💭 On The Malagasy Sense Of Time

We often think that precision defines progress.
Numbers, clocks, and calendars give us control — or at least the illusion of it.
But lately, I’ve started to see how our ancestors’ way of measuring time might have been far wiser than I first imagined.

In Malagasy culture, time dances with imagery rather than digits.
Each phrase paints a moment that you can see and feel.
For example:

• mangiran-dratsy (4 AM): to depict the first light of dawn,
• maizim-bava vilany (around 6:30 PM): when cooking, the pot’s mouth darkens as dusk falls,
• maneno sahona (2 AM): the frogs’ call…

(More about it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1943D4py94)
It’s not just about when things happen but how they happen. Time becomes memory, not mathematics.

Compare these two sentences:

• Vao mangiran-dratsy dia niala tao an-tranony izy (He left his home at the first sparkle of light when darkness begin to fade).
• He left his home at 4 AM.

The second one is clear, exact, and practical. Yet the first one lingers.
It carries the air, the light, and the texture of early morning. It belongs to memory because it belongs to life.

Numbers are our own invention — useful, but detached from the natural rhythm around us.
They serve us in planning the future or describing the present. But for remembering, they fade quickly.
It’s almost as if the past doesn’t want numbers; it wants stories.

When I think of it this way, I realize how naturally our ancestors lived.
They didn’t ignore writing or counting because they lacked intelligence — they simply didn’t need them in the same way.
Their systems were complete: time was felt, cattle and chickens had names (such as Ilemasira, a named chicken), numbers were linked to trees (Isa ny Amontana, roa ny Aviavy).
Everything resembled life itself. It flowed within the limits of what could be remembered and shared.

It’s easy to mistake simplicity for ignorance. But now I see: their world worked beautifully. It was coherent, alive, and effortless.
Their time was not something to be managed but something to be lived.

Why carry books when the knowledge can live in your mind?