Patterns, Features and Impacts

of rural-urban Migration in
Antananarivo, Madagascar

Luke Freeman
with
Solo Rasolofohery
and
Eli Badistinah Randriantovomanana
Patterns, Features and Impacts of rural-urban Migration in Antananarivo, Madagascar

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author would like to express his thanks to all those who helped bring this project
to fruition.

Dorothee Klaus, Director of Politique Sociale at UNICEF, Madagascar commissioned

the report and assisted in its production with her logistical support, professional
insights, useful commentary and great patience.

Solo Rasolofohery and Eli Badistinah Randriantovomanana were the most able and
charming of research assistants. They worked hard, and with tact and humility in
some very physically and emotionally challenging circumstances. We also laughed a
lot. I recommend them unreservedly for future employment.

Sophie Borreill made incisive comments on a late draft, which improved it

immensely.

The people of Antananarivo greeted our intrusions into their lives with warmth,
tolerance, hospitality and good humour. I hope this report will bring the changes to
their lives they are hoping for. It is dedicated to them, especially their children.

Luke Freeman, July 2010

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY 5
Summary of key points 8

PART ONE: AIMS, METHODOLOGY AND RESEARCH CONTEXT 9

Context and aims of the study 9
Methodology 10
Antananarivo – historical and geographical outline 15

PART TWO: MOTIVES OF MIGRANTS AND CAUSES OF MIGRATION 19

Migration in Madagascar – an overview 19
Causes of migration to Antananarivo 21
The diversity of Antananarivo‟s migrant population 24

PART THREE: KEY FACTORS FACILITATING MIGRANTS‟

INTEGRATION IN THE CITY 26
City-based networks 26
Relationship with the point of origin 33

PART FOUR: KEY FACTORS IN MIGRANTS‟ VULNERABILITY

Slave descent 37
Domestic service in unfamiliar households 39
Land loss in the semi-rural periphery of the capital 40

PART FIVE: IMPACT OF RURAL-MIGRATION ON THE CITY 43

Impact on the urban environment and infrastructure 43
Impact on social and political cohesion 46
Impact on the economy of the capital 48

RECOMMENDATIONS 52

REFERENCES 53

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EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

The purpose of the qualitative study presented here is to describe the features and
patterns of rural-urban migration amongst migrants to Antananarivo, the capital city
of Madagascar. It identifies the strategies and resources which favour successful
migration and which prevent vulnerability in a challenging urban environment. It also
notes the impacts of migration on the city in terms of infrastructure, social and
political cohesion, and economic activity.

Poverty, vulnerability and migration

The strained infrastructure of Antananarivo means that access to basic social goods
such as water, health care and education is often difficult. The social and
psychological pressures on city dwellers are numerous. In this respect, migrants are
no different than non-migrants. One of the principal findings of this research is that
poverty and vulnerability in the urban setting are not necessarily a function or
characteristic of being a migrant. Instead, for migrants and natives alike, poverty and
vulnerability arise from a lack of connection to networks of family support.

The importance of networks

This research demonstrates that those migrants who deal best with the challenges of
urban life are those who are linked in to strong networks of economic, social and
psychological support. In fact, it is these networks that enable many migrants to move
to the city in the first place. Many are based on an ongoing relationship with the point
of origin. The most vulnerable migrants are those who have never had such networks
or who have become disconnected from them.

The key factor in enabling migration and reducing vulnerability (particularly on

arrival) is the migrant‟s extended family. The vast majority of migrants encountered
in this research came to Antananarivo because they had family there to accommodate
them on arrival. Family networks also play a key role in finding work for newcomers.

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Networks beyond the family are also important. Foremost among these are migrant
associations, usually based on common origin and ethnicity. These raise money for
development projects in the region of origin and provide financial support to families,
particularly for repatriation costs in the case of a member‟s death. Migrant groups
based on common origin frequently dominate certain trades, exploiting existing bonds
of familiarity, kinship and trust. Lineage-based groups descended from a common
ancestor provide a forum for social gatherings to celebrate shared identity and
promote mutual assistance.

The tomb, lineages and ancestral land

The exploitation of symbolic and practical relationships with the migrants‟ place of
origin (the tanin’drazana – „land of the ancestors‟) is another key resource. Keeping a
piece of ancestral land provides a supplementary income. Visiting rural family and
attending tomb ceremonies are crucial factors in fostering social identity and
maintaining networks linking the country and the city.

The issue of land: scarcity, fertility and ownership

Rural poverty rates are higher than urban rates, and many migrants cite rural poverty,
particularly the insufficiency and low fertility of agricultural land, as the reason for
their migration. However, migration from a position of extreme poverty is difficult. It
is dependent upon the possession of a certain degree of material and social wealth.

Indeed, the research reveals that there are many migrants whose presence in the city is
not due to the inability of their land to support them but to its fertility, the exportable
surplus it produces, and the extended family and regional networks that enable them
to market that surplus. This creates a very dynamic economic relationship between the
city and the countryside. In this case, migration is not simply a question of flight from
rural poverty. In fact, the migrants bring the wealth of the countryside to the city.
Migration, here, is a resource rather than a last resort.

The value to migrants of rural land is highlighted by the predicament of those who do
not own it. The population most vulnerable in this context are people descended from
slaves, who do not own the land they and their ancestors have been cultivating for
decades.

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Land loss in the semi-rural periphery of Antananarivo
Another central finding of this research is that one of the greatest causes of people
losing contact with their place of origin is increased construction on agricultural land
on the periphery of Antananarivo. The current high value of the land as real estate
encourages the owners to sell to developers, leaving the occupants without resources.
Many of the homeless people living on the streets of Antananarivo have come to the
city as a last resort following the loss of their land.

Poor children employed as domestic servants

The research also identifies domestic servants as among the most vulnerable migrant
groups. Many are children or adolescents from the countryside whose families cannot
afford to raise them. The structural features of their employment can leave them prey
to neglect, abuse and isolation. This increases their vulnerability on termination of
employment.

Categories of migrant
The report also reveals the variety of forms of migration from short-term back-and-
forth migration to permanent installation that continues after retirement. There is a
widespread correlation between certain categories of migrant and their profession, the
length of their stay and their point of origin. For example, certain groups dominate in
certain professions and trades. Migrants work across the whole spectrum of
professions, although it appears a very significant number are employed in the
informal sector, particularly petty commerce.

The impact of migration on the city

This report notes some of the main effects that migration has on the city‟s
infrastructure, social fabric and economy. One of the major infrastructural challenges
identified is the pressure on accommodation. This is not always due to migration, but
the report identifies two areas where it seems closely related: student accommodation
and illegal housing constructed by members of the security and armed services.

This research reveals that the administrative procedures for counting the number of
migrants in the capital are seemingly inadequate. They are particularly

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unrepresentative due to the high number of temporary migrants who never register
with the authorities.

Investigation of the effects of migration on social and political cohesion in the capital
demonstrates that the social environment copes very well with a large and ethnically
diverse number of migrants. Cases of inter-ethnic dispute are irregular and minor.
However, the possibility exists that ethnic associations may, under certain
circumstances, orient themselves towards ethnically oriented politics.

The relationship between migration and the economy is complex. Many migrants
work in the informal sector, so it is hard to quantify their contribution. Two important
economic activities for the city that particularly involve migrants are identified: the
wholesale produce trade between the rural highlands and Antananarivo; and the
presence of export processing zones (EPZs). While the former continues to generate a
lot of economic activity, much of it controlled by migrants, the recent poor
performance of the latter has left many migrants unemployed. This is especially
worrying as many EPZ employees originate from historically vulnerable social groups
without links to social and economic networks in the city.

The report concludes with recommendations for policy action and future research.

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Summary of key points

Key migrant resources:

o Family connections, especially on arrival
o Extended regional and ethnic networks
o Economic, social and ritual connections with the „land of the
ancestors‟

Key vulnerable migrant populations:

o Landless descendants of slaves
o Peasants made landless due to urban growth in the semi-rural
periphery
o Migrants working as house servants, especially children

Key impacts on urban society and economy:

o Pressure on housing, especially among students
o Sanitation problems in areas of illicit housing built by migrants
o A dynamic economic relationship between the city and the countryside
created by the wholesale produce trade
o Labour supply to export processing zones but vulnerability of migrant
employees due to commercial downturn
o Homelessness and destitution among most vulnerable migrants

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PART ONE: AIMS, METHODOLOGY AND
RESEARCH CONTEXT

1. Context and aims of the study

This analysis examines the forms and impact of migration from rural areas on
Antananarivo, the capital city of Madagascar. Rural-urban migration challenges the
social and political set-up in both rural and urban areas. In 2005, an estimated 74 per
cent of the rural population was living below the poverty line. This is an underlying
cause of rural exodus. As migration will contribute significantly to the growth and
importance of urban centres in the coming decades, an analysis of current trends and
patterns in urban migration in Madagascar will help provide a better understanding of
challenges and opportunities ahead. Such information is a crucial prerequisite of
sound urban planning.

With these aims in mind, this research was designed to collect qualitative data on the
migrant experience, particularly on strategies that migrants employ to enable them to
settle, find work and integrate successfully in the urban environment. In so doing, the
research necessarily identifies patterns and causes of vulnerability among migrants
who struggle to achieve these ends. This information is important in preparing
interventions to support them.

The specific terms of reference on which the study was conceived are outlined below.

According to the Terms of Reference, the research would focus on:

1. patterns and features of rural-urban migration to Antananarivo
2. impacts of rural-urban migration on:
a. the urban environment and infrastructure
b. social and political cohesion and segregation
c. the economy of the capital

In so doing, the research will take into account the following features of migrant life:

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 3. housing
4. provision of water and sanitation to migrant populations
5. employment
6. the particular effects of migration on children
7. social and political integration and segregation

This analysis will also consider which factors

10. alleviate poverty and vulnerability among migrants
11. perpetuate poverty and vulnerability among migrants
12. exacerbate poverty and vulnerability among migrants

The report will provide recommendations for interventions aimed at improving the
economic and social welfare of migrants in Antananarivo.

2. Methodology

Defining migrants
In view of the many different forms that migration takes in Antananarivo, it is not
always evident which people should be classified as migrants. Factors such as
duration of stay, distance travelled, purpose of relocation, difference between origin
and location are all variables that play into the definition of migrant. For example, is a
student who has been in the city for three years more of a migrant than a cyclone
victim who will only stay for a month? After what period of time does a person
become a migrant? And does one cease being a migrant after a certain period of
installation? Is somebody who moves to central Antananarivo from the outskirts less
of a migrant than somebody from the far north? Should people who make repetitive
trips between city and countryside be classed as migrants? Do second generation
„migrants‟ count as migrants?

