Cyclone Gezani’s Wrath on Madagascar’s Eastern Greenbelt

On 10 February 2026, Cyclone Gezani struck the Toamasina region of Madagascar with devastating force, leaving forests, farms, and coastal ecosystems in ruins. With winds exceeding 250 km/h and relentless rainfall, the storm reshaped the landscape in a matter of hours.

Forests along the coast were stripped bare—canopies shattered, trees uprooted, and mangroves submerged under brackish floodwaters. Satellite imagery revealed vast swaths of defoliated terrain, exposing biodiversity hotspots to erosion and habitat loss. Lemurs, birds, and amphibians now face disrupted nesting grounds and food chains.

Agricultural zones suffered equally. Rice paddies drowned, vanilla vines snapped, and banana groves were flattened. Farmers in Brickaville and Mahavelona reported total crop failure, with replanting delayed by saturated soils and saltwater intrusion. Urban green spaces in Tamatave were not spared either—parks shredded, roadside trees toppled, and fallen trunks blocking roads and power lines.

Recovery efforts are underway. Reforestation teams are mobilizing to restore mangroves and native trees, while aid agencies distribute seeds and tools to help farmers restart. Yet the ecological scars will take months—if not years—to heal.

Gezani was more than a storm; it was a reckoning. A reminder of nature's force and the fragility of Madagascar's eastern greenbelt. As the island rebuilds, the focus must remain on resilience—restoring not just what was lost, but fortifying what remains.

Panther Chameleons in the Wake of Cyclone Gezani

The cyclone's fury did not spare the chameleons. Those perched high in the canopy were torn away, hurled by winds, and many met their end smashed against the ground or lost to the storm's immense power. Yet, walking through the damaged landscape, survivors can still be found—scared, subdued, instinctively clinging lower than usual. Some bear injuries, but they endure, their resilience a quiet testament to life's persistence.

Females had already deposited the first clutches of the season before the cyclone struck. In eight months, a new generation will hatch, filling niches left vacant by the storm. This cycle of renewal promises repopulation and continuity, even amid destruction.

The storm may have shifted the balance of dominance. Males with deep red coloration and bold white markings, often reigning from the highest branches, were disproportionately exposed and eliminated. Their absence raises questions: will dominance shift to those who stayed lower, closer to the females, less visible but more protected? Perhaps, as seen in Yemen chameleons, the males who spend too much time basking in exposed positions suffer reduced fertility from excessive UV and heat. The "smarter" males, shaded and nearer to mates, may prove more successful breeders.

The cyclone has revealed a paradox: strength and display can be liabilities, while humility and caution may secure survival. In this, the Panther Chameleons remind us—there is a future, shaped not only by power, but by adaptation.

Epilogue: The Lessons Not Learned

One would assume that such a disaster would awaken resolve—that people would build their houses stronger, in safer places, shielded against the cyclones that always arrive from the same direction. Logic would demand it. Yet, walking through the damaged villages, the image is painfully different: homes rise again in the same places, from the same fragile materials, with no protection, no change.

Why is that? Did they listen to their ancestors' ways, trusting tradition over adaptation? Are they simply too poor to afford stronger structures? Is the educational level too low to translate danger into preparation? Or do they simply not think, not care, resigned to fate?

I do not know.

But what I do know—and it frightens me—is that the next cyclone will strike with the same disastrous impact as the last. And because of climate shifts, more storms are coming, more will arrive, each carrying the same destructive force.

The silence of the villages, the repetition of fragile construction, speaks of a cycle unbroken. Nature teaches, but the lesson is not absorbed. The winds will return, and unless resilience is embraced, the story will repeat.

This epilogue is not closure—it is a warning. A reminder that survival is not only about enduring the storm, but about learning from it. Without change, the future will be written in the same ruins, again and again.

Survivors of Gezani, the proud Panther Chameleon males of Tamatave