The red earth crumbles under my feet as I stand on the shore, watching the Pangalanes Canal flow into the Indian Ocean. This is my first morning in Mananjary, and I'm already convinced that this place has something most coastal towns have lost—a rhythm that moves with the water, not against it.
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| Commuting by Canoe. Photo: LJ Padayachy |
The Commute By Canoe
A weathered wooden canoe glides past me, its owner steadying himself with a long pole. It's 6:30 AM, and the water taxis are already busy. No honking horns or traffic jams here—just the gentle splash of paddles and the soft conversations of passengers crossing to the other side. I watch an elderly woman carefully step from the sandy bank into a canoe, her colourful lamba wrapped securely around her. The boatman knows exactly how to balance the vessel as she settles in. This is clearly not her first crossing.
What strikes me most is how natural this all feels. These canoes are not tourist attractions or nostalgic throwbacks. These canoes are simply a means for people to travel from one side to the other when the river obstructs their path. Engineering is ancient, but the purpose is utterly modern—getting to work, visiting family, and running errands.
Laundry Day by the Water
As the morning progresses, I notice more women arriving with large baskets balanced on their heads. They are heading to the river's edge, where the shore transforms into a massive, open-air laundry. I watch one woman work with practiced efficiency, rubbing soap into fabric against the rocks, then rinsing everything in the flowing water.
The process is systematic but social. While some women scrub on their knees by the water, other women spread wet clothing on the grass that stretches along the riverbank. The various patterns and colours of the drying textiles create an unintentional art installation that shifts with the breeze. Children play nearby, occasionally helping by fetching water or keeping watch over the spread-out laundry.
I'm struck by how this daily necessity becomes a community gathering. While they work, the boatmen chat, children play at the water's edge, and the whole scene flows with the natural rhythm of people who have adapted to their environment rather than fighting it.
A Different Kind of Modern
Standing here reminds me that modern doesn't always mean the same thing everywhere. In Mananjary, being modern means using the resources you have efficiently. The river provides transportation, water for washing, and a natural gathering place for the community. It's not about having less—it's about using what you have most sensibly.
This morning, while watching the canoes cut through the water and the laundry flutter in the breeze, I can't help but think about how we've complicated things elsewhere. HeIn this setting, daily life has found its most direct path: the river serves as a means of transport, a place for washing, and all of it is woven together in a way that makes perfect sense.
The sun is climbing higher now, and I can see the first pieces of laundry starting to dry. More canoes are moving across the water, carrying the day's first stories from one side to the other. It's one of those moments where you realize you're witnessing something that has remained essentially unchanged for generations—not because it's stuck in the past, but because it works exactly as it should.