These questions show that the category „migrant‟ is not unproblematic. For the
purposes of this research, it was important to keep the category fairly loose. The risk
with this approach is that if the category is too loosely defined, then it may become

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redundant. At the same time, it was important to be able to take into account the
breadth of migrant experience lived in Antananarivo. In doing this it was helpful to
make reference to the variety of terms in the Malagasy language that describe
migration. The technical, sociological term is mpifindra-monina („people who change
where they live‟), but we found nobody used this in practice. People often refer to
mpitady ravin’ahitra („people seeking their fortune‟), but this tends to have
connotations of short-term migration. The term vahiny („guest‟, „stranger‟) is
sometimes heard but it carries a certain political weight as it tends to be used in
opposition to tompontany („native‟, „owner of the land‟). The most frequently used
term is mpiavy („someone from elsewhere‟, „incomer‟). It is also the term we found
most neutral in political terms and most flexible in terms of duration of stay.

These terms were useful in guiding this research towards the different personal,
political and economic circumstances that constitute the experience of migration in
the urban context. It is that range of experience which this report aims to capture.

Participant observation: suitability and limitations

As a qualitative study, the prime focus of this research was on the nature and texture
of migrants‟ lives. To do this meant becoming acquainted with individuals and
gaining a degree of trust. The ideal methodological strategy to adopt in such cases is
participant observation, as the researcher‟s participation in the informants‟ everyday
activities reduces the formality and professional distance between the parties. For
example, when it came to gaining the trust of laundresses in Antetezanfovoany our
team found that participant observation proved a useful strategy as it brought us into
the sociable and conversational world of the laundry as equals willing to create a
relationship. However, due to the busy and varied nature of urban life, it was rare that
the researchers could genuinely participate in migrants‟ lives. For example, many are
engaged in commerce, so we had to be careful that our presence in the company of
shopkeepers or street traders did not distract them from their work or jeopardise their
business.

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Eli Randriantovomanana (right) carrying out research by helping Patricia (left, aged ten) and her mother with the
washing.

Participant observation ideally takes place over a long time so that genuine
relationships of mutual understanding can develop. This has the added advantage of
allowing the researcher to check what people say against what they actually do. As a
researcher it is important to remember that people‟s descriptions of society do not
necessarily represent social reality, merely their perspective on it. They may speak in
terms of how they feel society ought to be rather than how it is. Or they may, even
unconsciously, claim that they or others subscribe to a set of moral values that they do
not actually practice. Close, long-standing relationships between researcher and
informant can expose such contradictions.

With only six weeks of research time and the necessity to cover a range of districts, it
was not possible to carry out prolonged research in any one area of with any one
group. In order to make encounters as relaxed as possible we tried to develop two-
way conversations with our informants rather than one-way interrogations. We never
used prepared questionnaires and we adopted the strategy of never taking notes in the
presence of informants as this could appear threatening, particularly to people of
limited literacy skills. We found voice recorders a very useful tool instead. It was
common for people to ask us not only the purpose of our research but also what

13
practical benefits it would bring to their lives, and we were disappointed not to be
able to guarantee any immediate tangible change in their circumstances. However,
this rarely seemed to prevent informants from interacting with us.

When beginning research in a new district we made our initial approach through
official channels, namely the president of the fokontany (the smallest urban
administrative district). The fact that we represented UNICEF greatly facilitated
access here. As well as being a matter of formal courtesy and authorising our presence
in the district, this approach enabled us to interview district officials at length. This
provided much useful information as these people spend their professional lives
working with the urban population. However, we did have certain caveats about the
reliability of the information provided. Perhaps fearing that we might be associated
with central government, officials often painted what seemed a rather rose-tinted view
of their district. For example, the fokontany staff would frequently claim that there
were no unregistered migrants in their neighbourhood, yet on inspecting the official
records we would find that an unrealistically low number of incomers had been
registered in the last six months. The bureaux de fokontany also frequently provided
staff members who showed us the neighbourhood and introduced us to local residents.
Although this was useful in authorising our enquiries we also found that the presence
of these guides (or, in their absence, our association with the bureau du fokontany and
officialdom in general) sometimes made our informants reticent to discuss certain
delicate issues. For example, under such circumstances some informants may have
been less than candid about their true residential status: it was common for migrants
to state that they were „only visiting‟ Antananarivo and that their permanent base was
in the countryside. Again, a much longer-term familiarity with the districts and their
residents would have enabled us to verify or discount such claims.

The importance of contextual and anthropological knowledge

Under such circumstances, a contextual knowledge of Malagasy society and culture is
indispensable to a sensitive and nuanced interpretation of conversations with
informants. Given the ritual and social importance of ancestral land and tombs in
Madagascar, it was natural that this topic should be a key dimension of our research
on migration. Aware of the positive moral value attributed to an ongoing attachment
to one‟s ancestral land, we were conscious that people might tend to exaggerate the

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extent of their connections or the frequency of their visits: they may be speaking of
their desires rather than their reality. This did not mean that we treated such claims
with suspicion, merely with contextual caution, as they could not be verified. It was
necessary to be sensitive when asking questions about ancestral tombs, land and
origins as such information acts as an indicator of social status. To ask somebody
where their ancestral tomb is found can be to expose embarrassing issues of social
hierarchy and inequality. This is particularly the case with descendants of slaves
(mpanompo), who, due to a long history of social and ritual exclusion, have a much
more tenuous and ambivalent relationship to aspects of ancestry than do people of
free descent. To ask them direct and specific questions about the site of their ancestral
tomb may cause discomfort or embarrassment, as it risks exposing a stigmatised
identity. We found that people of slave origin usually replied hastily and rather
vaguely to our passing enquiries about the site of their ancestral tomb.

We also had to be sensitive in how we dealt with topics related to income and
poverty. It is possible that many of our informants earned money in ways that they
were not willing to divulge to us, either out of shame or because they were afraid of
being reported to the authorities. For example, although we heard that a certain ethnic
group specialised in money lending we were unable to find any moneylender willing
to talk to us about this practice, even though it is not illegal. Similarly it was difficult
to win the confidence of sex workers, although once this was established the
conversations could become quite frank. It was more difficult, though, to establish a
clear idea of the circumstances under which sex workers had started to work as
prostitutes. This is probably due to the complex and difficult personal and family
situations that lead to such a decision.

Monique, came to Antananarivo from the Toliara region when her parents died. She lived with an aunt
but fell out with her and was abandoned by her boyfriend when he discovered she was pregnant. Four
months after her son was born she took up work as a prostitute in a bar in Behoririka, a popular district
in the centre of the city. It was hard to start with: “I had to put up with a lot of aggression from the
other girls but I don‟t fight because the clients are put off by the bruises.” She charges 10-15,000 ariary
($US 4.4-6.6) per client (more for women and foreigners), but some days has no clients at all. Monique
rarely goes back to the south. “Life is cheap there, but there is nothing to eat,” she says. “I want my
little boy to eat and go to school.”

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Our research brought us into contact with some of the most impoverished of
Antananarivo‟s residents. We were conscious that in many cases time spent with us
could reduce the time available for making a living. We did not feel that it
compromised our research to make a small gift of rice or money if it seemed
appropriate. Sometimes we were so moved by the degree of poverty that debates
about research protocol and efficiency seemed misplaced. Our strategy was to engage
with people on a human level, to enter into exchanges of information, time,
conversation, cash or food in whatever way seemed fair and appropriate. There are
few better research strategies than showing a genuine interest and engagement in
people‟s lives. The research team all embraced this human engagement, and it is this
that in the end has provided a wealth of reliable data despite the caveats and
limitations listed above.

Composition and work of the team

The research team comprised a principal researcher (the author of this report) and two
co-researchers. The principal researcher is a professional academic anthropologist
with over 12 years‟ experience conducting research in Madagascar. He speaks
Malagasy fluently. The co-researchers are Malagasy nationals with post-graduate
qualifications in anthropology and sociology.

The research team: Solo Rasolofohery, Luke Freeman and Eli Randriantovomanana

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The research was carried out over six weeks in April-May 2010 in various districts of
Antananarivo (see below) selected for their high proportion of resident migrants.
Interviews were rarely pre-arranged. Instead, the team engaged people in
conversation, explaining the aim of the research and its sponsors. As well as migrants,
the research engaged with figures possessing special knowledge of the migrant
context, such as church leaders, and local government officials. Interviews lasted as
long as both parties felt comfortable. Depending on the length of the interview,
between five and twenty interviews were conducted daily. The informants were
chosen to ensure a wide range of profiles, such as age, gender, background, profession
and length of stay in Antananarivo.

Selection of districts for study

Districts for study were chosen on the basis of a range of information: published
sources, statistical data, personal knowledge of the principal researcher, and a
preliminary study conducted by the two national researchers.

The districts intially chosen were: 67 Hectares, Andoharanofotsy, Ampasanimalo,

Anteteanfoavoany, Behoririka, Mandrangombato and Soavimasoandro. Other districts
that came to the researchers‟ attention as the investigation progressed were added on
an ad hoc basis.

This research project focussed on districts in the basse ville as this is where the
majority of migrants settle. The following historical and geographical profile of
Antananarivo explains this choice.

4. Antananarivo – an historical and geographical outline

The city of Antananarivo became the capital of the Kingdom of Imerina under the
rule of King Andrianampoinimerina, who reigned from 1794-1810. The original
settlement was built on top of the hill of Anjalamanga as this high position provided
both a natural vantage point to survey the surrounding land and a means of defence

17
against enemy attack. Over the years the city has spread down the hillside and across
the surrounding plains and marshes with the result that the conurbation is composed
of an haute ville and a basse ville.

The spatial and social distinction between ‘haute ville’ and ‘basse ville’
This spatial distinction has its origins in the principles of socio-spatial arrangement
employed by the early monarchs who settled the site. Living at the top of the hill was
the prerogative of the king; below him dwelt those groups allied to him through blood
or marriage; further down were commoners of lower status, and lowest of all were the
slaves of the royal household and rice fields. Alongside this altitudinal mapping of
hierarchy there operated a cosmological division of lived space which associated the
cardinal points with certain positive and negative values. For example, the eastern
quarters of the capital were associated with the sacred power of the royal ancestors,
and the west with things and people considered impure and profane
(Andrianaivoarivony 1998). Accordingly, the noble clans were attributed land to east
of the palace, while commoners and slaves were situated to the south and the west
(Fournet-Guérin 2004:4). In many ways this hierarchical arrangement of urban space
is still relevant today as the distinction between haute ville and basse ville maps
differences in social class, wealth, infrastructural provision and political influence.

