili should be prepared to end up in Oichili) while for Mayotte
I use the sometimes curiously hybrid orthography used by the Institut
Geographique National: thus Dzoumonyé rather than the old French
Dzoumogné or the contemporary Dzumonye. Readers should be alert to the
fact that there are a number of places across the islands that have the same
name. Bambao, the sultanate on Ngazidja, is a different place from either of the
two Bambaos on Ndzuani; likewise Domoni on Mwali and Domoni on
Ndzuani; and so on. Finally, with the exception of a few families of French or
Arab origin, Comorians do not have family names: Fatima, daughter of
Ahmed, son of Mohammed, is Fatima Ahmed to her friends, but Fatima
Ahmed Mohammed to distinguish herself from Fatima Ahmed Soilihi. I occa-
sionally use ‘bin’ (‘son of ’) or ‘binti’ (‘daughter of ’) where this is a common
part of the name in general usage. Note that, for the sake of readability, where
I use Comorian words I do not generally distinguish between singular and
plural forms; finally, unless otherwise indicated, any translations from original
texts in languages other than English are my own.

xxi
 1

THE CONTEXT

SOCIAL AND GEOGRAPHICAL

The Comoros are somewhat enigmatic islands, little known in the English-
speaking world, often only popping up as obscure answers to difficult ques-
tions on quiz shows. Those who have heard of them may mention the
coelacanth, the famous fossil fish which was long thought to exist only in the
waters around the archipelago; they will probably recall the mercenaries who
effectively ruled the islands in the 1980s, and cite the ‘almost’ (sometimes
‘more than’) twenty coups or coup attempts since independence. Those who
have flipped through the few pages allocated to them in one of Lonely Planet’s
older guidebooks (the publisher has dropped the islands from their list since
no one visits) might recollect references to perfumes, a volcano or the queen
of Sheba. More attentive readers of the international press might be aware that
the government of the United Arab Emirates issues Comorian passports to
stateless residents known as Bidoon; might have noticed that one of the
blockade-running ships boarded off Gaza by Israeli troops in 2010 was
Comorian flagged; or remember that al-Qaida operative Fazul Abdullah
Mohammed, held responsible for the 1998 attacks on US embassies in Dar es
Salaam and Nairobi, was Comorian born. Those with even longer memories
and a little insider knowledge may recall a Comorian angle to the Contragate
arms-for-hostages deals of the Reagan years, or the islands’ role in apartheid
South Africa’s attacks on the Frontline states.

1
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

There are occasionally positive stories—generally in the travel sections—

but even these are rare (the islands don’t seem to have quite what it takes for
tourism) and a week later few recall the name of the country that featured in
the previous Saturday’s supplement. Only the alert or the assiduous manage
to piece together a more sustained narrative concerning the islands, but even
to the informed the Comoros remain obscure, peripheral to historical analysis
and current events, and within the area studies paradigm: not sufficiently
African for the Africanists, too African for scholars of Madagascar, not really
Arab but not creole like the other Indian Ocean islands either, they fall into
several gaps. Nevertheless the islands have, like everywhere else, a deep history,
and the obscurity in which the Comoros languish today belies their past
importance even if, like many island groups, they sometimes had to struggle
for attention. In the first half of the last millennium the Comoros were deeply
embedded in regional economic networks, trading with southern Arabia and
India as well as the African coast and Madagascar; between the seventeenth
and nineteenth centuries the island of Ndzuani in particular, or Johanna as it
was known at the time, was an important supply point on the route to India,
its name a familiar one within the British colonial service; and in the nine-
teenth century the islands were a fulcrum in the illicit slave trade, featuring in
diplomatic struggles between France, Britain and the sultan of Zanzibar. It
was only in the twentieth century, as a forgotten outpost of the French colo-
nial empire, cut off from its trading partners and its social environment, that
the archipelago sank into obscurity.
There are four islands in the group: Ngazidja (known in French as Grande
Comore), Mwali (Mohéli), Ndzuani (Anjouan) and Maore (Mayotte). Since
1975, the three westernmost islands have constituted an independent state
which has been through several iterations and is now known as the Union of
the Comoros, while Mayotte chose, controversially, to remain a French pos-
session and became a French overseas department in 2011. The four islands
are both similar to and quite different from one another: unusually among
contemporary African states, the Comoros are culturally quite homogeneous,
sharing social structures, cultural practices and, depending upon whom you
ask, a language. As we shall see, this is the source of many of the archipelago’s
problems as well as one of its strengths, and negotiating a path between simi-
larities and differences between the islands has been, and remains, a particu-
larly arduous task for Comorians and their rulers. Sometimes the ties between
the islands do indeed bind.
There is a well-known saying that characterises (or perhaps caricatures) the
islanders: Wangazidja talk, Wandzuani work, Wamwali rest and Wamaore

2
 THE CONTEXT

play. There is, as in all such sayings, a grain of truth in this depiction of
Comorians. Wandzuani do indeed have a reputation for hard work. Their
island is fertile but overcrowded, and with fewer remittances from the dias-
pora they have but their own resources to fall back on: microcredit project
reports affirm that Wandzuani are savers. Life on Mwali, small, sparsely popu-
lated and productive, is perhaps less stressful: the pace of life is slow—the
island is famous for being the only one of the four where there are donkeys—
and the island’s small population means it is often left out of inter-island
political intrigues, probably to its advantage. Mayotte for long enjoyed the
limited benefits of being the seat of the colonial administration, although the
plantation system in place on the island would have left little time for play,
while the people of Ngazidja, renowned for their extravagant customary mar-
riages, their esteem for oratory and their constant politicking, would probably
not object to being called loquacious.
The history of islands—of small islands, of an archipelago—is necessarily
also a history of movement, of migrations and traders: the comings and goings
of people and things. Although islands are enclosed and bounded—it is a rela-
tively simple matter to determine exactly where the island ends and the sea
begins—because of this their inhabitants are dependent upon the outside
world for their very existence: even the people are imported, never mind
knives and cloth, gold, glass and (in more recent times) petrol and cement. It
is perhaps ironic that Comorians were never great navigators. The sea has long
been, and remains, a source of danger, populated by djinns that threaten the
unwary, the reckless or the imprudent. Fishermen are often themselves feared,
since if they are able to navigate the hazards of the open seas then, so the logic
goes, they must have affinities, if not pacts, with the djinns. More prosaically,
it is possible that this ambivalence towards the sea—which must be crossed if
Comorians are to survive—is a result of the physical characteristics of the
islands themselves. Only Mayotte has a lagoon, a place within which to sail
without fear; at the other end of the archipelago, there are few reefs at all
around Ngazidja and the bottom drops away very rapidly as one leaves the
shoreline. Strong currents, large waves and sudden mists all discourage the
uninitiated and undoubtedly prompted Comorians to leave the business of
navigation to foreigners.
Those foreigners didn’t just trade with the islands. Many settled, bringing
with them social and cultural practices which, if the foreigners were numerous
enough or important enough, were incorporated into local practice, often
being adopted side by side with pre-existing practices. Thus an early matrilin-

