Rising with sun, we began a journey that would take us deep into the highlands of Madagascar. I sat in the back of the pickup, relishing the thrill of the air and the beautiful landscape, glad to be free from the confines of the car. The rice paddies flew by and soon we were at our first stop, a small military building. Here, we picked up a couple of soldiers that would serve as our security. While this is considered to be a relatively safe and affluent region, bandits are still a threat, and anything can happen in the bush. I bought a hat from a roadside trader, a purchase that would later prove wise.

Heading out deeper into the countryside, the road became increasingly difficult until it eventually disappeared. We continued driving as far as we could, eventually reaching a small farming settlement. At this point the terrain became impassable, and we had to continue on foot. We were joined by the miners, who guided us across a large, shallow river. Treacherously slippery pebbles, hidden under a layer of silt, made the crossing more challenging than I expected. Determined not to lose my footing and my dignity, I tread carefully, thankfully making it across without mishap.

They took us up into the hills, where in the distance we could see a steep canyon we would have to pass through. As the farmland gave way to rugged mountainside, evidence of the fascinating geology here became clear. We passed through patches of glittering mica slowly being ground into a dark sand, piles of broken quartz, and crumbling white feldspar pouring out of the hillsides. The path grew steep and precarious, and although I yearned to explore the variety of rocks and minerals, I had to focus on my footing.

Our guides were setting a brisk pace, aware we had quite a distance to cover. We had to traverse the edge of the canyon at great height, the river a rushing torrent unseen and unheard deep below. The old miners trod this steep and fickle path with a nimbleness and confidence borne of many passes.

The canyon suddenly opened out and we found ourselves looking down upon a green valley with a sprinkling of farms. The river widening into a gentle, shallow flow before disappearing through the rolling hills. We took a short break before continuing our decent. The sun was directly above, beating down without remorse upon the exposed path. The hike took us much of the rest of the day, taking us over barren, grassy hillocks interspersed with the occasional verdant gully streams, a welcome source of refreshment and relief.

We arrived at our destination in the afternoon, a tiny village perched on the side of a large hill. The villagers eyed us curiously as we approached the leader’s house. An older, wiry man, with a strong resemblance to our guides, greeted us warmly. Like them, he had spent years mining, achieving enough success to construct a slightly better house with some modest furniture and a solar-powered battery.

We were served a late lunch of rice, lean dried meat, and broth. Everything was locally grown; they only ate what they could produce themselves. Though the meal would seem exceptionally plain by European standards, it was an honoured feast, showcasing the very best of what was available. After the long and taxing hike, we were all famished and deeply grateful, the food disappeared in no time.

We then set off to visit the mine further up the hill. The path was steep and narrow, cutting through long grasses that brushed against us as we walked. We passed the remnants of earlier explorations, burrows dug into the hillside with decomposing white feldspar and quartz spewing out, peppered with fragments of black tourmaline. Our tunnel was indistinguishable from these, a small, dark opening in the white rock.

We climbed inside and began descending. The space was just large enough to crawl through in single file. At one point, the tunnel widened to skirt around a gaping hole that plunged straight down into the darkness below. The confined space was certainly claustrophobic, yet it carried an oddly fragrant scent. The silent darkness offering a strangely primal comfort.

By the light of my phone, I could see large black tourmaline crystals embedded in the powdery white feldspar. The material was so soft and crumbly that, in some places, you could dig through it with your hands. We continued moving through the tunnel, the miners’ excitement so infectious that I hardly noticed the sharp quartz fragments scratching my hands and knees.

The tunnel, though only about twenty meters long, seemed to twist and turn endlessly. When we reached the end, the miners eagerly pointed out pink and green tourmaline crystals in the walls. Though the quality was poor and the crystals were crumbly, with only an outer layer of colour, it was a promising sign that greater treasures might lie hidden close within the hillside.

Digging was done with a short metal spike, a challenging task in such a confined space. Progress was slow, with every bucket of rubble needing to be carried out. The patience and dedication required to dig here, day after day, month after month, with no promise of success is incredible.

After each of us had a turn at digging, we returned to the surface. The miner’s enthusiasm lingered with us as we continued to explore a few nearby tunnels, soon becoming covered in dust and scrapes. Gradually we descending to the bottom of the valley, where we stumbled upon a small pool and waterfall. The water was deep and refreshingly cool. Gleefully we waded in, scattering a fleet of tadpoles as we splashed into the clear water. Sitting beneath the waterfall, I let the rushing water cascade over my head, washing away the fatigue of the day’s journey and toil.

Feeling rejuvenated and at peace with the world, we made our accent through farmland bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. By the time we reached the miners accommodation, the first stars were revealing themselves, and sky across the valley was glowing with pinks and purples.

Climbing a steep set of platforms to the first floor, we found ourselves in a small, bare room. Here, a conference was held, where the miners talked about their lives and hardships as well the hope that kept them going. Practical matters were also discussed, such as the need for new trousers, as one miner’s current pair had been reduced to rags by the harsh conditions of the mines.

The short walk to the village leader’s house took place under a darkness that seemed bright and expansive compared to the confines of the mines. Dinner awaited us; a large portion of rice and beans instead of the dried meat from before. As we ate, a small container of chili powder was passed around the table. Assured it wasn’t very spicy, I sprinkled a modest amount over my rice and beans. To my dismay, it turned out to be searingly hot. Each bite became a test of endurance as I tried to salvage the precious meal I had rendered almost inedible. Thankfully, the villagers met my foolishness with good humour, their laughter easing the awkwardness of the moment.