As the haute ville is seen as the domain of long-established higher-class families, and
the price of land and accommodation is high, it is in the basse ville that the majority
of the migrants who come to Antananarivo settle. This is a typical pattern of
migratory settlement in the Malagasy highlands whereby it is traditionally the owners
of the land (tompontany) who occupy the original hilltop settlement. Any newcomers
(vahiny) whom the autochthonous population permit to stay by are granted land below
the main village. The settlement of Antananarivo reflects this distinction, and for
many residents of the haute ville anybody living in the basse ville is de facto an
incomer, even if their family has resided there for several generations (Fournet-
Guérin 2004).

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The basse ville seen from the haute ville

The haute ville: old bourgeoisie and few migrants

The haute ville includes all the quarters that lie along the ridge that forms the Y-
shaped backbone of the city. In these upper districts are the original residential
quarters of the Merina bourgeoisie, and many of the fine wooden-balconied brick
houses have been passed down by families of noble descent. The royal palace itself is
situated at the top of the town, and is visible from nearly all the quarters of the basse
ville. The palace of the nineteenth-century prime minister, Rainilaiarivony, stands
nearby. Districts such as Faravohitra, which were favoured by nineteenth-century
missionaries for their fresh air and distance from the malarial swamps in the valley
bottom, are still desirable and wealthy. Most of the houses have running water and
electricity. The haute ville also extends to the government and business district of
Antaninarenina, where the current presidential palace of Ambohitsorohitra, formerly
the residence of the colonial governor, is situated. For these reasons, the haute ville is
considered the „historic‟ Antananarivo, home to the descendant‟s of the city‟s
founding families, and the original and natural seat of power.

The basse ville: many migrants and poor infrastructure

By contrast, the basse ville is the area of the new, expanded and overcrowded city.
This part of Antananarivo is built on the fringes of the marshy rice plain of

19
Betsimitatatra. Consequently, in the rainy season its poorest quarters are vulnerable to
flooding from the canals that irrigate the rice fields within the city limits. Some parts
of this basse ville, such as 67 Hectares, were built by the state as housing projects, and
are supplied with water and electricity. Other districts are the urban remnants of
former villages. But a large part of the basse ville is composed of the chaotic spread
of unlicensed construction. In these districts infrastructure is limited, and public
hygiene is threatened by overcrowding and lack of water and sanitation provision. It
is generally in these poorer quarters that immigrants to Antananarivo settle. It was for
this reason, that the research concentrated on the basse ville.

Children playing by the canal which flows through the fokontany of Antetezanfoavoany. In the rainy
season this open sewer floods into the nearby houses.

This part of the city also houses a significant population of descendants of former
slaves, whose low social and economic status makes them particularly vulnerable to
urban poverty. This group have been historically vulnerable because, despite the
abolition of the institution of slavery by the French colonial government in 1896, they
have never owned their own land. Throughout the rural highlands, members of this
group have made their living since abolition by sharecropping or working for wages
on the fields of their former masters. This is not possible in Antananarivo as the rice
fields that formerly provided such people with labour have been drained and built

20
upon as the city has developed. Consequently, over the course of the last century, this
former slave caste has been transformed from rural serfs to urban proletariat. They are
highly represented among the urban poor.

The basse ville is the area of the capital that has expanded most rapidly over the past
century. In the early twentieth century the population was about 50,000 but it had
risen to 200,000 by independence in 1960 (Ramamanjisoa 1998:113). At the
beginning of the century the capital was prey to epidemics of malaria and influenza,
but an increasingly proactive urban health policy soon led to a diminishing death rate
and an increasing birth rate (Ralaikoa & Rainibe 1998:104). The other factor in
population increase was rural-urban migration for reasons of trade, civil service
employment and education.

The growth of the capital obliged the colonial administration to make major
infrastructural improvements to the city. Among other projects, a large underground
drain was installed, the major staircases and roads linking the upper and lower town
were built, and road tunnels were drilled through the mountain to link the city with
outlying districts. But less was done in the rapidly expanding popular western quarters
such as Isotry, squashed between the railway line and the canal of Andriantany and
swelled by migrants serving the markets of nearby central Antananarivo and the
warehouses erected in proximity to the railway line. The post-independence
construction of housing schemes of Ampefiloha and 67 Hectares brought a degree of
order to the westward creep of the basse ville but the predominant pattern remains one
of haphazard construction on poorly drained marshland.

Population growth and poverty rates

By 2005 the population of Antananarivo had reached 1 million at an average density
of 12,000 people per km2, compared to rural population density of 30 people per km2
(Waltisperger 2005:44). Since the early 1970s Madagascar has been regularly beset
by political and economic crisis, resulting in a 45% drop in GNP between 1971 and
1995 (USAID 2002). The 2005 World Bank poverty statistics for Madagascar put
GNI at $290, with 68.7% living in poverty (World Bank/Evers 2006). The urban
poverty rate is 52% versus 77% for the rural population (USAID/Evers 2002),
although of course these figures do not reveal the wider gap between rich and poor

21
which is evident in Antananarivo. Nor do they indicate the different nature of rural
and urban poverty and the corresponding problems and degrees of vulnerability
associated with each.

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PART TWO: MOTIVES OF MIGRANTS AND
CAUSES OF MIGRATION

1. Migration in Madagascar – an overview

There is a long history of migration in Madagascar. Over the centuries people have
migrated for reasons of trade, climatic upheaval, political dissent, imperial expansion,
labour, conflict and subsistence (Deschamps 1959).

There is a very wide range of migratory movements in contemporary Madagascar.

The volcanic western plains receive large numbers of migrants seeking better
agricultural land than they find at home in the dry south or the crowded highlands.
Industrial mining and the search for semi-precious stones create new ethnically mixed
populations all over the island. Seasonal agricultural migration attracts peasants to the
rice plains of Ambatondrazaka and Betsioboka. Cyclonic devastation temporarily
displaces people from the east coast on an almost annual basis.

Rural-urban migration is part of this wider pattern of national movement. It has

developed particularly since the early colonial era.

Motives for migration

There are as many reasons why people migrate as there are migrants. Nevertheless, it
is still possible to ascertain patterns in the reasoning that migrants use to explain and
justify their decision to migrate. In doing this it is important not to assume (as neo-
classical economic theory has tended to do) that migrants‟ decisions are simply based
on pursuit of their exclusive personal utility via economic maximisation.

Instead, a wider sociological perspective takes into account the range of constraints
that act upon individual rationality. This means that while migrants may have
individual motivations for migrating, the rational decisions they make are based on –
and influenced by – social considerations such as obligations to their family, or issues
of prestige and social worth. These factors may act as encouragement or impediments

23
to migration – or both. For example, in some social contexts migration may be
considered a sign of prestige, yet in others it could be seen as shameful.

The ways in which migrants‟ motives are shaped, furthered and constrained by their
social context are not always easy to identify. People are not always willing to admit
to the social circumstances in which their migration takes place. This could be the
case with people who have migrated due to family dispute. Further, people are not
always clear in their own minds why they have migrated, or at least they may find the
reasons difficult to verbalise. Or they may talk in terms of individual projects while
ignoring the structures and mechanisms of social support that enabled them to make
that move. Similarly, they may be influenced by, but unaware of, a range of social and
cultural factors, such as a local or family tradition of migration, that helped form their
decision to migrate and facilitated the migratory process.

Malagasy society has been shaped by a historical propensity for migration and
movement, both of groups and individuals. The reasons that migrants give for
migrating must be understood in this cultural context. For example, as children grow
up they see co-villagers or elder siblings move away, some of whom return and others
who don‟t. All over Madagascar it is normal for men in their late teens to leave home
to seek their fortune (mitady ravinahitra) usually in preparation for marriage. This
may take a variety of forms depending on their region of origin, their expertise and
the economic means at their disposal. For example, among the Betsileo of the
southern highlands, it is common for young men who have a certain level of
education to work as small traders in the south and west of the island, while less
educated men migrate to the rice basins of Ambatondrazaka in the eastern highlands
or Marovoay in the northwest. On the other hand, some Antandroy from southern
Madagascar spend a part of their young adulthood as pousse-pousse operators in
coastal cities while others earn money as long-distance cattle drovers. Such migration
is not simply economically motivated: there is also an element of personal challenge
and desire to experience the new in unfamiliar regions that is considered typical of
young Malagasy men (Bloch 1999). It could be seen as a rite of passage that takes
people away from the homeland prior to resettlement in it. Return, however, is not
always the case, as a temporary migration may become permanent.

24
It is important to take such personal and cultural factors into account as they indicate
that rural-urban migration is not simply a recent phenomenon attributable purely to
the increasing economic opportunities and attractions of the city or to the economic
limitations of the countryside. It is part of a set of long-established cultural
expectations about becoming a social person. Nevertheless, urban wealth and rural
poverty are undeniable factors, and they are the reasons most often cited for rural-
urban migration. According to results from the UN McRAM household survey on
Antananarivo, the main reason for migration to Antananarivo from a rural area is
economic (40%) followed by marriage and the desire to rejoin the family (20% each).

Factors facilitating migration: a common language and the ‘ancestral land’

The fact that Madagascar uses a common language (albeit with different dialects) is
no doubt a product of this long history of movement. It is also a factor that encourages
migration and facilitates integration. The prevalence throughout the island of the idea
of „the land of the ancestors‟ (tanin’drazana) testifies to the importance of a fixed
point or origin for people accustomed to movement. Belonging to a particular place
marked by the presence of ancestors provides psychological reassurance to migrants
who may be leaving home for years. This is heightened by the near certainty of
knowing that on death they will be buried in the ancestral tomb.

2. Causes of migration to Antananarivo

Scarce land and poor soil in the highlands

Many migrants from the highlands cite two elements of rural poverty as causes of
migration: lack of available land, and low soil fertility. The intensive rice cultivation
that characterises much of Madagascar‟s high plateau has led to very high population
densities (Raison 1984(2):380). As land is generally inherited equally between
siblings, it only takes a few generations for a tract of agricultural land once capable of
sustaining a family for a year to become so fragmented that it barely suffices for a few
months. Migration can be one means of alleviating this problem as migrants who
leave often make their land available to remaining family members. However, they
generally return at harvest time to demand a share of the produce.

25
Intensive cultivation near Fandriana in the southern highlands

The problem of low soil fertility is not universal in the highlands, as some areas
benefit from rich volcanic soil. However, in those regions without naturally high
fertility, farmers are obliged to use fertiliser to increase yields. At the time of writing,
a kilo of chemical fertiliser cost 2000 ariary (US$ 0.88), slightly more than an
agricultural labourer‟s daily wage, a price beyond the reach of most small farmers.
While natural manure is better for the soil it requires the possession of livestock,
which only wealthier peasants can afford. Indeed, rural-urban migrants often invest
their wages in cattle as these retain and increase value efficiently and have the added
advantage of providing fertiliser.