3
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

eal society, one in which property and group membership are transmitted
through the female line, adopted the age systems of a group of African immi-
grants; when Muslims arrived, the same society later converted to Islam; when
Arabs arrived, the chiefdoms became sultanates; and so on. As a result
Comorian culture appears both ‘authentic’, as one aid worker once told me,
and highly imitative, as Comorians themselves are wont to lament: the truth
lies somewhere in-between. One consequence of what might be called an
additive process of social change is that the islanders, and particularly those of
Ngazidja, engage in social practices that, according to the textbooks, are not
generally expected to occur together. Age systems are not usually found in
matrilineal societies, since age systems are frameworks for organising men into
groups for social and political purposes based on age and (at least in theory)
patrifiliation, and women shouldn’t have anything to do with them. Nor
should age systems exist in chiefdoms (or sultanates), since the two are differ-
ent and, in theory, contradictory principles of political organisation, the one
egalitarian, the other hierarchical. Matriliny and Islam have long been consid-
ered ‘incompatible’, even if they do occasionally occur together, since a wom-
an’s status in Islamic societies is generally inferior to that of a man; and
polygamy and uxorilocal residence, a residence rule whereby a man lives in his
wife’s house, seem simply outlandish. This latter combination was once par-
ticularly troubling to anthropologists and often cited simply as a theoretical
possibility for the sake of completeness, which of course would not actually
occur anywhere: how can a man have more than one wife if they live in differ-
ent villages? But Comorian men can, and do, and one reason why this is pos-
sible is precisely that they are matrilineal: a man is often as attached to his
sister’s family as he is to his own, or perhaps more accurately his wife’s, and his
primary point of reference will always be his mother’s or his sister’s house, thus
anchoring him socially and spatially in the clan of his birth: wives come and
go, but a sister is forever. Such examples give an indication of how interactions
between the Comoros and other peoples of the Indian Ocean world, together
with the need to manage the practicalities of daily existence, have produced
curious but perfectly functional juxtapositions of social structures.
While drawing up a list of practices like these may seem like anthropologi-
cal navel-gazing, they have shaped the islanders’ relationships with one
another and with the outside world, enabling them to be ‘authentic’ and ‘imi-
tative’ at the same time. Authentic, in the sense that Comorian culture is
Comorian, specific to the islands, the product of centuries of practice, and
there’s nothing else quite like it; imitative, in so far as Comorians can, in draw-

4
 THE CONTEXT

ing on other people’s practices, be like those other people, presenting them-
selves as having various things in common with the foreigners, be they Swahili,
Arabs, Malagasy, English, French, who came to visit—as we shall see, a par-
ticular strategy in interactions with outsiders. For interacting with outsiders
is crucial to the survival of island societies, very few of whom live in isolation:
quite the opposite, as islanders are deeply connected to other places, islands or
continents. Insularity has many implications and isolation is the least desirable
of them, and the Comoros have often had to compete to survive.1
Nevertheless, all these practices bind the people together, establishing a
cohesive sense of identity across the islands that is nested, like a matryoshka
doll: people identify with their household, matrilineage, clan, quarter, village,
region and island. These different spheres of identification are called into play
according to the context, thus explaining how it is that one minute two villag-
ers are asserting solidarity as Comorians, the next engaged in a bitter dispute
between their neighbouring quarters. We will go into this in greater detail later,
too, since not only is this relevant in the context of separatist movements,
whether on Mayotte or on Ndzuani, but it is also (and the two phenomena are
not indissociable) relevant in discussions of the Comorian nation state.
Another feature of small islands is that people seem to know one another,
and this is at least partly due to the geographical constraints on network
building. On a continent networks are physically unbounded, in so far as it is
possible to construct a social network that remains physically contiguous but
has no real limits to its extent. People’s networks will extend differently in
different directions according to the contacts established, and while they will
eventually dissipate—people are unlikely to have relationships with people
500 kilometres distant unless they have specific reasons for travelling that
far—they are not otherwise bounded, except eventually linguistically and
possibly, in the contemporary world, by national borders. On an island, how-
ever, the coast is a very real constraint on the maintenance of personal rela-
tionships; conversely there is little reluctance to travel as far as possible—which
in any case is never more than a few dozen kilometres—since there is no risk
of finding oneself confronted with cultural or linguistic obstacles to interac-
tion, no hostile or incomprehensible foreigners. On the contrary, individuals
find themselves drawn into island-wide social networks through their kin
links—uxorilocal polygamy in particular sees men moving constantly around
the islands—or through participation in rituals such as customary marriages,
Islamic ceremonies, even professional relationships, particularly since the
growth of a state administration has seen increasing numbers of people com-

