THE RAINS CAME LATE to Madagascar this hot November. It’s the same story the world over, of course: weather interrupted, disturbed. “Usually, it’s rained by now,” said the driver who met me at the airport in Antananarivo, the capital, as if apologizing for the heaviness in the air.
I understood: there’s no longing like the longing for rain. I was raised by farmers in southern Africa; I know that in this part of the world everything, everything, depends on a few centimeters of topsoil, and the fact of rain. More than 70 percent of Madagascar’s people, the Malagasy, are involved in agriculture, and nearly all of those are subsistence farmers: rice mostly, but also corn, sweet potatoes, cassava. In other words, almost everyone you meet is land-stitched, wholly oriented toward…