Land loss due to urban expansion

It is in the nature of cities to expand into the surrounding countryside. Land in the
semi-rural periphery of Antananarivo is growing in value as the demand for land on
which to build increases. Many landowners now find that the agricultural revenues of
their land are inferior to those that can be gained by selling it to property developers.
This leads to the displacement of the rural population, many of whom are tenants or
sharecroppers whose means of livelihood vanishes when the land is sold. Our research
found many people living destitute on the streets of the capital who had been
dispossessed in this way. This situation is described in detail in Part Four.

26
Climatic factors affecting the coasts and the south: a cause of more temporary
migration
The two main climatic drivers of rural-urban migration in Madagascar are cyclones
and drought. Cyclones hit the island‟s coast (particularly the east coast) yearly in the
period between January and March, devastating crops and damaging housing. Every
year the commune of Ampasanimalo in Arrondissement II of Antananarivo receives a
significant influx of migrants from the southeast. Most of these migrants stay with
family members in the capital and work in the unofficial sector, but according to local
accounts they only stay a few months until the situation stabilises in their region of
origin.

Migrants fleeing drought originate mainly from the south. This year (2010) there has
been a significant rise in the number of young Antandroy men arriving to sell
newspapers on the streets of Antananarivo. It has proved very difficult to gain reliable
information about the intended duration of these people‟s stay.

Economic and social opportunity: a general motive for short, seasonal and long-
term migrations
While rural poverty and climatic upheaval may be „push‟ factors in rural-urban
migration, there are also significant elements about life in Antananarivo that create a
„pull‟ on rural populations. One important factor is the wide range of economic
opportunities available in the city compared to the narrow reliance on agriculture.
Many of these opportunities are found in the informal sector: street trading, casual
manual labour, portering, laundering, housework, begging and prostitution are all
common income generating strategies favoured by migrants that are not available in
the rural milieu. Migrants may engage in several such activities simultaneously as
diversification of income is crucial in circumstances of economic instability. The term
„opérateur économique‟ is now commonly applied as a deliberately vague means of
describing the diverse economic strategies of people working in the informal sector.
The formal sector also presents opportunities, but these tend to be accessed by
migrants with higher levels of education and/or with a family or regional tradition in
certain functions. For example, the northern Betsileo are very highly represented in

27
the civil service, and migrants from the southeast frequently join the army and
security services.

The house of a wealthy cloth merchant built in his ancestral land near Andriamasina

The social opportunity most cited by migrants as a reason for coming to Antananarivo
is for the education of their children. There is a general perception that schooling is of
a higher quality in the capital than in the provinces, which may account for the
decision of many migrants to bring their spouse and children to live with them in the
city. On the other hand, some migrants say the purpose of their migration is to pay for
schooling in their region of origin. It is unlikely, though, that people choose to
migrate solely in order to provide better education for their children. It may be one
among a range of benefits of migration, but it is hard to verify whether it is a principal
motivating factor.

Whether or not educational provision is superior in the city, it is worth noting the
common perception that the city provides opportunities for personal and social
development in the widest sense. An urban pastor responsible for a centre that trains
young women in practical skills for income generation stated that migration is held as
a positive value by the rural youth, who seek out urban fashion and a faster pace of
life. A driver from Sambava in his early twenties, unemployed since he came to

28
Antantanarivo a year ago, said he was in the city to learn about life: „At home
[Sambava] you always do the same thing and the only experience you have is in
agriculture. There is nothing to do except look at the forest all day. Here you can
develop your mind.‟

3. The diversity of Antananarivo’s migrant population

The capital‟s geographic location at the centre of the island facilitates migration from
all over the country, creating a very mixed migrant population. Although the majority
of migrants come from the highlands around the capital, there are nevertheless
significant populations from the provinces and the coast. Many of these people come
initially to Antananarivo to study at university and then remain. Migrants from certain
ethnic groups show a preference for particular forms of employment. For example,
people from the southeast are heavily represented in the security forces. Antandroy
men have traditionally worked as guardians in the capital although they are now
increasingly involved in the scrap metal trade, and a new influx of young men are
involved in newspaper selling. Many educated Betsileo from the southern highlands
specialise in white-collar work. Migrants from the central highlands around
Antananarivo dominate the wholesale produce trade.

As well as coming from diverse geographical origins, migrants also differ according
to the length of time they stay in the capital. They can be divided into long-term,
short-term and seasonal migrants. Long-term migrants include many white-collar
workers, former students who have stayed on after their studies, as well as soldiers
and civil servants. Short-term migrants include people temporarily fleeing cyclones
and drought, as well as people visiting family and transport workers such as lorry and
taxi-brousse drivers. Seasonal migrants are mostly agricultural workers who come to
the city to earn money as itinerant street sellers, usually in the food trade. These
categories are not rigid, and a migrant may make the transition from one category to
another if the opportunity or need arises.

Migrants in Antananarivo are found at all levels of society, from all backgrounds and
all regions. However, due to the fact that many come from poor rural backgrounds,

29
they tend to be concentrated in the poorer districts of the capital. These migrants are
confronted daily with the difficulties and stresses of living in areas where access to
sanitation, water and secure housing is limited and where exposure to poverty, disease
and crime is high. These problems, however, are not unique to migrants: many
established residents of Antananarivo live in similar conditions. One of the principal
findings of this research is that poverty and vulnerability in the urban setting are not
necessarily a function or characteristic of being a migrant: there are many migrants
who prosper in Antananarivo and there are many natives of the capital who do not.
In both cases, those who show least vulnerability are those with recourse to family
networks of support. For many recent migrants these networks extend back to their
point of origin and are crucial to their installation and prosperity in the capital.

30
PART THREE: KEY FEATURES FACILITATING
MIGRANT INTEGRATION AND SUCCESS IN
THE CITY

The evidence collected in the course of this research shows that the dominant feature
of rural-urban migration in Madagascar is the use migrants make of family
connections. This is the strongest factor in enabling migration and in reducing
vulnerability on arrival. Indeed, it could almost be said to be a pre-requisite of
migration, for we found very few migrants who came to Antananarivo without using
family networks for support.

A second important feature is the existence of various forms of migrant association,

usually based on common origin and ethnicity. Rather than being the initial means by
which people come to Antananarivo (as is the case with family networks), these
associations tend to provide support for migrants once settled. They operate on a
wider political level than the family networks.

The third important factor links the previous two. This is the relationship to a
particular place of origin known as the „land of the ancestors‟ (tanin’drazana). The
ability to exploit these links both economically and socially is critical to successful
migration.

All these factors indicate the importance of belonging to and building networks. The
various forms they take are described below.

1. City-based networks

The family
There is one clear and common strategy used by migrants coming to Antananarivo:
they make use of family connections. Malagasy families tend to be large, and there
exists a pronounced ethic – which is generally observed – of family solidarity. This,

31
however, does not mean that tensions and breakdown do not exist, but it is clear that
those migrants with the biggest networks of family connections are those who are
least vulnerable and most able to succeed. Connected to the use of the extended
family as a resource for migration is the emphasis placed on, and use made of, an
ongoing relationship with the place of origin. This connection, which is maintained in
a range of practical and symbolic ways, is not, as we shall see, completely
unproblematic. But in general our research shows that economic and cultural ties to
the ancestral land provide migrants with economic, social and psychological strategies
for urban survival not available to those who have lost that connection.

The first point at which family connections are useful for the migrant is on initial
arrival in the city. The vast majority of our informants said that their first lodging was
with urban-based family members. How long they stay depends factors such as how
long it takes to find work, the number of people in the residence and whether the
migrant intends to bring their family to join them in town.

Another way that urban-based families provide a resource to migrants is in finding

employment. Many families specialise in certain professions and introduce family
members into the business and provide apprenticeships. For example, the business of
food and catering in Antananarivo tends to be dominated by families from the central
highlands to the south of the capital. Our research found that as family businesses
expand they draw upon family members to supplement their workforce. Migrants,
asked why they practise a certain trade, frequently responded that they entered
directly into the business of an elder brother or parents-in-law or other member of the
extended family. It is much easier for the migrant to follow this route than to find
commercial networks (lalam-barotra) independently.

Raniry and her husband Naivo came to Antananarivo five years ago and make their living from
charcoal and potatoes respectively. Naivo has a brother with a lorry who brings potatoes from their
region of origin near Faratsiho. Naivo sells about a ton of potatoes per week in the big market at
Anosibe. Raniry buys her charcoal from wholesalers on the outskirts of the city. She has established
relations of trust with her supplier, which means she only pays once she has sold the charcoal.
Depending on the quality of the charcoal, she makes a profit of between 1000 and 2000 ariary ($US
0.4-0.8) per sack, and sells on average 20 sacks a day. They rent the small plot from which Raniry sells
charcoal and live in a small shack perched on stilts above the dust of the yard. They have electricity

32
and a television but their water comes from the communal tap at the cost of 10 ariary per bucket. The
family‟s connections with their area of origin and family there are still very strong. Their eldest child is
still living with his grandparents and attending school in their village of origin. It is clear that the
extended network of family support and economic cooperation is a very important factor in their
relative prosperity.

It is generally expected of established urban-based families that they will provide

support and accommodation to rural family members coming to the city. As one
migrant from the southeast said, „There is no university where my family come from.
As the eldest brother I feel obliged to take them in, otherwise they could not study.‟
Given the strong stream of Malagasy rhetoric on the theme of family love (fitiavan-
kavana) it is unsurprising that failure to provide that support can be viewed very
negatively indeed. But the extent and duration of that support is always under
negotiation and it became apparent from our enquiries that host families feel the
burden of this responsibility. As one long-term migrant from Antsiranana confided,
„We don‟t have much money in our family because we help out other relatives too
much.‟ He told the story of a friend who left Antananarivo because he was unable
financially to support the number of relatives who had moved in with him and his
wife: the daily cost of rice alone was too much.

This seems an extreme case, although occasional gripes about the difficulties of
accommodating kin probably balance out the positive rhetoric. In the long term,
though, people realise that such support works on a principle of generalised
reciprocity: that is to say, urban hosts accommodating new arrivals from the
countryside were once new migrants themselves in need of housing and the fact that
they were received generously has no doubt influenced their willingness (or sense of
obligation) to take in family in turn.