5
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

muting to the islands’ capitals. These activities all conspire to draw people
together across the islands, establishing relationships whereby an individual
can walk into a village that he (usually; women travel less) has never visited
before and be fairly confident of finding someone he knows.
In writing a history of a place like the Comoros, where literacy was for long
restricted to the religious context, and even then often only among the elite,
we are obliged to draw on oral traditions and archaeological evidence until
such time as written documents become available to us; despite the works of
the medieval Arab geographers, this does not really occur until the arrival of
the Europeans in the Indian Ocean in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
Although early Arab texts provide a wealth of detail about places further
north—the Arab world itself of course, but also parts of the East African
coast—they rarely reach the Comoros. This omission is slightly curious, since
the archaeological evidence suggests that the Comoros were well integrated
into the trading systems of the Indian Ocean as early as the end of the first
millennium; but although writers such as al-Masudi or Ibn Battuta do speak
of the African coast, there are no references to places that can conclusively be
identified with the Comoros. Only al-Idrisi, writing in the twelfth century,
provides us with a description of the archipelago. If this appears curious, it
may simply be a reflection of the distance of the Comoros from the Arab
heartland, and the greater interest of the Arabs, like the Europeans who fol-
lowed them, in the Orient, and not of any absence of the islands from regional
trading networks.
In the following chapters we will trace the history of the Comorian people,
although this is difficult for the early years and there is as yet no consensus on
who the islands’ first settlers were or whence they came. Logic suggests the
nearby African coast, but there were Arabs and Austronesians involved, too,
the latter the ancestors of the Malagasy, the people of Madagascar, who arrived
from what is today Indonesia sometime during the first millennium. On the
heels of these original inhabitants there were repeated arrivals of Arabs as well
as Malagasy, and they both brought Africans, probably enslaved, from the
mainland to the islands; if many of these slaves were subsequently re-exported,
many more settled, forming the basis of the population that we find today. In
the sixteenth century Europeans arrived—first the Portuguese, followed by
the Dutch, the English and the French—and these people also had an impact
on the islands, culturally, socially, economically and, finally, politically.
If people arrived to settle in the islands, many also left. Emigration was
always a feature of Comorian society: islanders tend to travel and Comorians

6
 THE CONTEXT

were long present in the towns and ports of the Indian Ocean littoral. At
certain points in time emigration became desirable: people fled the attacks of
Malagasy slave-raiders in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries,
moving either to one of the other islands or to the African coast. In the mid-
nineteenth century, incessant and often violent wars on Ngazidja prompted
another exodus, and many chose the new Omani capital in Zanzibar as their
destination; later in the century the French occupation of the islands, and the
imposition of forced labour and the head tax, led to more departures, again
largely to Zanzibar, eventually constituting a small but influential community
in what was now a British protectorate. In the twentieth century, following
the annexation of the Comoros to the French colony of Madagascar, and the
ensuing colonial neglect of the archipelago, large numbers of Comorians
migrated to the big island in search of a better life. Finally, in the late twenti-
eth century, population pressures and greater awareness of the possibilities
available in the metropole saw Comorians head for France, initially with some
ease as colonial subjects, but later, following Comorian independence in 1975,
with increasing difficulty as immigration controls were imposed by the former
colonial power. In the twenty-first century, Mayotte, now a French depart-
ment, was sufficiently prosperous, relatively speaking, and sufficiently close to
attract large numbers of migrants from neighbouring Ndzuani. The problems
caused by this massive influx of migrants, who are irregular from the French
perspective but ‘at home’ from a Comorian one, are seemingly intractable, and
a significant minority of the population of Mayotte are deemed to be illegally
present on French territory. Regardless of the status of these communities,
remittances by the diaspora, whether from metropolitan France to Ngazidja
or from Mayotte to Ndzuani, are essential to the survival of the country and
its people. People have long been the islands’ principal export and they remain
so today.

* * *
Before engaging with the history of the islands, it is useful to sketch out their
physical characteristics, partly in order to be able to communicate a feel for the
terrain and partly to provide some background knowledge, the better to allow
for an appreciation of the social, political and, above all, economic contexts
within which events have unfolded. Physically the islands have much in com-
mon.2 They are volcanic islands, part of a chain stretching westwards from
northern Madagascar, created as the Somali plate moves in an easterly direc-
tion over a hotspot at a rate of about 45 mm per year. This hotspot is estimated

7
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

to be between ten and fifteen million years old, and would also appear to have
been responsible for the reefs and banks to the east of the Comoros—the
Geyser, Zélée and Leven Banks and the Îles Glorieuses—although it is
unlikely that the volcanic areas of northern Madagascar were caused by the
same hotspot since some are of similar ages to the Comoros. All the islands
rise from the ocean floor, where depths are around 3500 m, although the
depths between the islands are shallower: only 700 m between Ngazidja and
Mwali, and less than 2000 m between Mwali and Ndzuani; between Ndzuani
and Mayotte, however, the water is almost 3000 m deep. Although the crust
on the sea floor in the immediate vicinity of the archipelago is oceanic, oil
exploration activities in the early twenty-first century are based on the assump-
tion that continental crust—and hence potential oil-bearing formations—lies
to the west of the archipelago within the Comorian exclusive economic zone.
Mayotte is the southernmost, easternmost and oldest of the islands, at least
seven million years old, and is the most highly eroded; it is the only island of
the four to possess a barrier reef, enclosing an extensive lagoon said to be one
of the largest in the world. Mayotte is, in fact, a number of islands: the main
island, Grande Terre in French, Nyambo Bole in Shimaore, is some 40 km from
north to south and approximately 22 km at its widest point, from west to east.
The second island, Petite Terre (also known as Pamandzi or Nyambo Titi),
about 6 km long and lying astride the barrier reef to the east of Grande Terre,
is the largest of a number of islands and islets in the lagoon; the islet of
Dzaoudzi, barely a rock and formerly seat of the French colonial administra-
tion, is linked to Petite Terre by a causeway. Mayotte is third in size in the
archipelago and has a surface area of 374 km2; the island’s summit, in the south-
central part of Grande Terre, is Mlima Bénara (660 m) and there are several
other summits over or close to 500 m. There is very little flat land on the
island—the island’s airport runway is constructed largely on land reclaimed
from the lagoon on Petite Terre—and no coastal plain of any sort, a few small
areas of alluvial deposits excepted. Although now extinct, there are a number
of eroded volcanic craters on Mayotte, signs of the island’s volcanic origins; the
best preserved of these is the crater lake of Dziani Dzaha on Petite Terre.
Ndzuani, 70 km to the northeast of Mayotte, is slightly larger (424 km2)
and somewhat younger—the oldest rocks have been dated to about four
million years BP. Ntringui, at 1595 m, is the island’s highest peak and is the
remnant of the summit of the volcano, now probably extinct: there is no
evidence of its having erupted in the Holocene epoch. From Ntringui this
triangular-shaped island, 35 km both south to north and east to west, is

