The first sign that the tree was in trouble was the scent — a musty odor that cut through the warm forest air.
“It smelled like mushrooms but worse, like decomposition,” said Cyrille Cornu, a French researcher who visited the tree, an ancient baobab that locals call Tsitakakantsa, last October in southwest Madagascar. Approaching the massive trunk in the island nation’s Andombiry Forest, Mr. Cornu’s heart sank. A dark, foul-smelling liquid was seeping from the base of the tree.
“I was surprised because I never saw this before,” said Mr. Cornu, who specializes in baobabs and has visited the tree several times over the last 15 years. He thought to himself: “Something is wrong.”
Tsitakakantsa, one of the largest and oldest baobab trees in Madagascar, is dying, according to experts and local stewards. Having survived centuries, it appears to have entered a final phase in which it will buckle, collapse and eventually disintegrate. It could take months, maybe longer. Eventually, only a patch of stained earth — like a shadow in the soil — will remain.
To the surrounding forest community, which has long revered Tsitakakantsa, its demise represents the loss of a spiritual anchor. To the wider world of scientists and nature lovers, it underscores the fragility of even the most enduring pillars of nature in the face of rapid environmental change.
Onja Razanamaro, an expert on baobab trees and a researcher at the Tsimbazaza Zoo & Botanical Gardens in Antananarivo, Madagascar’s capital, described the tree as a constant presence in the landscape, a subject of almost filial devotion for the local people.
“You can’t imagine one day your parent will not be with you,” she said.
Baobabs, with their colossal, mottled trunks and canopies that reach to the sky like upturned roots, have been part of the landscape for millions of years in Madagascar, a species-rich island off the east coast of Africa. Unlike rigid oaks and pines, baobab trees have spongy wood that is made up mostly of water, and many experts consider them giant succulents. The eight species that appear in Madagascar, Africa and Australia can live for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of years.
Throughout Madagascar, baobabs play many roles in the communities that surround them. They may be used as a touchstones in religious ceremonies. They can have more practical uses, including as cisterns for storing water. They also support the livelihoods of thousands of people who harvest baobab fruit or rely on the tourism they generate.
Tsitakakantsa is a member of one of the largest species of baobab (its name in a local dialect of Malagasy roughly means, “If you sing on one side of the trunk, your singing cannot be heard from the other side”). It began to draw attention in 2018 after the death of Tsitakakoike, a baobab tree sacred to the nearby village of Andombiry, whose residents chose Tsitakakantsa as its spiritual successor, Mr. Cornu said.
The tree, which is generally estimated to be 1,000 to 1,500 years old based on radiocarbon dating of similarly sized baobabs nearby, soon began attracting tourists.
Wilfred Ramahafaly, a researcher and nature guide who lives in Antananarivo and visits Tsitakakantsa several times a year, said he saw signs of the tree’s declining health last August. He noticed the same dark seepage Mr. Cornu would observe two months later. By February, large cracks had appeared in its trunk, Mr. Ramahafaly noted, a sign that experts said could accelerate its decline.
“Half of the baobab has already fallen, and inside the tree there is mold,” Mr. Ramahafaly said. “The base of the tree is very fragile.”
In Andombiry, the mood is somber. The village chief, Mampiavy, said the death of Tsitakakantsa would be a huge loss for the region.
“Everyone is very sad,” Mampiavy said in response to questions passed through Mr. Ramahafaly, who translated the answers from a local dialect of Malagasy. “Tsitakakantsa brought many blessings to the villages and to the inhabitants. Life without a sacred baobab will be very difficult for us.”
Mampiavy said the village was searching the surrounding forest for another large baobab tree to consecrate as a replacement.
Many experts speculate that Tsitakakantsa suffered a fungal infection during prolonged periods of heavy rains or tropical storms, which have become stronger because of climate change. Baobabs, because of their high water content, are particularly susceptible to root rot and other fungal infections if they receive too much water, said Sarah Venter, an ecologist based in South Africa.
Though weakened by age and disease, the tree could still rebound. Baobabs are known to be resilient, and there have been several documented cases of the trees recovering, or even flourishing, after being marked for death.
Whatever Tsitakakantsa’s fate, experts said that Madagascar’s baobabs are under huge amounts of stress — from climate change, deforestation and traditional farming practices, which sometimes involve using fires to clear land.
Ms. Razanamaro said that the natural regeneration rate for baobabs on the island is very limited and that efforts to organize new island-wide restoration efforts have floundered because of a lack of funding.
At some point, when Tsitakakantsa does disintegrate, it will be a jarring vanishing act.
“In the end, you have a big hole in front of you,” Ms. Razanamaro said. “It’s just a memory afterward, you lose everything.”