The presence of urban-based family does not just provide practical support to
migrants. Another key role that it plays is in facilitating social and psychological
integration. It was very noticeable that very few migrants mentioned problems of
alienation, loneliness in their new urban environment. Instead, they mentioned fairly
superficial problems of adaptation such as high population density, unfamiliar dialects
and the fear of thieves. Most said that they overcame these difficulties within three

33
months. The fact is, they said, you soon get used to living in a new place. As the
Malagasy proverb says, „Ny tany ipetrahana no mahazatra’ – the place you live in
makes you adapt.

The reason for the easy psychological adaptation to the city is the presence of family.
Integration is not really an issue for migrants with urban family because they are
already integrated into that unit before they arrive. It was the fact of being already
integrated into a family that enabled the migration in the first place. It is easy for a
migrant to feel they belong when the people to whom they belong are already in the
city. With family in the city, the city soon becomes like home. It is those migrants
lacking this basic human resource that are most vulnerable to the psychological and
social pressures of migration.

One migrant context in which such isolation is common, and frequently leads to
difficulties, is in the employment of house servants. These are usually poor young
rural women who are not related to the family in which they work. Some come from
poor families in the same village of origin as their employers; others find work with
strangers through an agency. It is the latter group who tend to be the more vulnerable.
Our research found that many of the poorest and most vulnerable migrant women in
Antananarivo (including prostitutes, rubbish pickers and beggars) claimed previously
to have been employed as house servants. They cited ill treatment from their
employers, non-payment of wages and the impossibility of returning home as the
main reasons for leaving their work. Some claimed to have been cast out onto the
street. It is of course impossible to verify these accounts, and conditions of
employment and treatment vary enormously between employers. For this reason, and
given their potential vulnerability, further research into the connection between house
servants‟ origins, their experience in employment and their lives after employment is
badly needed.

Extended family networks

The importance of mutual support as a migration strategy extends beyond the limits of
the close family. It is particularly evident amongst traders. The case of a dry goods
wholesaler from Toliara working at the market in Anosibe illustrates how wider
networks of kin have been integral to his success in trade. His produce comes from all

34
over the country: butterbeans from Mahajanga, maize from Morondava, manioc from
Tsiroanomandidy. Although he is Mahafaly in origin, his wife is Betsileo from
Sandrandahy, a region that exports a large number of migrants to agricultural zones in
the north and west of the island. The merchant‟s wife‟s family connections and ethnic
identity shared with these Betsileo agricultural migrants gives her access to a range of
reliable suppliers for her husband‟s business. It is the ability to access this wider
network that is key to his business success. While many of the suppliers his wife deals
with were not originally kin, he says that through business contact they are becoming
like kin, such is the degree of mutual trust created over years of trading. This is an
important feature of the way that networks function: the wider a person‟s network the
more able they are to attract people into it and the faster and wider it grows.

A Mahafaly dry goods merchant and his assistant at the Anosibe wholesale market

This fact is also clearly illustrated by the way that wholesale fruit and vegetable
traders from the Vakinankaratra region operate. From their base in Antananarivo,
these merchants are in close and regular contact with a network of producers growing
seasonal produce in this fertile part of the central highlands, a day‟s lorry journey
from the capital. The producers operate in small village-based cooperatives to share
the costs of transporting their goods to Antananarivo. When the lorries have delivered

35
their produce to the trader at Anosibe wholesale market, they are reloaded with
consumer goods to be sold back in the rural region.

The fertile land around Antsirabe provides much of the agricultural produce consumed in
Antananarivo

This example shows clearly how the city-based migrant merchants‟ trade is dependent
upon their rural kin networks. Without this they would not be able to prosper in
Antananarivo. In this case, migrants rely for their installation in Antananarivo not just
on other urban-based relatives but on those that stay behind. It is the human resources
they tap in their region of origin that enables them to prosper in the city. And in
contrast to other regions of the highlands, where it is the poor fertility of the land that
drives people to the city, in the case of Vakinankaratra it is the high productivity of
the soil that creates rural-urban migration. The situation created by this trade is one of
bi-local families whose strength lies in the split residence of their members and the
cycle of trade they manage between two locations.

Formal associations
Another important factor in the creation of networks of support is the existence of
migrant associations. These operate at different levels: at the most general level are
associations for people of the same ethnic group or region; at a more local level, there

36
exist associations of people belonging to a particular tomb group or even to a group of
expatriate siblings.

Ethnic and regional associations

In Antananarivo all of the 18 recognised ethnic groups have migrant associations.
They operate along similar principles but their activities may be tailored to the
specific needs of their membership group, as is the case with students described
below. A typical example of an ethnically based association is that of Antandroy
migrants. It organises social events to raise money for projects in the south and for
mutual support in the city. These events include traditional Antandroy dance (there is
a dedicated troupe) and Antandroy food such as varanga. They may also function to
arrange and regulate marriages between members. One element of the marriage is the
payment of the bride price. In the south this would normally take the form of cattle,
but in the city the sum is settled in cash at the current rate of 1 million ariary (US$
444), per beast. Along with marriage, the other important social event that the
associations handle is death, particularly repatriation of the corpse. This is one of the
greatest expenses that a migrant family is likely to incur, as the taxi-brousse fare for
dead bodies is double the normal passenger fare. Members of the association pay a
monthly subscription to cover these expenses in the event of the death of one of its
members. Typical subscriptions are currently 1000 ariary (US$ 0.44) per month.

Student associations
Student associations exist because migrant students have specific needs due to their
low income and particular issues around the provision of housing. These associations
tend to be based on towns of origin rather than ethnic groups (for example, AEFA:
Association des Etudiants venant de Farafangana; or FIMPIAFA: Fikambanan‟ ny
mpiantratr avy any Fandriana). The principal objective of these groups is to ensure
accommodation for their members in a climate of great scarcity. The reasons for this
scarcity are outlined in Part Four. Associations hold blocks of rooms in university
accommodation, which they ensure pass between members when one leaves. Without
this assistance, students may be forced into overpriced and substandard lodgings and
suffer isolation from the peers and compatriots in an unfamiliar urban setting. Student
associations played a major role in the 1970s in persuading the government to permit
students to buy apartments belonging to public housing constructed in the district of

37
67 Hectares. Although this move served student interests at the time, it has in the long
run diminished the amount of dedicated student accommodation in the capital.
Secondly, associations also finance repatriation of dead bodies as described above.
The subscriptions fees (necessarily low for students) are supplemented through
money raising events such as cake sales and dinner dances etc. The third main
objective of student associations is to offer study support to members through private
courses or peer learning events. Such support is vital given the context of over-
subscribed degree courses and the consequent inaccessibility of academic staff.

Descent groups
The ancestral tomb situated in the „land of the ancestors‟ (tanin’drazana) is a key
point of reference for Malagasy people‟s identity. This is evident in the amount of
ritual and social activity that occurs around the tomb and the importance placed on the
repatriation of corpses even of people who have lived for years away from the
ancestral land or may have never lived there at all. It has been argued that this sense
of knowing where one is going to be buried, this certainty of a fixed location in death,
liberates Malagasy people to live fluid and itinerant lives (Bloch 1971).

Migrant associations based around descent from a common ancestor do not

necessarily have a formal structure or even regulated subscription. They function
rather to create an idea of common origin and shared identity. The unifying factor is
either a certain tomb or even a named ancestor (these often amount to the same thing,
since important ancestors often give their names to tombs) from which members can
demonstrate descent. As descent passes through both male and female lines, and as
people are obviously descended from more than just one ancestor, there is a great deal
of freedom and flexibility in terms of which descent group a person belongs to.
Indeed, it is possible to belong to several at the same time.

The obvious advantages of strength in numbers lead people to coalesce around

influential and prolific ancestors. The descent group of Ramaro (a pseudonym)
illustrates this. Ramaro, who was born some time around 1885 in the Fianarantsoa
region, worked as an inspector of schools. He had 13 children from three wives. The
association of descendants of Ramaro today has over 100 members in Antananarivo,

38
mostly three or four generations removed from the founding ancestor. Ramaro‟s
grandson (the first son of his first son) holds an influential government post, and it is
easy to see the advantages that connections with such a person may confer. But the
real strength of the descent group lies not in connections to individuals, but in the
network of extended family it provides. Fellow members are not necessarily people
one sees every day, but they are there and a common connection can be invoked if
necessary. These networks operate on an ideational level by fostering a solid sense of
social identity as well as at a practical level by helping people to find accommodation,
employment or even a suitable spouse.

39
2. Relationship with the point of origin

Despite the fact that lineage-based associations operate in the urban context, it is their
rural origin that gives them their coherence. Our research revealed clearly that even
those migrants firmly established in the city still maintain close ties to their place of
origin, particularly if they are first generation migrants. This tie can be maintained by
various strategies, of which the principle means are: ownership of agricultural land;
participation in tomb upkeep and rituals; and visiting rural-based family. Of course in
practice these strategies overlap, but the factor that links them is the idea that people
belong to a particular place even if they no longer live in it. This idea is maintained by
the presence of physical ancestors buried in tombs. Naturally there are regional
differences in the degree to which these strategies are adopted but in all cases the link
between agricultural land, living people and dead ancestors creates a dynamic social
context that migrants both exploit as a resource and feel as a constraint. Overall,
though, the opportunities created by maintaining a connection to the „land of the
ancestors‟ outweigh the constraints this connection might impose. The benefits of
these connections are particularly evident when considered in relation to the case of
those migrants for whom such links are weak, diminished, or barely existent.

The economic value of land

One key resource is the ownership of agricultural land in the place of origin. Most
migrants of free descent from the highlands have ownership of (or cultivation rights
to) at least a small plot of land, usually including some rice fields. The fact that this
land is insufficient for survival is a common reason for migration in the first place.
But at the same time that very land can be an enabling factor in migration. It is used in
different ways for different reasons.

Migrants with land in their home village do not leave it fallow. They arrange for it to
be cultivated by family members resident in the village or by sharecroppers or wage
labourers. In the first two cases, this entitles the owners to a share of the harvest. The
negotiations for this division and the collection of the migrants‟ share are the subject
of seasonal visits to the home village. Participation in the agricultural process (even
indirectly, via labourers‟ salaries) is not just a way of supplementing food supply. It

40
also demonstrates a commitment to and presence in the family land. This is extremely
important for several reasons. Firstly, many urban migrants wish to be able to return
to their home village on retirement (or in the event of unemployment). In migrants‟
absence, memories fade fast and land registry papers go missing, so it is vital their
claim to that land be maintained through practical involvement in its management.