8
 THE CONTEXT

articulated around three main ridges that run north, south and west to the
Jimilime, Nyumakele and Shisiwani peninsulas respectively; these ridges have
long constituted barriers to easy movement around the island. Ndzuani is
extremely rugged, and equally scenic, dissected by numerous steep-sided
valleys and cirques, but population pressure has led to deforestation and
over-cultivation of much of the island’s accessible land, causing severe ero-
sion. The land is slightly less rugged in Bambao Mtuni in the centre of the
island, but only in the east, around Domoni and Bambao Mtsanga, is there
any sort of coastal plain. Elsewhere the coast plunges steeply into the ocean,
and although there are fringing reefs, only around the western Shisiwani
peninsula is there a nascent lagoon.
The smallest island (30 km by 12 km, with an area of 211 km2), Mwali
would appear to be slightly older than Ndzuani: the oldest rocks on Mwali
have been dated to about five million years BP, the youngest to perhaps half a
million years. Mwali, like Ndzuani, is volcanically extinct, and has been sub-
jected to significant erosion, but although it remains rugged, the island has
more extensive, although still small, stretches of coastal plain—on the north
coast around Fomboni and in the southwest at Wala. A central line of hills
runs the length of the island where the highest point at 790 m is Mze Kukule,
and there are a number of islands off the south coast, known as the
Nyumashuwa Islands. Mwali is almost entirely encircled by reef, but as on
Ndzuani it is characterised as fringing.
Ngazidja is the largest island of the group: 1024 km2, 65 km from north to
south and just over 20 km across at its widest point. It is also the youngest of
the islands and is still volcanically active. The island is orientated along two
fault lines, one running north–south and the other southeast–northwest: the
island’s summit—and the more active of the island’s two volcanoes, Karthala
(2361 m)—lies at the intersection of the two; some 30 km to the north is the
second volcano, La Grille, several summits of which rise above 1000 m. These
two volcanoes are separated by a plateau at an altitude of about 500 m, while
a second line of volcanic activity to the southeast of Karthala has created the
Mbadjini peninsula. Both volcanoes are shield volcanoes: there is no observ-
able caldera in La Grille, but the caldera at the summit of Karthala is one of
the largest in the world—3.5 km by 2.8 km—and contains five craters
grouped in two larger structures, Shungu Sha Hale (literally, ‘the old caul-
dron’) and Shungu Sha Nyumeni (‘the new cauldron’). The slopes of Karthala
are steep, up to 25° to the east, slightly gentler to the west; the island is, as
befits a geologically young land, little eroded and thus does not present the

9
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

type of relief found on the other islands. Slopes are generally regular, although
much of the north and west of the island is scattered with adventitious cones.
Historical eruptions of Karthala (there have been no historically recorded
eruptions of La Grille) have been Hawaiian in character, gentle by volcanic
standards and accompanied by flows of lava, or magma, of low viscosity.
Historically recorded lateral magmatic eruptions—lava flows emerging on the
flanks of the volcano—have been frequent, if irregular: between 1848 and
1880 twelve eruptions produced significant lava flows, seven of them between
1857 and 1862, most of which reached the coast. In the twentieth century
lateral magmatic eruptions occurred in 1904, 1918 and 1977, of which only
the last reached the coast, destroying much of the town of Singani in the
process. Volcanic activity is more frequent than this list of lava flows might
suggest, however, and there are regular magmatic eruptions at the summit of
Karthala, as well as the occasional phreatic eruption—the latter are more
explosive eruptions usually without any flow of lava but with expulsions of
rock and ash. In the twentieth century there were recorded summital mag-
matic eruptions in 1948, 1952, 1965 and 1972, the last producing significant
lava flows outside the caldera, and a phreatic eruption in 1991. In the first
decade of the twenty-first century there were eruptions in 2005 (twice, in
April and in November), 2006 and 2007. The latter two were magmatic
within the caldera, but the eruptions in 2005 were phreatic, leading to signifi-
cant ash falls across the southern part of the island. Villages were evacuated;
in the case of the November eruption, 175,000 people were affected, and there
was one fatality. Generally, the volcano is relatively active, although it does not
erupt as frequently as the Piton de la Fournaise on Réunion.
The volcanic character of the islands largely precludes the possibilities of
exploitable mineral deposits, although in 2009 it was announced that a team
of Iranian geologists had identified viable deposits of olivine (on Ngazidja) and
bauxite (on Ndzuani); there has been no further discussion of these deposits.
In the second decade of the 2000s, following discoveries of oil and gas reserves
off the coasts of southern Tanzania and northern Mozambique, licences were
granted for offshore hydrocarbon exploration in the western sector of the
Comorian economic zone. Whether this basin extends into Comorian waters
remains to be seen; the existence of exploitable reserves would be economically
significant to this resource-poor state even if the subsequent drop in the global
price of oil dampened enthusiasm for further exploration.
There are a variety of soil types across the archipelago, from highly fertile
andosols and cambisols to somewhat sterile and highly eroded oxisols; the

