A FIERY DAY IN LA MANANARA
By Gabriele Ferraro, Masters Student

The sky was clear that morning—only a few fluffy clouds in sight. I stood outside my tent, breathing deeply, gazing at the sky, and savoring the gentle morning breeze. After getting dressed, I joined Hani and Giulia in the kitchen for breakfast. They were already there, making toast with jam and, of course, the inevitable peanut butter. Watching them silently, I realized how close we had become over the past weeks. Hani Raharinirina, a skilled Malagasy researcher, and Giulia Sassoli, who had come with me from Italy, were studying nocturnal lemurs, often venturing out on daring night hikes through the forest—adventures I gladly joined from time to time. Like most mornings, I found myself wondering how they managed to wake up before me, despite their night outings. With a long, thoughtful sip of Malagasy coffee, I knew the day was ready to begin.
It had been a productive few weeks in La Mananara. Princi, a brilliant local guide with an unparalleled knowledge of the forest, and I had placed dozens of camera traps and AudioMoth recorders throughout the forest, allowing us to passively collect data on cryptic species. Every day, they captured invaluable data.

We had already encountered all four native carnivore species we were targeting, elusive inhabitants of Madagascar’s rainforests. There was the ring-tailed mongoose (Galidia elegans), which patrols the forest in family groups during the day; the nocturnal fanaloka (Fossa fossana), with its distinctive speckled coat; the cryptic falanouc (Eupleres goudotii), a curious insectivore with an elongated snout and largely unknown behavioral habits; and finally, the fosa (Cryptoprocta ferox), Madagascar’s apex predator, capable of hunting even the largest lemur species.
These species, along with the invasive small Indian civet (Viverricula indica), often found around rice fields and secondary forests, were the focus of my Master’s thesis project. I had arrived in Madagascar just over a month ago to collect data for my research, a project conceived months earlier in Professor Luca Santini’s lab at the Sapienza University of Rome, in collaboration with Dr. Tim Eppley and Wildlife Madagascar researchers. Our goal was to enhance the limited knowledge about euplerids, one of the world’s most threatened carnivore families. In this challenging ecosystem, camera traps proved an effective tool for studying these elusive animals.

The forest had been experiencing dry, sweltering days. The rainy season was late, and the region’s agriculture, especially the young crops, were beginning to suffer. Despite the heat, each day brought encounters with the forest’s astonishing biodiversity—from vibrantly colored frogs to endemic birds, not to mention the many lemur species that inhabit La Mananara. Madagascar’s largest lemur species, the Critically Endangered indri (Indri indri), were a particular highlight. Even when we couldn’t spot them, their haunting vocalizations resonated through the forest several times a day.

But that morning felt different. There was a tension in the air, and I hadn’t yet seen the team scheduled to join me. Suddenly, Tsinjo, one of our guides, came running towards us, speaking quickly and with urgency. I tried to follow the rapid conversation but eventually had to wait for Hani to explain. A forest fire had broken out.
Questions raced through my mind: How did it start? How far had it spread? Was it burning near the core forest or just the surrounding eucalyptus plantations? Eucalyptus, though invasive, is a common sight in Madagascar, valued for its rapid growth and adaptability. Around the forest, it’s often cultivated for charcoal production and sold in the cities where demand is high.
We soon learned that a nearby village had reported the fire to one of our guides, who promptly came to alert us at the La Mananara field station. I barely had time to lace up my boots before we set off to try and contain it. The fact that it was still early in the morning gave us hope—it might not have spread far yet. But the wind and the lingering dry heat hinted otherwise. After nearly 45 minutes of fast-paced hiking along the forest’s edge, we spotted a column of smoke rising from the tree line. We had found it.

The plan was straightforward but effective: dig a trench along the fire’s edge to halt its relentless advance. Armed with shovels, our team—William, Tsinjo, Fy, Princi, and I—got to work. The heat and ash were suffocating, but we pressed on. I was determined to help however I could, and in addition to wielding a shovel, I personally saved several small animals from the flames. This included a stunning leaf-tailed gecko from the genus Uroplatus, a master of camouflage, trapped by flames and a vibrant red fossorial lizard about 40 centimeters long. Unfortunately, many others weren’t as lucky.

By midday, Hani, Giulia, and Sidonie joined us with lunch. I can still vividly remember the taste of that simple dish—rice and beans—which felt like the best meal of my life at that moment. After a brief break, we resumed our efforts, working until much of the fire was contained, and the forest-facing edge was secured—albeit precariously.

This was the first time a fire had threatened the forest since my arrival, but sadly, it wouldn’t be the last. Over the following weeks, during the dry season straddling October and November, several more fires erupted along the forest’s perimeter, leaving entire patches scorched in their wake.
Walking back to the station that evening, I felt frustrated and disheartened. I was no stranger to such devastation. My homeland, Sicily, also faces destructive wildfires almost every year, some raging for days. Wildfires are a growing global crisis, destroying millions of hectares of forest annually and claiming the lives of countless animals. In ecosystems threatened by these catastrophic events, fire prevention and mitigation are critical conservation strategies.
Lost in thought, I eventually looked up at the group ahead of me—tired, covered in ash, but still moving forward. A smile crept across my face. As long as there are people like this, I thought, there is hope. As long as there are those willing to fight daily against deforestation and biodiversity loss, there is hope. That day, more than ever, I realized the critical importance of Wildlife Madagascar’s work in protecting the forest and its inhabitants. Reflecting on that, I felt a deep pride in being part of a team that courageously fights for change.