A migrant who sells maize and beans by bicycle sitting in his home/storeroom

In some cases this agricultural involvement is an economic back-up strategy. But

there are many migrants originating from areas within about a day‟s journey from the
capital for whom it is an integral part of their subsistence strategy that works in
tandem with their migration. Many peasants from the infertile region of Andramasina,
about three hours by taxi-brousse from Antananarivo, spend the planting and harvest
seasons in the countryside and leave to work as itinerant street sellers as the need for
agricultural labour diminishes. For the most part these back-and-forth migrants are
men, who lodge together with co-villagers in Antananarivo. The intermittency of their
presence in the capital means that they rarely bring their wives and children. This
sometimes results in abandonment of wives and children who remain behind.
However, when the man maintains regular contact with his family it can prove a very
effective income diversification strategy. It capitalises on regional solidarity and the
fluidity and diversity of the income generation makes it resistant to economic or

41
agricultural downturn. It does, however, cause something of a bureaucratic problem in
terms of residency permits. This is described in detail in Part Five.

M. Katsaka (a soubriquet meaning Mr Maize) is the patriarch of a group of ambulant salesman living in
the district of Antetezanfoavoany. They share a common origin in the countryside around Antsirabe.
There are about 20 men sharing accommodation, which they found through word of mouth among
family contacts. They sell beans, maize, potatoes, onions and other produce from their home region.
“My children are at home in the village going to school. I don‟t want them to do the same work as me.
I want them to have a better future.” Sometimes the traders stay a week, sometimes as long as three
months. Their wives and children never come to town, but M. Katsaka says he and his colleagues all go
home regularly to harvest crops, tend livestock and build houses. “Anyway, living in town soon eats up
your money, and you get tired easily. Nothing can replace the land of the ancestors.”

Visiting family in the ancestral land

There is a vast range in the frequency with which migrants visit their rural family.
This depends on income, distance, desire, closeness of family ties and length of
residence in Antananarivo. One of the main reasons why highland migrants make
rural visits is to attend tomb ceremonies (famadihana). The importance of these is
described below.

For first generation migrants the main reason to visit home is that the parents and
some siblings are normally still resident in the village. This is a chance to maintain
affective ties that might otherwise attenuate. First generation migrants whose children
have grown up in the city are generally particularly keen for these children to develop
emotional and practical ties to the ancestral land, and children are often sent for
holidays without their parents. Some migrant parents even send their children to live
in their home village to enable both spouses to work. Many migrants cited the positive
value of the opportunity such visits provide for children to renew and maintain
acquaintance with rural cousins, the regional dialect and local customs. The reality,
however, is that the urban lives that migrant children lead mean that the countryside is
an unfamiliar environment with which they are unlikely to have a deep and intimate
relationship. Second generation migrants have a greatly reduced level of contact and
familiarity with the ancestral land in comparison to their parents.

42
Razafy holds a government post in a fokontany in the basse ville which houses a high number of
migrants, particularly from the coastal regions. He is from the Antsiranana region in the north of
Madagascar and his wife is from the Toliara region in the south. “It is important not to lose touch with
the family back home and to teach the children [who were born in Antananarivo] the ways and customs
of our region,” he says. Yet he only manages to get back home once every two years, as the cost of
transport to the north is too great. Contact with his wife‟s family in the south is easier as his wife has
wealthy siblings in Antananarivo. They frequently drive down south in their 4x4s, taking Razafy‟s
children with them to spend holidays with their maternal grandparents who kill an ox and throw a party
for them.

A common complaint among urban migrants is the demands made upon them by their
rural kin for money and gifts. Some even said that this is one of the greatest expenses
of any visit home, and that the problem lies in knowing where to draw the line in
terms of how much to give and to whom, since even distant relatives are liable to
invoke shared kinship as a means of securing a gift. The expectations of rural kin can
be unrealistic, too. As one migrant from Vangaindrano complained, „They don‟t
understand the reality of our life. They think that because we live in Antananarivo we
have lots of money. They have no idea what a struggle it is in the city.‟

A poster advertising a telephone-based money-transfer service

43
But the same migrant was also pragmatic about the long-term relationship such gifts
establish, arguing that good deeds towards one‟s rural family are a way of preparing
for the unfortunate day when they die and have to rely on the family for burial. „If I
don‟t help them when I am alive,‟ he said, „why should they help me when I am
dead?‟ The need for a correct burial and care in the afterlife is a prevalent concern in
Madagascar since it is the means by which one becomes a revered and respected
ancestor. This concern is particularly acute among migrants since they spend their
lives away from the ancestral tomb.

The importance of the ancestral tomb

The Malagasy are well known for the emphasis they place on the correct treatment of
ancestors. The tomb ceremonies for which highland Madagascar is famous – when the
ancestors are exhumed, rewrapped in new shrouds and replaced in the tomb – are the
central event in this ancestral reverence. At first glance it would appear that this rite is
a backward-looking one, in that it honours those whose time has passed and thereby
connects people to a shared history. While this is true, in other ways it is forward
looking. The purpose of tomb ceremonies is to ask the ancestors for blessings on the
living in the form of prosperity and progeny. And by caring for their own ancestors,
the people carrying out the ceremony are also modelling this form of afterlife
aftercare to their own children. If they do not look after their forbears they cannot
expect their offspring to look after them. So for these reasons, ancestral rites are as
much concerned with the present and the future as they are with the past.

We have already seen how urban-based descent group organisations foster a

collective social identity for migrants in Antananarivo. The collective strength comes
from a common commitment not just to other members but also to the place where
members will themselves be buried in the future. The building and upkeep of tombs,
and the organisation of ceremonies require a degree of cooperation that itself builds
cohesion among members. These activities provide a sense of common purpose for
those who belong to the group. This is complicated by the fact that, since people are
descended from a number of ancestors, they have a choice of which descent group
they may wish to belong to. Membership of a particular descent group therefore
entails taking delicate and personal decisions about which living and dead relatives a
person wishes to show allegiance and commitment to. It is clear from this, then, that

44
the tomb brings together – and ideally resolves – a range of facets of individual and
collective identity. Central to these is the idea – and the reality – of a certain place, the
ancestral land, from which one comes and to which one will return. Having
membership in a descent group and ownership of land at its origin point are central to
both a migrant‟s sense of self and to their sense of their future.

So the migrant‟s relationship with the ancestral land is at once an economic, social
and symbolic one. It is a resource that he or she can draw upon for practical and moral
support. Rather than simply being the place that is left behind, the ancestral land is
vital to the ongoing process of migration.

Throughout our research it was evident that the majority of migrants were people with
a certain level of resources in the form of family, money and land. Those lacking
these resources are unlikely to migrate in the first place or, if they do, they make
extremely vulnerable migrants. This does not mean that migrants with these resources
are necessarily resource rich, for many in fact live below the poverty threshold. But at
least they possess a minimum of resources to enable them to function as migrants and
generally improve their life chances through migration rather than diminish them.

45
PART FOUR: KEY FACTORS IN MIGRANTS’
VULNERABILITY IN THE CITY

Family networks, ancestral land and tombs are the fundamental economic, social and
psychological resources for migrants. These resources are mutually dependent, so if
one element is weakened or lost this has a deleterious effect on the others. Lack, loss
or diminishment of any or all of these three key resources is the key factor in migrant
vulnerability. This can be seen most clearly in the case of those migrants who have
lost – or never had – access to land of their own. People descended from slaves
(mpanompo) feature heavily in this category. There are several related historical and
contemporary reasons behind their situation.

1. Slave descent: no land, no tombs, and limited social and

economic safety nets

One group that has long been denied ownership to land is the descendants of slaves.
They are found in many areas of the island, particularly in the highlands. The forbears
of these people mostly came into slavery as a result of capture in the expansionist
wars of the Merina empire in the 18th and 19th centuries. Their capture and trade
estranged them from all contact from their ancestral homelands. Sold in highland
markets, they were bought by landholders of free descent to work as serfs in the rice
fields. Although the French colonial government abolished slavery in 1896, this did
not really change the system of land use in the highlands as the ownership of the land
remained with the free classes even if the ownership of slaves did not. Many of the
landowners migrated to the city where their social advantage helped them find
influential jobs in the administration, armed forces or private sector. The descendants
of slaves stayed behind sharecropping the rice fields of the absentee landlords, who
retained the land deeds. This sharecropping arrangement still continues today, usually
on the basis that the landlord receives one third of the harvest. The economic
disadvantage of owning no land is evident.

46
The low social status of slaves and their descendants is matched by their ritual
marginalisation. Unlike people of free descent, they do not have named lineages
headed by an apical ancestor. This means that although they perform rituals of
reverence to their dead relatives there is no wider organisation based on ancestry and
descent. Slave-descent genealogies tend to be extremely shallow, sometimes
extending no further than the parental generation. Consequently, their tomb
ceremonies are simple venerations of recently deceased ancestors rather than a
celebration of a common ancestral identity. This means they are attended only by
immediate family rather than an extended kin group. Besides, people of slave descent
rarely have the financial resources to hold large ceremonies. All these factors militate
against the creation of a social identity based on a shared past that is so important to
people of free descent.

These factors are compounded by the fact that being of slave descent is considered
very shameful. It is not something that is commonly discussed, and people rarely
admit to it. In a sense, though, the problem is not so much that of being of slave
descent as of having no recognised and coherent descent in a society where this is the
entry point into networks of support and influence. People without tombs, without
ancestral land, without family history lack the primary social and economic resources.
They make very vulnerable migrants.

Two contexts of rural-urban migration in which such vulnerable migrants are found
are described below. They largely, though not exclusively, affect the descendants of
slaves, for the reasons described above.

2. Domestic service in unfamiliar households

Many bourgeois families rely on servants to perform everyday domestic tasks in their
homes. Frequently these servants are children or adolescents from poor rural families.
Sometimes they originate from the same rural location as their employer. This
common bond and previous acquaintance can provide the basis of a good contractual
relationship. However, many house servants are supplied through agencies and so

47
come to work in the house of strangers. Our research revealed that employment by
strangers exposes servants to greater vulnerability than employment by acquaintances.

We interviewed several current and former house servants, many of whom reported
extreme dissatisfaction with their work and terms of employment. They all came from
poor families and had usually gone into service because their family could not afford
their upkeep. It is common for the family of house servants to receive the wages
directly from the employer, so the servant may end up without access to financial
resources. It was striking that many people we interviewed living in extreme urban
poverty claimed to have formerly worked as house servants and to have left due to
non-payment of wages. Since they came from vulnerable backgrounds in the first
place, it cannot be claimed that their employment was a root cause of their poverty.
But it may have served to increase their vulnerability.