10
 THE CONTEXT

last-mentioned include laterite and bauxite. There are many recent uneroded
lava flows on Ngazidja that are clearly visible as swathes of black basalt run-
ning from the flanks of Karthala to the ocean; in other areas, particularly La
Grille but also parts of Mbadjini, there are well-eroded and highly fertile
andosols: these areas are the most agriculturally productive parts of the island,
and there is extensive market gardening in La Grille, growing fresh produce
for sale in the markets of the capital, Moroni. On other parts of the island,
soils are poor or non-existent: much of the central part of the island is rocky
and highly porous, this latter feature being responsible for the almost com-
plete lack of surface water on Ngazidja. Water emerging from the few springs
that exist rapidly disappears into the ground, and apart from a large pond
(Hantsongoma) on the northern flanks of Karthala and a stream in La Grille
there are no perennial rivers or lakes on the island, forcing most of the island’s
inhabitants to rely on rainwater.3
On the other islands soils are better developed and more evenly distributed.
Both Ndzuani and Mwali are particularly fertile and on Mayotte in particular,
as one might expect of an older island, there is some laterite. Mwali has his-
torically been highly productive agriculturally, and remains so today; Ndzuani
is also productive, although the rugged relief meant that the island’s cultivable
area was significantly smaller than the total land area of the island. Much of
the historically uncultivated land has, under the pressure of rapid population
growth, been cleared and come under cultivation over the past half-century,
leading to rapid deforestation—there is very little remaining forest cover on
Ndzuani—followed by severe land erosion and a subsequent loss of topsoil.
Nevertheless, the island continues to produce food as well as cash crops such
as cloves and ylang ylang, particularly in the Nyumakele, Bambao Mtuni and
around Patsy. Pressures on land on Mwali and Mayotte are less acute, but for
different reasons: Mwali has a significantly lower population density, while
Mayotte has, as a French territory, been subject to economic changes that have
seen increases in demand being met by imports rather than by increased agri-
cultural production.
The Comoros enjoy a tropical maritime climate, shaped by the western
Indian Ocean monsoon system. The monsoon system is regulated by the inter-
tropical convergence zone (ICZ), a band of low pressure that encircles the
earth near the equator and into which the trade winds (so called for their
importance to navigators) blow: due to the effect of the Coriolis force and
influence of pressure systems in higher latitudes, these winds are southeasterly
in the southern hemisphere and northeasterly in the northern hemisphere.

11
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

However, the ICZ moves with the seasons and lies south of the equator in
January, prompting the northeasterly winds to back to the northwest, and over
the Indian subcontinent in July, when the southeasterlies veer to the south-
west. This highly regular dynamic regulates the climate. Thus in the southern
summer between December and March a warm and humid northwesterly
wind that has traversed the Indian Ocean brings rain to the islands: the wind,
and by extension the season, are known as kashikazi. In the southern winter,
the cooler and drier southeasterly trades return to the islands: these winds, and
the season, are called kusi. Between the two, in April and May, is matulahi, a
short season marked alternately by moments of calm and by rough seas as the
winds change; similarly, in October, there is a wind called nyombeni.4
Rainfall varies both within and between the islands; there are significant
variations with both altitude and wind exposure as well as from month to
month: the wet season peaks in January and February when torrential down-
pours are common, if usually brief in duration, while the driest months are
September and October. Dzaoudzi, on Mayotte, receives approximately 1000
mm of rain annually; in Moroni the average is closer to 2700 mm. Drier areas
of Ngazidja (the north and southeast) receive significantly less rain (1400 mm
in Fumbuni) than the upper slopes of Karthala, which may receive more than
7000 mm in wet years. The variations on the other islands are less extreme—the
west coasts of Mwali and Ndzuani receive 2200 mm and 2700 mm respectively,
while drier parts of these islands receive half that. Generally, rainfall is sufficient
to meet needs except on Ngazidja, where the lack of surface water poses prob-
lems in those parts of the island that rely on collected rainwater (effectively
anywhere outside the Moroni agglomeration): drought is particularly acutely
felt in the northern and eastern parts of the island, which often suffer water
shortages towards the end of the dry season in October and November.
If rainfall varies significantly, temperatures fluctuate little throughout the
year: at sea level average minima are between 18° and 23° while the average
maxima range is from 28° to 32°. Owing to the influence of the lagoon
Mayotte is slightly warmer than the other islands, while cold air descending
from the volcano can lead to chilly mornings in winter in Moroni.
Temperatures are, of course, lower at altitude and in winter it can be signifi-
cantly cooler in Bambao Mtuni on Ndzuani and in La Grille and the upper
regions of Mbadjini on Ngazidja, where average temperatures in August are
below 20°.
Local variations within the islands constitute microclimates and, together
with soil types, have a corresponding impact on the archipelago’s flora.

12
 THE CONTEXT

Vegetation types are tropical subequatorial, although they have been substan-
tially modified since the arrival of humans on the islands. The original rainfor-
est, undoubtedly once extensive in higher rainfall areas on all four islands, has
effectively disappeared everywhere except for limited stands at or near the
summits of the three smaller islands (of which the most extensive is found on
Mwali, although much of Mwali’s forest is regrowth following human activity)
and a larger but still significantly reduced belt on the slopes of Karthala
between about 1200 m and 1800 m. Elsewhere, including in La Grille, the
original forest has either disappeared or been modified by the introduction of
underplanted crops such as bananas and taro. In areas where rainfall is lower
there are limited stands of dry forest, but again generally only at altitude: the
flora between sea level and 500 m is largely the result of human intervention
and a significant proportion is composed of alien species. Deforestation is a
serious problem across the archipelago, leading not only to a loss of habitat
and species diversity of both flora and fauna, but to soil erosion and the
accompanying loss of surface water: several rivers on Ndzuani, once perennial,
are now frequently dry.
Although there is a high level of species diversity across the islands—there
are an estimated 2000 plant species in the archipelago and this is certainly an
underestimate—there is a relatively low level of endemism, particularly at the
insular level. Nevertheless, a number of indigenous plants, many of which are
also found in Madagascar, have been of economic significance. Trees such as
Comorian ebony, Comorian mahogany, Comorian camphor laurel and the
takamaka were (and remain) particularly sought after for the construction of
dhows and outrigger canoes, as well as for more general construction pur-
poses. Although most species are found across the islands, Ngazidja is the only
island where the forest was commercially exploited in the colonial era, the
Comorian mahogany being the principal product.
The rainforest of the middle slopes of Karthala is much as one might imag-
ine a rainforest to be, tall trees shrouded in mist and hanging with lianas,
orchids and lichens while ferns and tree ferns grow between them. Towards
the summit of the volcano the lower temperatures mean that the forest cover
disappears and here the ground is covered in heathers and other small shrubs.
At lower altitudes, much of the area between Karthala and La Grille on
Ngazidja as well as the drier deforested areas on Mayotte and Ndzuani is grass-
land, used as pasture for cattle. Several exotic species have been widely used for
reforestation projects, including eucalypts and casuarina, and many other trees
found in the archipelago today are also introduced. Familiar and widespread

