Saladoid villages were probably ranked before anyone reached the islands

Saladoid communities are often described as egalitarian, on the reasoning that their villages are large, independent and show no palaces. Newer work reads the evidence differently and finds ranking already present, probably before anyone left the mainland for the islands. In villages of this size at least one lineage is likely to have held a superior position. The descent system supports the reading. At the time Europeans arrived, indigenous groups in the region traced descent through the mother and a married couple lived with the wife's kin, and both practices look old enough to date back to the Saladoid expansion. Arrangements like these turn up wherever populations are moving over long distances, because they give a traveller a defined set of relatives to arrive among and a rule for who owes what to whom. Villages needed that. Clearing ground, raising houses and building the canoes that crossed open water all took organised labour, and organised labour needs somebody entitled to organise it.

By around the third century CE the Malagasy speaking community on the East African coast had lived among Bantu speaking neighbours long enough to have married into them. Some of them then sailed south, crossed the Mozambique Channel, and settled Madagascar. What they carried was a working farm system assembled out of two hemispheres: African livestock and African grain beside rice, bananas and chickens from Island South Asia, together with the practices that belonged to each. Madagascar has been that combination ever since. Its people speak an Austronesian language whose nearest relatives are in Borneo. They raise cattle bred in Africa and poultry domesticated in Southeast Asia. They grow African sorghum in the same country as Asian rice. Their ancestry is Bantu and Austronesian together. The island is the clearest surviving record of how far the ancient Indian Ocean trade reached and what it did on arrival, which was to move people, crops, animals and languages until two ends of the world were permanently joined in one place.

Around the middle of the fifth century CE, people speaking Arawakan languages arrived on Aruba, Curacao and Bonaire, the islands lying off the coast of Venezuela, and brought pottery making with them. Their arrival marks the start of the Ceramic age on those islands. Somebody was already there. The earlier inhabitants belonged to the Archaic age, made a simpler set of tools, and are physically distinguishable in the skeletal record by the shape of the skull. They were displaced. Rouse records the sequence in the flat language of archaeology, and the flatness is worth noticing, because the displacement of one population by another is a thing that happens to people. These three islands sit where the South American mainland meets the Caribbean, which makes them a gauge for movements that later reached the whole chain of the Antilles. What happened here in the fifth century had happened elsewhere before and would happen again, long before any European ship arrived to start the count.

At the Canas site in Puerto Rico the Saladoid and Ostiones layers sit one above the other with a clean line between them, and the early conclusion drawn from that line was that two separate cultures had occupied the site in turn. The difficulty with that reading is that nobody could find anywhere for the second culture to have come from. No source region, no migration route. So the material was examined again, and the current view is that Ostionoid pottery grew out of the Saladoid tradition in the islands themselves, with recent argument pointing to the eastern Dominican Republic and the exchanges taking place there. Other evidence supports continuity. Stone toolmaking runs straight through the transition with no equivalent break. What changed was the pottery, and pottery is the loudest thing in an excavation. The change marks the beginning of a period in which the Greater Antilles broke into regions, each developing a look of its own.