Fara lives in a small house made of plastic sheeting. The bed is a board placed on a mass of crushed
plastic bottles. She makes a living selling items she finds on the rubbish tips: empty drinks cans, used
syringes, arms and legs of doll‟s and a hundred other items. She left her home in the province of
Fianarantsoa to work as a domestic servant for a family in Itaosy, Antananarivo. “I hated the work,”
she says, “I had to clear up my boss‟s dogs‟ excrement all the time, and every Saturday I had to wash
them. The agency had promised me 60,000 ariary per month but my boss only gave me half of that.
When I left they still owed me money.” After she left, she slept in the market at Isotry, then in a tent at
Anosizato. She came to live in her current hut alongside the disused railway line after the death of her
two-month old child.

There are certain structural features of the house servant‟s profession that increase
vulnerability and isolation. The work hours are often long, and many servants are
expected to work every day of the week. This can drastically narrow their family and
social networks. Journeys home to the countryside can become impossible due to the
constraints of time and money. For young people, long working hours can mean the
denial of any opportunity to go to school. Not being part of the family, many servants
are expected to take their meals alone. This is a stigmatised activity in Madagascar,
for it is a quintessential proof of social alienation.

One homeless man in his early twenties recounted how he went into service aged
eleven because his mother had died and his father could not afford to keep him. He

48
worked for three years but was sacked, he claimed, because he kept dropping plates.
His employer may give a different explanation for the termination of the employment,
but the result was that the boy became homeless aged 14. „I have struggled,‟ he said,
„to keep away from trouble and gangs, but life is very hard.‟ He now lives under a
plastic sheet beside a rubbish tip with his two year old son.

3. Land loss in the semi-rural periphery of the capital

One central and significant finding of this research is that a high proportion of the
most vulnerable, resource-poor migrants living in Antananarivo originate from the
semi-rural periphery of the capital. They migrate to the city due to the loss of the
agricultural land that previously supported them and their families.

This loss of land is due to rapid urban growth. The last few years has seen a
construction boom on the outskirts of the city due to a shortage of housing in the city
centre, particularly for middle class, white-collar workers. This has caused a massive
change in land use and to the appearance of the landscape. For example, a scene
typical of the periphery of Antananarivo can be found around the village of
Andoharanofotsy, eight kilometres from the city centre. Large high-walled mansions
are springing up on hillsides where only a few years ago cattle grazed. Rice fields are
being drained, roads built and wells dug. The mud and thatch dwellings of the people
who have farmed this land for years are disappearing amongst the concrete walls and
iron roofs of their new neighbours.

49
New housing encroaching on agricultural land on the southern periphery of Antananarivo

One woman, still living in a small country house and farming a small patch of land,
said that many of her neighbours had moved away since selling their land to property
developers. She initially said that the land she lives on belonged to members of her
family. However, when asked which family members these were and whether she
could be sure they would not sell the land, she said she did not really know which one
owned it. Her lack of clarity was probably due to the fact that she did not wish to
reveal that neither she nor her family owned the land, which would have been a clear
indication of her status as the descendant of slaves. It would also have been to admit,
both to us and herself, the precariousness of her future living in the place where she
had spent her whole life.

A neighbour confirmed that this woman is one of a small group of descendants of

slaves who continue to sharecrop or rent the owner‟s ancestral rice fields. The deeds
lie with the owner‟s family, who are scattered across the city. There is apparently a
dispute within the family itself over ownership, probably caused by the steep increase
in the value of the land since the property boom. This value is huge in comparison to
the relatively meagre income generated from the current inhabitants under rent and/or
sharecropping arrangements.

50
Rasoa is a widow in her fifties with four adult children. One of her sons works as a labourer on a
construction site close to her home. Slowly the land she has farmed all her life is disappearing around
her. “The last fields have just been sold and they‟re building a big church. Before my husband died his
boss promised to give us a plot of the land on which our house stands. He will never go back on his
word because he promised it to my husband‟s face.” After Rasoa‟s family tomb was relocated due to
building work she found she was no longer able to find her late husband‟s body. She cries when she
thinks of this.

The sale of cultivable land for building does not only affect descendants of slaves.
Poor farmers of free descent living near to the capital can also lose land this way. The
decision to sell usually arises because the plot of land is too small for one family to
live on, having been divided and subdivided through generations of inheritance. This
is characteristic of intensive rice cultivation. A man from Ankazobe, 12 kilometers
from Antananarivo, told us that his grandfather sold a plot, which was to have been
split on his death between twelve heirs, to property developers. According to the man,
the grandfather spent the money on himself, which is why the disinherited man was
now living homeless on the city streets.

Along with their land these people also lose the symbolic locus of their family
identity: the ancestral tomb. Sometimes the new owner will ask them to remove their
ancestors prior to occupying the land. It can be difficult and expensive to find a site
for reburial, and if this is not achieved contact with the ancestors tends to fade. This is
one reason that marginalised and homeless people tend to be very vague about the
location of their family tomb. Despite not having named lineages the descendants of
slaves still have tombs, which they value for their affective ties to their own ancestors.
But with less social identity invested in the tomb and with very limited financial and
social capital, they risk losing contact with the tomb when land is sold. In fact, the
woman we talked to in Andoharanofotsy said that her family tomb had already been
destroyed by the construction of a road serving the big new houses.

Agricultural land is not just sold and purchased for housing. The expansion of the
urban infrastructure also eats into the rural environment and causes displacement. A
woman now living in a house of plastic sheeting by the Ikopa canal in central
Antananarivo said her land was requisitioned by the government to build a new
bypass south of the city near Tanjombato. She said many of the households displaced

51
had set up similar homes to hers. „They will tell you,‟ she said, „that they received no
compensation. But don‟t believe them. They did – and I did. But I spent it all. Money
doesn‟t go far.‟

This is a real problem for people who lose their land. If they sell it or receive financial
compensation, the money does not hold its value and is soon spent. Unsurprisingly,
many turn to the city for survival, making their living from the most menial jobs,
picking through rubbish, and begging.

A small boy sells reclaimed items outside his house made of plastic sheeting

These vulnerable people are migrants, albeit from very close to Antananarivo. They
constitute a significant proportion of the urban poor, and it is likely that they always
have done so. The city of Antananarivo has been expanding steadily for the last
century, and the construction and infrastructure projects have continually eaten into
agricultural land. Even the district of Analakely, in the very centre of the city, was
once rice land, before it was drained, filled in, paved over and built upon. It is
probable that the people displaced then were left in a very vulnerable position,
scraping for a living in the expanding city. This is the story of the poor of
Antananarivo. They are, in a sense, invisible migrants, because they have always been
part of the expanding urban landscape. They have not so much come to the city, as the

52
city has come to them.

53
PART FIVE: IMPACT OF RURAL-URBAN
MIGRATION ON THE CITY

1. Impact on the urban environment and infrastructure

Many of the challenges of Antananarivo‟s environment and infrastructure are created

by the increase in population density. It should be noted that this rise is not solely
attributable to rural-urban migration as there is also a high rate of endogenous
demographic growth. However, that endogenous increase is partially created by
previous generations of migrants whose children are subsequently born in the city.
For example, one migrant, who came from Miaranavaratra in the 1960s with her
husband, now has ten children living in the capital. These natives of Antananarivo
now have children of their own. Statistical evidence would reveal whether this is a
typical demographic pattern.

Given the complexity and overlap between endogenous and exogenous population
growth, a measure of caution is required in attributing infrastructural pressures to
migrants. The three instances cited below appear closely related to migratory
movement but are complicated by demographic and infrastructural phenomena
already existing in the city.

Students and housing

The University of Antananarivo, based at Ankatso in the eastern suburbs, is the
biggest in Madagascar and it attracts students from all over the island. Although there
are universities in other cities, the reputation and range of courses available at
Ankatso campus make it the destination of choice in academic terms. The chance for
students to live, and subsequently remain, in the capital also accounts for the
university‟s popularity. Under the Second Republic the university accommodation
stock was increased through the building of dedicated student housing such as that at
67 Hectares. However, since the 1990s the purpose-built university accommodation
has proved insufficient to house the growing student population.

54
In the 1970s and 1980s, the government ceded to pressure from students living in 67
Hectares district to allow tenants to purchase their apartments. Students from coastal
regions were particularly keen to acquire a permanent base in the city. One effect of
this property transfer was to transform temporary and transitory students from the
provinces of Madagascar into bureaucratically integrated citizens of the capital,
complete with wives and extended families. According to the current president of the
fokontany of the northern part of 67 Hectares, this created the first wave of large-scale
coastal installation in the city.

Predictably, this policy has reduced the available student housing stock in
Antananarivo. Former students from the provinces have remained in the city to carry
out business while at the same time splitting up their apartments for rent to multiple
tenants or to house relatives from the provinces. The result has been an increase in
rents and pressure on water and sanitation services and the urban environment in
general.

At the same time there is intense pressure on dedicated student housing in districts
such as Ambohipo and Ankatso. This is mainly caused by students reluctant to leave
university accommodation once their studies are completed. Many have used their
accommodation for small business enterprises to supplement their student grant and
are unwilling to relinquish their commercial premises. Others change subjects in order
to maintain their right to university housing. These pressures on university
accommodation has led to a wave of illegal housing being built near to the university
campus.

Unauthorised housing at Ampasanimalo

While unauthorized construction is common in Antananarivo, this instance has been
chosen due to its clear connection to a particular migrant population, namely
government security staff (soldiers, gendarmes, police and prison guards) originating
generally from the provinces.

A certain hillside district of the fokontany of Ampasanimalo is home to a military

barracks, an armed forces training centre and a prison. A large number of people
working in these facilities are not native to Antananarivo, and as they wish to live

55
near to their place of work they have constructed houses on spare ground in the
vicinity.

We visited one unauthorised house constructed in the 1980s by a policeman from

Fianarantsoa. It is one in a long row of illicit houses that line a cobbled street leading
from the prison to the barracks. He is still adding to his house, and rents parts of it to
tenants who work at the prison. According to the owner, the land was empty when he
and others started to build on it. They have not come under pressure from the
authorities to move. Although the owner of the house is now retired, he intends to
remain living there instead of returning to Fianarantsoa.

As the houses are not legal, they are not connected to the sewers or to any water
supply. This puts pressure on the existing infrastructure and causes health problems.
The residents of the street have access to water from a well at the bottom of the hill,
but they rely upon the roadside gutters to carry off sewage that goes into the rivers at
the bottom of the hillside. The canals are barely sufficient to cope with the rainwater
let alone the added effluent. It is possible that this dirty water drains into the
watercress fields in the valley bottom.

It is clear that the infrastructural pressure mentioned above causes a health risk but the
authorities have not acted. This could be due to a lack of powers or means but it may
also be due to the fact that the owners of this patch of illegal housing are all
government employees. It would be difficult for the authorities to evict their own
soldiers and gendarmes from this land.