13
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

throughout the tropics, they include both food plants, such as breadfruit,
mango, coconut, fig, tamarind, banana, lychee and jackfruit, and ornamental
or utilitarian species, such as albizia, acacias, laurels, African tulip, Indian
almond, kapok and baobab. Many of these plants also provide construction
material—coconut fronds, for example, are used in housing, and the jackfruit
is particularly prized for the construction of outrigger canoes. There are some
areas of mangrove on the smaller islands, particularly Mayotte; the wood was
formerly widely used in house construction. There are also stands of giant
bamboo on Mayotte.5
A number of species introduced in the colonial period were commercially
exploited, and the presence of some of these plants has given the islands their
nickname, the Perfumed Isles: ylang ylang (an essential ingredient in per-
fumes), spices such as cloves, pepper, vanilla, nutmeg and cinnamon, and crops
such as cocoa, coffee, sisal and sugar cane were all cultivated with varying
degrees of success; several remain important today. Other species imported
following European contact with the islands include New World plants that
now form an essential part of the local diet: cassava (manioc), maize, potato,
papaya, pineapple and tomato have either replaced former subsistence crops,
such as varieties of African millets and sorghum, or supplemented them; the
mung bean and the pigeon pea are both still widely eaten, as of course are taro,
rice, coconuts and bananas, these last-mentioned all Asian crops introduced
by early settlers. In addition to utilitarian and ornamental plants there are a
number of introduced species now recognised as noxious, in particular the
(edible) strawberry guava, found on all islands and sold in hand-woven baskets
by children on the roadsides in summer; the Indian laurel, introduced to
Mayotte for firewood in the sugar industry; and vigne marronne, a bramble
related to the blackberry and also introduced to Mayotte.
One food plant that is symbolic of, if not unique to, Ngazidja is the palm-
like cycad, Cycas thouarsii, known locally as ntsambu. The origins of this plant
are somewhat enigmatic—the only naturally occurring populations elsewhere
appear to be in northern Madagascar, and since the plant’s closest relatives are
found in India and Indonesia it is thought that it was brought to the region by
Austronesian seafarers. The tree’s golf-ball-sized nut contains neurotoxin-
producing cyanobacteria which need to be destroyed by a time-consuming
process of washing and fermentation before the ntsambu is fit for human
consumption. Once processed, the nut is cooked with fish and coconut and a
little seasoning, producing a dish that generally has a characteristic pungent
odour—a particularly strong (and ripe) French cheese is a common compari-

14
 THE CONTEXT

son—and which is generally only appreciated on Ngazidja. Indeed, the plant

is culturally symbolic on the island, particularly in the northeast: oral tradi-
tions recount how it was the cause of a war at some point in the distant past
between the kingdoms of Washili, said to be the traditional home of ntsambu,
and Hamahame, whose people came and stole seeds. Today ntsambu remains
symbolic of Washili identity, despite claims over the plant by the inhabitants
of Hamahame, even if other Comorians also eat it; it is less pungent when
ground into flour and baked or boiled in water to make a gruel.
If the islands’ flora is particularly rich, the fauna (as befits young volcanic
islands) is correspondingly poor, particularly among vertebrates, although
there is a higher level of endemism among the archipelago’s fauna than among
the flora. It is estimated that as many as two-thirds of the 1200 insect species
so far enumerated are endemic, but apart from the butterflies the most visible
invertebrates are the large and ubiquitous Golden Orb Web Spiders that spin
their webs from telephone lines and power cables; there is also a Black Widow
spider, fortunately less commonly encountered. The islands are visited by
numerous migratory bird species, and non-migratory bird species include a
variety of sunbirds, flycatchers and owls; a commonly seen bird is the bright
red fody.6
The waters around the islands are reasonably well stocked with fish,
although given the lack of reefs there are, except around Mayotte, fewer reef
fish than around other Indian Ocean islands. Fish commonly seen by divers
and snorkellers, and many of them also commonly eaten, include parrotfish,
angelfish, butterflyfish and emperors; the puffer fish and various members of
the Scorpaenidae family (stonefish, scorpionfish and lionfish), all poisonous;
and groupers, sea bass, snappers and breams. Sardines, known locally as sim-
sim, are particularly abundant in the summer in shallower waters and attract
crowds of fishermen in their outrigger canoes in places like Itsandra bay on
Ngazidja. In deeper waters there is a range of species common to most tropical
waters: trevally, bonito, wahoo, various tunas and mackerel, as well as the big
game species: marlins, swordfish and barracudas. Few of these fish, with the
exception of some of the tunas, are in any way endangered and all of them are
eaten. A number of sharks and rays are found in Comorian waters and many
of the sharks are relatively common, although shark fin harvesting for the
Chinese market—now illegal in Comorian waters—has been responsible for
a decline in shark numbers over the past three decades.7
One fish that is relatively well known outside the islands is the coelacanth
(Latimeria chalumnae), one of the few living members of the Sarcopterygii

15
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

class of lobe-finned fish and something of a national symbol in the Comoros—

the national football team is nicknamed the Coelacanthes. These fish are dis-
tinguished from the majority of fish species (the ray-finned fishes) by the
possession of bony, limb-like fins that are the precursors of the limbs of ter-
restrial animals: they are therefore considered to represent an evolutionary
stage between the fishes and other vertebrates. The fish is a shiny dark-blue
colour in its natural habitat and mature specimens (the female is generally
slightly larger than the male) can measure 180 cm and reach 80 kg in weight.
Their lifespan is estimated at sixty years, and they are ovoviviparous, giving
birth to live young.
The first contemporary coelacanth recorded by science was caught in
December 1938 by a trawler off the South African coast, near the estuary of
the Chalumna River. The trawler’s captain, intrigued by the curious fish that
had turned up in his net, asked a friend who worked at the East London
Museum to have a look at it. The friend, Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer, was
unable to identify the fish but, recognising its uniqueness, had the specimen
preserved by a taxidermist while she searched through the reference books.
She finally concluded that it was a coelacanth, a fish thought to have been
extinct since the Mesozoic Era some 65 million years ago, but her identifica-
tion was dismissed by the museum’s staff, who believed it to be a rock cod.
Undaunted, she sent a sketch to Professor J.L.B. Smith, an ichthyologist at
Rhodes University in Grahamstown, who confirmed Courtenay-Latimer’s
identification, immediately and correctly recognising the fish as a coelacanth,
which he named in her honour.
The taxidermic process had destroyed all the internal organs of the fish and
a second specimen was essential to a full description of the species, but it was
not until 1952 that one was finally caught and offered to Eric Hunt, a British
ship’s captain, in Mutsamudu on Ndzuani. Hunt, alert to the search for the
fish, contacted Smith, who flew to the Comoros, took possession of the speci-
men and returned to South Africa with it. The rarity of the fish was largely due
to the inaccessibility of its habitat—the coelacanth is a nocturnal cave-dweller
that lives at depths of between 100 m and 500 m—but Comorian fishermen
had long been familiar with it: known locally as gombesa, they caught it regu-
larly if infrequently even though it is poor eating. Several more fish were
subsequently caught in Comorian waters in the 1960s and 1970s, although
attempts to maintain an individual specimen alive have systematically failed
due to the low pressure at sea level. Observation in the natural habitat has
assisted in the study of the fish, and the first film of a coelacanth in its natural

