{"id":432572,"date":"2026-05-27T14:44:41","date_gmt":"2026-05-27T12:44:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/doogreporter.com\/ilakaka-the-sapphire-village\/"},"modified":"2026-05-27T18:12:43","modified_gmt":"2026-05-27T16:12:43","slug":"ilakaka-the-sapphire-village","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/doogreporter.com\/en\/ilakaka-the-sapphire-village\/","title":{"rendered":"Ilakaka, the sapphire village"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Ilakaka is a small village in the south of Madagascar, along the Route Nationale 7 \u2014 the road that cuts across the country from Antananarivo all the way to Toliara. It’s not a place you expect, nor one you easily forget. Beneath it lies a fortune. Literally. The ground holds one of the richest sapphire deposits in the world, responsible on its own for 20% of global production. Magnificent stones, with hues ranging from sky blue to midnight blue, some even violet, nearly as hard as diamonds. Precious enough to draw the entire world to this forgotten corner of Africa. <\/p>\n\n

When I arrived, I tried to make sense of what Ilakaka had become. In the late 1990s it was a village of just a handful of souls. Then, with the discovery of the deposits, people began to arrive \u2014 first from all over Madagascar, then from every corner of the world. By 2006 it already had 60,000 inhabitants. Today it is a chaotic, noisy market town with no real centre, built around one single idea: find those stones and sell them. <\/p>\n\n

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\"Ilakaka,
Ilakaka, Madagascar – \u00a9Daniele Stefanizzi<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n
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Every morning, before the sun climbs high, the landscape comes alive in a way that has a strange beauty of its own. The men move in a line towards the mines, shovels on their shoulders, talking quietly among themselves. There is something ancient in this silent procession \u2014 a ritual that precedes the work like a prayer. The colours of dawn over the red laterite of the Malagasy earth are extraordinary; one of those moments when you understand why this country is called “the red island.” <\/p>\n\n

Then the men descend into hand-dug pits, carved out with steel bars, barely a metre wide and up to 25 metres deep. They earn 5,000 ariary a day \u2014 less than two euros. They work without protection, without helmets. The tunnels are unshored, and ventilation is almost non-existent. The risk of asphyxiation or collapse is more than real \u2014 it is daily, and accepted as part of the job. <\/p>\n\n

And then there are the children. I saw some as young as eight, lowered into the shafts on wooden winches. They are chosen because they are light, because they can get into spaces where an adult cannot. And yet \u2014 and this struck me \u2014 they smile. They call out to each other from one pit to the next, exchange jokes, compete over who finds the biggest stone. There is a vitality in them that no circumstance can quite put out. <\/p>\n\n

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\"Ilakaka,<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"Ilakaka,<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"Ilakaka,<\/figure>\n
Ilakaka, Madagascar – \u00a9Daniele Stefanizzi<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n
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Swiss Bank<\/h3>\n\n

The largest mine is called “Swiss Bank” \u2014 a name that already says a great deal. It is an open-air crater, up to 50 metres deep, financed by a Swiss entrepreneur who also owns one of the biggest sapphire buying points in town. Inside, a human chain of miners works without pause. Armed guards patrol the edges. I tried to approach with my camera, but I wasn’t allowed. <\/p>\n\n

Around the mines move the so-called “illegals” \u2014 unregistered miners who keep to the shadows. Murders and robberies are not uncommon. Ilakaka is a place where the law exists on paper alone. <\/p>\n\n

After extraction, the minerals are brought to the river. The miners wash them using sivanas, <\/em> tortoise shells re purposed as sieves, an ancient method passed down from generation to generation. It is one of the most beautiful moments I witnessed: men crouched over the water, their hands moving in slow, circular motions, stones emerging from the sand like small revelations. There is something almost meditative in that image, something sacred, the same gestures perhaps made by those who panned for gold in rivers a thousand years ago. <\/p>\n\n

Then they make their way back towards town, stones in their pockets, and disappear into the market.<\/p>\n\n

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\"Ilakaka,
Ilakaka, Madagascar – \u00a9Daniele Stefanizzi<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n