The bureaucratic challenge of unregistered migrants

One reason why the infrastructural and environmental impact of migrants is difficult
to assess is that the system for registering migrants is unreliable. On leaving their
original place of residents, migrants are required to obtain a document from the
fokontany, which they present to the local authorities in Antananarivo. Our research
found that this system is underused at both ends. For example, some fokontany in
Antananarivo had registered an unfeasibly small number of new migrants in recent
months.

56
It was beyond the scope of our research to investigate in detail the reasons for the
failure of this system. However, one element to which the system does not seem
adapted is the very fluid nature of much rural-urban migration.

It is clear that many migrants consider their presence in the capital only temporary.
This is particularly true of migrants involved in the commerce of foodstuffs from
around the island. As much of these migrants‟ trade is with people from their home
area and it necessitates frequent return there, many do not consider Antananarivo their
permanent home, even if they spend the majority of their time there. One lorry driver
from Tsiroanomandidy makes frequent but irregular trips to and from Antananarivo,
sometimes bringing his wife and child with him to visit family in the city. His length
of stay depends on the time it takes to fill up his lorry with merchandise, which can be
as long as a week. He can end up spending 20 days a month in the city but never
bothers to register with the fokontany at Anosibe.

According to the deputy director of one arrondissement, civil servants who move to
Antananarivo register their arrival with the authorities but they rarely provide any
paperwork for the members of their extended family, who tend to come and go. The
same official complained that many migrants from rural areas have no identity papers,
so it is impossible to register them. Besides, even those with identity papers
frequently do not register, as they are unaware of the basics of civic administrative
procedure. Finally, the fact that many migrants live in unauthorised housing may
contribute to their disinclination to register with the administration.

2. Impact on social and political cohesion

Migrants build and strengthen networks, which are undoubtedly a positive

contribution to social cohesion. But as they are not the only people that develop
networks it is hard to ascertain the extent of their contribution to this. The pertinent
question is to whether migrant networks operate to compete against or even exclude
members of other groups. The overall finding of this research is that migrant networks
contribute greatly to cooperation. There is little evidence that they are the basis for

57
conflict, although there are some circumstances in which this might occur. This is at
the level of ethnically oriented associations under particular political contingencies.

The fact that Antananarivo is situated in the geographical centre of Madagascar is one
reason why it attracts migrants from ethnic groups all over the island. They all have
their own migrant associations. Districts such as 67 Hectares, home to a large student
and coastal population, are real melting pots, or as one migrant described her quarter,
„It‟s a salade composée‟.

A low degree of ethnic tension

Given the density of an ethnically varied population in such districts, the amount of
ethnic tension seems remarkably low. Of course there are problems and altercations
caused by different cultural approaches to, say, sanitation and neighbourhood noise,
but these rarely escalate beyond their initial context. More importantly, it is extremely
rare for ethnicity itself to be invoked as the point of difference and contention. People
place the blame with others‟ behaviour not their ethnicity. Many neighbourhoods call
upon panels of local elders to mediate in such cases.

The competition between students for accommodation has been known to cause
tension between students of different ethnicities. This is one risk inherent in the
system of ethnically-based student associations. However, there have also been
instances of tensions with the same cause between students of the same origin.

If ethnic tension exists then it tends to be in a rather unspoken form between people
from the coast and people from the highlands, notably the Merina. We heard several
complaints from the former that the latter treat them with a degree of haughtiness,
even disdain. This may just be a perspective based on different cultural expectations
about interpersonal conduct. Some informants complained that they have been
discriminated in the both in applying for jobs and in the workplace, but this is hard to
prove.

One important factor in this is the fact that alongside ethnic diversity there is also a
feeling of pan-Malagasy identity. The fact that, despite dialectical differences,
everybody speaks the same language makes a very positive contribution to inter-

58
ethnic understanding and harmony. The Malagasy predilection for rhetoric about the
importance of mutual respect (fifanajana) and living together (fiaraha-monina) may
also have a positive influence.

Migrant groups, ethnicity and politics: a potential source of unrest?

There is, however, the possibility that ethnic associations may, under certain
circumstances, orient themselves towards ethnically oriented politics. This is not
problematic as long as it is aimed at supporting the rights of groups rather than
attacking those of others. However, given the competition for access to resources
(housing, water, jobs) in the city there is a danger that ethnic politicisation could
revolve around these issues when in fact they are issues that affect all groups more or
less equally. The case of student housing cited about shows the potential for such
action, and the danger lies in opportunist politicians using ethnic difference as a point
of entry into debates about urban services.

It is known that politicians have links to particular ethnic groups living in the capital,
and that they rely on migrant groups there for support. During our research we heard
rumours that a recent wave of migration from the south of the island was supported by
a politician who apparently wished to co-opt these migrants for political ends. It was
very hard to ascertain reliable information about this. The possible link between
political manipulation, access to resources and ethnic affiliation is a sensitive topic
that might benefit from further dedicated research. However, this should take place
within a wider investigation into urban poverty and political unrest and it should not
be assumed that ethnicity or migration are determining factors.

3. Impact on the economy of the capital

It is very difficult in the context of a qualitative report into migration to establish

reliable data on the actual economic contribution of migrants to the capital‟s
economy. Migrants work at all levels of the economy in both the formal and informal
sector, and so all contribute to a greater or lesser degree. But then so do non-migrants.
One way to isolate their contribution is to focus on economic activities that are

59
dominated by migrant labour, or that are under the control of migrants, or that rely on
migrant mobility and contact with their place of origin.

The wholesale agricultural produce trade: feeding the city and creating and
distributing wealth
One such activity is the trade in agricultural produce from the Vakinankaratra area to
the food markets of Antananarivo. This is a huge trade as it supplies a large amount of
the capital‟s food. It provides a lot of employment to migrant and non-migrants in
transport, portering, warehousing security, distribution, wholesale and retail. At the
same time it creates pressure on the civic infrastructure in terms of the
accommodation and services required for the migrant populations it attracts to the
city.

These are migrants whose presence in the city is not due to the inability of their land
to support them but to its fertility and the exportable surplus it produces. This creates
a very dynamic economic relationship between the city and the countryside. As well
as generating economic activity in Antananarivo, the trade also creates new
opportunities back in the Vakinankaratra region since the lorries that transport
produce to Antananarivo return loaded with consumer goods to be sold in rural towns
and villages.

Export processing zones (EPZs): benefits and disadvantages

The establishment of export processing zones (zones franches) in Madagascar in 1991
was intended to boost export-led economic development by allowing companies to
reduce the cost of producing consumer goods through incentives such as tax
exemptions.

The EPZs have proved to be very sensitive to the national and international economic
climate, booming in years of political stability and global economic growth, and
shrinking at times of political crisis and worldwide recession (Cling, Razafindrakoto
& Roubaud 2007). At the time of writing, many EPZ employees had been made
redundant as the sector reacted badly to the political turmoil of 2009 and to the
international economic downturn.

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Previously, though, the periods of rapid expansion in the sector had encouraged high
rates of rural-urban migration, particularly amongst women. These migrants were
attracted by the prospect of salaried employment even though the average monthly
wage was 34% lower than that paid by other types of industrial companies in 2006
(Cling, Razafindrakoto & Roubard 2007:9). One feature of this employment boom
was that it created opportunities for people whose lack of social and economic
resources had previously been a barrier to finding salaried work. Many of these were
people from the semi-rural periphery of Antananarivo whose land was becoming
swallowed by the urban sprawl.

Now that the boom is over and they find themselves jobless, these people are in a very
vulnerable position. We visited one household in Soavimasoandro, seven kilometres
from central Antananarivo, where eight people had recently lost their job in the zone
franche. They claimed to have received neither redundancy payment nor a final salary
payment. As only two have found occasional work (as laundresses), the family has
had to withdraw the children from school and has sold some of the belongings (plates,
CD player) acquired when employed. Now the children spend their days in the rice
fields collecting edible crayfish. Their house appears to be an illegal construction,
built on a dyke in the middle of paddy fields that are rapidly becoming unusable due
to invasion by water hyacinths.

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Women made redundant from an EPZ gather, under the surveillance of security forces, in the vain
hope of reclaiming unpaid wages from their former employer

Naturally, their contribution to the economy has reduced dramatically. For example,
in the four months since loosing their jobs, the women had not visited the hairdresser,
bought new clothes or visited central Antananarivo.

The fact that they have a house to live in is a bonus. Our research found that a number
of people now sleeping on the streets of Antananarivo claimed to have been made
redundant from an EPZ. One family living in under plastic sheeting in Analakely told
us they became homeless because they could no longer afford to pay rent. Apparently
they had originally come to work in the zone franche from Ankazobe, just south of
Antananarivo, after their grandmother sold the land they say they were due to inherit
to a property developer. They now make their living selling and recycling rubbish
from the roadside tips of the capital.

The positive feature of the EPZs is that they make work available to some of the
migrants who generally lack the networks of support required to secure regular
salaried work. However, the paradox is that these very people are extremely
vulnerable if they lose their jobs. Residents of 67 Hectares report a large rise in street
prostitution since the political and economic crisis began. It is possible that some of
these women are former zone franche employees.

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RECOMMENDATIONS

1. This research has shown the extreme vulnerability of people losing their
agricultural land to construction on the outskirts of Antananarivo. Measures
need to be examined that can secure use rights to people who have exploited
land over a sustained period in this area but which they do not own.

2. To supplement this, further research is required into the current and historical
mechanisms by which land is registered and sold. More detailed knowledge is
required about the profile and activities of landlords both in the semi-rural and
urban context.

3. Support needs to be given to migrants working in vulnerable jobs on the

fringes of the informal economy. Foremost among these are house servants,
many of whom are children and teenagers. Many have no access to education
The nature of their work means they are frequently isolated from their own
kinship networks. This can make them particularly vulnerable when their
employment ceases. Further research is needed into their conditions of life
before, during and after employment in this sector.

4. The inadequacies in the administrative means by which rural-urban migrants

are counted need to be addressed. Sensible urban planning and development
interventions cannot operate on the basis of the current seemingly wholly
unrealistic figures.

5. A greater understanding is required of migrant ethnic organisations in

Antananarivo and any potential link to urban unrest or political manipulation
of ethnic identity.

6. The severe shortage of student accommodation is detrimental to both the

urban environment and the student learning experience. It has also provoked
conflict between different ethnic groups. Strategies for providing dedicated
student housing should be examined.

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Cling, J.-P., M. Razafindrakoto & F. Roubaud (2007) „Export Processing Zones in

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Ralaikoa, A. & D. Rainibe (1998) „Antananarivo sous l‟administration française in La
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