16
 THE CONTEXT

habitat, including the characteristic ‘head dance’, was made in 1986 by a team
led by Hans Fricke of Germany’s Max Planck Institute.
Apart from the first fish, however, no further specimens were caught else-
where until the mid-1990s, when two further specimens were trawled off
Madagascar. Since then coelacanths have been located off South Africa as well
as off the coasts of Kenya and Tanzania; a second species (Latimeria mena-
doensis) was identified off the northern coast of Sulawesi, Indonesia, in 1997.
Nevertheless, the coelacanth remains associated with the Comoros, where the
population has been estimated at 500 individuals.
Of the other marine vertebrates, both the green turtle and the hawksbill
turtle are found in Comorian waters: both are endangered, the latter critically
so. The green turtle nests on Mwali, where it is protected—and may be seen—
within the Mohéli National Park; fifty or so hawksbills also nest on Mwali.
Terrestrial vertebrates include a variety of reptiles, among them two species of
Phelsuma, brightly coloured day geckos, both exported for the pet trade. Some
of the smaller lizards are under threat from the now-ubiquitous common
agama, introduced from Madagascar in the colonial period.
There are several species of bats present in the archipelago, and visitors will
certainly see the large Comoros flying fox, common on all the islands and often
active during the day, particularly in summer when the mangoes ripen; the
smaller and nocturnal insectivorous bats are less easily seen but are not rare.
Less common is the Livingstone’s flying fox, which, with a wingspan of up to
140 cm, is the world’s largest bat. Considered endangered, it is endemic to the
Comoros, where there are an estimated 1200 individuals in seventeen colonies
on Ndzuani and five colonies on Mwali: it is not found on the other islands.
They are active both day and night, their principal foods being figs and kapok
flowers. In the early 1990s it was thought that their numbers were as low as 150
individuals and the British NGO Action Comores established a research,
monitoring and education plan to save the species. Their greatest threat is the
loss of habitat, particularly on Ndzuani. Breeding programmes have been estab-
lished at the Jersey and Bristol zoos and the Comorian government has estab-
lished a conservation plan, although it is hampered by a lack of funding.
All other mammals found in the Comoros seem to have been introduced.
The mongoose lemur, from Madagascar, has certainly been introduced to the
three westernmost islands, although it is not found on Mayotte, where the
common brown lemur is found. Once considered to be a subspecies of a simi-
lar species in Madagascar, the lemur found on Mayotte is no longer reckoned
sufficiently distinct from populations on the larger island to warrant taxo-

17
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

nomic differentiation, and both species of lemur found in the Comoros would
therefore appear to have been introduced by humans. The tenrec, a small
hedgehog-like animal, also of Malagasy origin, was probably introduced for
food and, despite being prohibited to Muslims, is still eaten today. Among the
recently introduced mammals, the small Indian civet is rarely seen but the
domestic mouse, the black rat and the mongoose are ubiquitous. The mon-
goose was introduced to deal with the rat problem (and, allegedly, snakes) but
appears to have had little success. There are also more common domestic
animals—dogs, cats, cattle, sheep and goats, and pigs, now feral.
In addition to the land mammals there are a number of marine mammals,
not in any sense endemic but seen with varying degrees of frequency in
Comorian waters. The dugong, once relatively common around Mwali, seems
to have been over-hunted and the population, while stable, has been signifi-
cantly reduced. There appear to be no significant numbers of dugong around
Ngazidja or Ndzuani and only a handful around Mayotte. Various species of
dolphins are often seen around the islands, including the killer whale, and
there are several species of true whales in Comorian waters: humpback whales
are a common sight during the winter migration season.
Environmental degradation and over-exploitation of resources combined
with a high level of endemism have caused some concern both locally and
internationally, and the islands are, together with Madagascar, considered one
of the world’s ‘hottest’ hotspots for conservation initiatives. As a result there
are now legal frameworks in place for the protection of the environment in
the independent islands, where the first protected area to be legally gazetted
was the Mohéli Marine Park. Created in 2001 and originally covering 404 km2
of coastline, waters and islands south and east of the island of Mwali, the park
includes the green turtle nesting areas. It was a winner of the 2002 Equator
Prize, awarded by the Equator Initiative and the United Nations Development
Programme (UNDP) to recognise outstanding community efforts at conser-
vation and the sustainable use of biodiversity. In 2015 the park was extended
to become the Mohéli National Park, and now includes a large part of the
centre of the island. In 2016 the government established a further five pro-
tected areas which are also now styled national parks: the coastline in the
north of Ngazidja around Mitsamihuli; the Coelacanthe park, in the south of
Ngazidja, where there is a coelacanth visitors’ centre; most of the upper slopes
of the Karthala volcano; the coast of the western tip of Ndzuani; and Mount
Ntringui, also on Ndzuani.
It remains to be seen whether these initiatives will be developed since the
government rarely has the resources for more than a token funding of environ-