With dinner concluded, it was decided that we would stay in the village leader’s room, a gesture of great hospitality and kindness. He had a bed in his room along with a sofa and we all chose a spot. It was a far cry from luxury, but much better than I had expected.

The excitement of the day still buzzed in my head as I tried to sleep. The others rustled restlessly, sleep not coming easily to any of us. As the night deepened, I could hear creatures stirring on the walls, emerging from their hiding places. Song came to me, carried on a gentle breeze through the open window. Somewhere in the valley a group was singing, their enchanting voices lulling me into a fitful sleep. I slept lightly, often roused by the shadow figure of the village leader muttering and searching through the room.

I woke early with the sun. A dream of falling through kaleidoscopic tunnels of tourmaline crystals still vivid in my mind. As the village began to stir, one of the brothers and I set off with a soldier, leaving the others to enjoy a peaceful morning. We climbed to the tunnel entrance and the brother disappeared inside. To be alone in the darkness, searching and delving, can be something of a spiritual experience. With the soldier standing guard at the mine entrance, I took to exploring the surrounding area.

Making my way to the top of the hill, I noticed a gradual change in the pegmatite, its crystals becoming smaller and less frequent, before transitioning entirely to solid rock. The sun was gaining strength, burning away the mist that had collected in the valleys below. At the summit, I came across large piles of stones, marking what appeared to be tombs. I kept a respectful distance; the people of Madagascar have a great reverence for their ancestors and tombs are a sacred place.

From the hilltop, I could see down into the next valley, where more evidence of mining was visible. Setting off down the slope to investigate, I came across what seemed to be a larger site, cut out of the hillside. A different group of miners was just arriving to begin their day, and they invited me to have a look within. I couldn’t resist.

Once inside, the tunnel was just as tight as before, and I found myself once again climbing on hands and knees, with enthusiastic miners ahead and behind. The tunnel was considerably longer, winding and twisting deep into the hillside. Along the way, the miners eagerly pointed out spots where they had made discoveries, including what I understood to be a very large morganite crystal.

We went all the way to the end, where they were finding low quality green and pink tourmaline, very similar to what I saw in the first tunnel.

By the time I emerged from the tunnel, I was sweating and breathing heavily. Even just moving around in there was hard work. I thanked them for the tour and walked back around the hill, only to find that the brother was still inside on his spiritual journey. I informed the soldier that I planned to explore further down into the valley.

The terrain quickly became difficult and overgrown, but I continued, wondering what might have been washed out of the hill to collect at the bottom. Further down, the slope quickly became perilously steep and loose, with long, wet grass obscuring my view. Suddenly the ground disappeared from underneath me and I found myself slipping down into the obscured valley below. Barely managing to regain my footing, I decided it was too dangerous to continue. Whatever treasures the valley might hold, they would remain undiscovered by me.

I returned to the soldier and waited for the brother to surface. In the end I had to fetch him, the thrill of the hunt had set in, and in the darkness of the mine, time had stopped.

We returned to the house to eat a familiar breakfast of rice and beans, no chili powder for me this time. After making our goodbyes, we embarked upon our return hike. It wasn’t long before the heat of the day began to ramp up once more. I was very glad for my hat, though my arms became badly sunburnt.

By the time we reached the city it was the afternoon, and we were ready for a rest. However, our lapidary had prepared a big lunch for us, so after a quick shower and much needed change of clothes we headed over to his house and workshop.

The meal he and his wife had prepared was a fantastic spread of Malagasy dishes: curried meats, grilled fish, a variety of salads, fresh exotic fruits, and of course, rice. Compared to the simple rural fare of the last few days this was a sumptuous feast.

After a thoroughly enjoyable meal, I had a chance to look at his gemstones. He had got hold of a giant rough parti coloured tourmaline from a neighbouring province, apparently the best that had been found there in twenty-five years. From this, he had cut over ten stones of various quality, the largest weighing over one hundred and seventy carats. The colour was a strong reddish pink, abruptly changing to a rich grass green that gradually faded, transitioning into a light purplish grey. I couldn’t resist buying two of these tourmalines, along with some teal sapphires and various other interesting pieces.

The day came to a quiet close back at the hotel. Most of the team, exhausted from the escapades of the last few days, turned in early. That evening, I had the pleasure of a visit from another family member, who brought along his wife and their new baby. It was a joy to reconnect with them over a couple of beers.

He is a Malagasy man, who grew up in Antsirabe, and later moved to the UK to help care of my cousins when they were children. His wife, originally from Norway, is equally remarkable. Both are talented musicians that now dedicate their skills to running a school that teaches music to local homeless children.

As we shared stories and reflected on the challenges of community projects, I concluded the adventure of the past few days with a deep sense of contentment.

The next day, I planned to visit a small market specializing in gems and minerals. Many local finds make their way here, and previously I had come across some interesting and unusual pieces. I was excited to see what new treasures I might discover.

Alistair McCallum FGA

alistair@marcusmccallum.com

+44(0)20 7405 2169

Marcus McCallum Ltd

Second Floor
62 Hatton Garden
London EC1N 8LR
info@marcusmccallum.com