18
 THE CONTEXT

mental management. Turtle poaching remains a serious problem on Mwali

and has occasionally led to violent confrontations between poachers and vil-
lagers, while foreign fleets overfish the Comorian economic zone with impu-
nity since the government lacks the boats to patrol the waters. Likewise, on
land, the development of a consumer society has not been accompanied by a
parallel development of waste treatment facilities, and littering and the ran-
dom disposal of waste, often over the sea walls in the larger towns, are inevita-
ble in the absence of effective waste collection and disposal mechanisms.
Much environmental work is carried out by local and international NGOs
and by volunteers rather than by the state.
Since it is part of France, the legislative framework is more extensive on
Mayotte and there are a number of managed protected areas. By far the largest
of these is the Parc Naturel Marin de Mayotte, created in January 2010, which
comprises the entire exclusive economic zone of Mayotte, some 68,381 km2
of the Mozambique Channel, including the lagoon and most of the islands
within it. Mayotte also has a network of six forestry reserves, covering 5545
hectares on the island.
Given the lack of more obvious tourist attractions in the archipelago, eco-
tourism has become one of the strategic elements in contemporary economic
development plans and is supported by the prefecture on Mayotte, the
Comorian government, and international bodies such as the European Union
and the UNDP. In 2007 several Comorian sites were added to the Tentative
Lists for inscription on the UNESCO World Heritage List: the various
marine parks; the ecosystems of Karthala, Mwali and higher-altitude land-
scapes of Ndzuani; the historic town centres of Mutsamudu, Domoni,
Itsandramdjini, Ikoni and Moroni; and the cultural landscapes of the perfume
plantations on Ndzuani. Whether any of these sites have the requisite value
and status to be listed is debatable and there has been no progress on any of
these listings.

* * *
The problems faced by the Comoros in the twenty-first century—and by
Mayotte as much as by the independent islands, even if the French island is
fortunate enough to be the beneficiary of significant French and European
investment—are the product both of the islands’ physical characteristics and
of their histories. Small volcanic islands have limited natural resources and
often suffer from their isolation: the movement of islanders is difficult and
requires effort, and while life for mainlanders may not always be easy, migra-

19
 ISLANDS IN A COSMOPOLITAN SEA

tion to better places, with perhaps more fertile soils or higher rainfall, is less
complicated. Islanders needed to build boats, seek destinations and, these
days, obtain visas. Of course, as we shall see, Comorians have done this too
over the years, just one of their strategies in the struggle for economic security.
Nevertheless, until the twentieth century not only were the islands generally
able to support their populations (periods of conflict excluded), but they
produced food and other agricultural products for export. As we observed
above, and as we shall see in the following chapters, Comorians were skilled at
developing their networks not only within the wider region but, following the
European arrival in the Indian Ocean in the sixteenth century, with the wider
world. Far from being forgotten outposts of a foreign colonial power, in cen-
turies past the Comoros were well known to Arab navigators, English civil
servants and American whalers while Comorians themselves travelled to
places as far afield as Barbados, Siberia, London and Penang. The ruling classes
were educated in Mauritius, Zanzibar or Egypt and could discuss the
American War of Independence and nautical navigation with visitors, often in
English or Portuguese if their visitors were unable to speak Arabic.
If the islands might not have been wealthy, they were certainly no worse off
than their neighbours, on the mainland or in Madagascar, and they survived
by exploiting a niche as purveyors of goods—whether locally produced or, in
the case of slaves, imported for resale—until the opening of the Suez Canal
and the era of steamships and, later, aviation finally put an end to their trading
activities. A century of economic exploitation and colonial neglect was fol-
lowed by the development of a consumer society coupled with rapid popula-
tion growth, and culminated in the chronic economic crises—or perhaps a
single, enduring economic crisis—that the islands have grappled with since
independence. Today the economy is based on a small handful of niche crops
whose prices are chronically unreliable and the remittances of a large diaspora,
most of them in France. The development of other sectors of the economy—
whether manufacturing, tourism or services—is all but impossible given the
high cost of labour, the lack of raw materials, the distance from markets, poor
communications and poor infrastructure.
More than this, however, the country is chronically mismanaged. Daily life
is often chaotic, and often seems to be getting worse: electricity and water
supplies have not been reliable since the 1980s; roads are rarely maintained
and are regularly impassable; air and sea services between the islands are fre-
quently suspended; and even the internet connection with the outside world
was cut for two days in late 2016. Salaries in the public sector often go unpaid

20
 THE CONTEXT

and foreign private investors frequently turn out to be unreliable at best, con-
men at worst. The country’s leaders lead mendicant lives, travelling to Europe
and the Arab states in quest of funds, while visitors who arrive from neigh-
bouring countries are taken aback by the absence both of facilities taken for
granted elsewhere and of the state of daily life generally. The paradox here is
that the population, well-travelled and well-educated, are well aware that
things are different elsewhere and are certainly capable of managing the coun-
try. Indeed, the surprise lies in the fact that at a local level life goes on, and
does so reasonably smoothly, even in the absence of the state.
Mayotte is somewhat different, but some of the differences are superficial.
The economy is, if anything, in even worse shape than that of the other islands
since French labour laws render even the harvest of cloves or ylang ylang unprof-
itable, and the island survives on massive subsidies from the central government
and the European Union. The acquisition of the status of French department
in 2011 has undermined many customary social and cultural practices and, to
the consternation of many, particularly the older generation, Islamic and cus-
tomary laws have been abolished, replaced by French laws and, more signifi-
cantly, the French judicial system and all that it implies: the impersonal
character of the courts, the seemingly arbitrary activities of the police force, the
need for lawyers, and the abandonment of the processes of negotiation and
mediation that characterised the pre-existing systems. Income and land taxes
are now ubiquitous; customary practices such as collective working parties are
no longer legal—legal minimum wages and taxes regulate labour, and building
codes mean that building one’s own house is no longer permitted; Islamic mar-
riages are no longer officially recognised, and polygamy is banned: the social
effects of all these changes are as disruptive as the economic ones.
The high cost of living on Mayotte—almost everything is imported—has
led to social unrest on several occasions while the higher incomes and better
social services on the island—health and education in particular—attract
migrants in their thousands from neighbouring Ndzuani, irregular under
French immigration law but, since the Comorian government does not recog-
nise the French occupation of Mayotte, not from a Comorian perspective. It
is now estimated that as many as 40 per cent of Mayotte’s inhabitants are
undocumented, and French mismanagement of these migrations has exacer-
bated an already difficult situation. Twenty thousand people are deported
annually, and those who remain are held responsible for the growing crime
rate on the island. Bands of youths—said to be immigrants despite the evi-
dence that most are locally born—roam the streets of the towns and barricade

21
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