A rainy day in Mauritius

"Why is it that a white man never delivers fish?", he asked. A Mauritian Indian was delivering fish on his moped. "Why is it only an Indian or an African?", he said. I was stuck in a restaurant talking to the restaurant owner on a rainy day in Mauritius. 

I was on a flight to Mauritius from Bangalore, India and the pilot had just announced that we were passing the British Indian Ocean island of Diego Garcia. The Mauritian woman sitting next to me said, "That island belongs to Mauritius. The British stole it from us". The British had forcefully evicted all the residents of the island and shifted them to Mauritius island in the 1960s. A few of them still live in refugee camps. "We call it Chagos Island", the woman said. Diego Garcia now houses a large American naval and air base.

I was having a Mauritian meal of crab curry with lemon flavoured rice on the flight, when the flight attendant came and asked me, "Are you an Indian or a Mauritian?". 50% of the population of Mauritius are of Indian origin and the other 50% are of African ancestry. They had been shipped to the island by the French and British during the 1700's and the 1800's to work on the sugar plantations. There is also a small but substantial white population on the island. I told the flight attendant, "I am an Indian". She then gave me a Mauritian SIM card and said, "It's free. You can use it to stay connected during your stay". "Welcome to Mauritius", she said.

The airport was a very pretty, tile roofed airport with a lot of greenery. The immigration officer asked me, "How long do you want to be stamped in for?". I said, "I plan to stay for 10 days". "I will give you 15 days", he said and stamped my passport. I withdrew Mauritian Rupees from the ATM in the airport, since the rates in the currency exchange counters were horrendous. That was possibly the oldest ATM that I have seen in my life. I was worried until my card slid out. The default language was French. I had to press a couple of buttons to shift to English.

I walked out of my hotel and there was an old man with a cart selling Mauritian grapefruit. Every thirty seconds, he would yell out, "Pamplemousse". But as soon as he saw me, he would stop and stare at me. I looked like a Mauritian but I was staying in a hotel. So, I couldn't be a Mauritian. That's why he was staring at me. This happened several times as I walked in and out of my hotel. Every time he would stop and stare at me. I walked over to the cart, picked up a grapefruit and asked him, "Combien?". He realised from my accent that I didn't know much French. He asked me in a mix of English and French, "Are you from India or London?". I said, "India". 

"Are you here on work?", he asked. I said, "No. I am just travelling". "Then why are you in Port Louis?", he asked. "I always visit the capital city of the country that I am travelling to", I said. "Are there vendors selling pamplemousse on the beaches?", I asked. He said, "No". "Then I wouldn't have met you", I said. The next day as I was passing by, he asked me, "Does the caste system still exist in India?". I said, "Sadly, it does". "Does it exist in Mauritius?", I asked. "It exists wherever there are Hindus", he said. I said, "It doesn't exist in Singapore". He shook his head in disbelief, "It will exist. You just don't know". He then asked, "What is your caste?". I said, "I don't know". "Are you upper caste or lower caste?", he asked. I said, "I don't believe in the caste system". "Then you are not a Hindu!", he declared.

There were several vendors selling dholl puri (spicy lentils with onions and chutney, wrapped in a fried Indian wheat bread), a popular Mauritian snack, from a box on the back of their parked motorcycles. I had read that the best dholl puri was in a shop in a farmers' market in Curepipe (pronounced kew-re-peep). I decided to travel to Curepipe, 25 km away. I had to change buses to get to Curepipe. It was also confusingly known as La Ville-Lumière. I was finding it difficult to communicate since I didn't know French. The ticket conductor on the bus was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. Shen then suddenly asked me in Tamil, "Tamizh teriyuma (Do you know Tamil)?". I replied to her in Tamil and said, "Yes!".

She then explained to me in Tamil, how I could get to Curepipe. I asked her, "How do you know Tamil?". She said, "Tamil is one of the national languages of Mauritius". She took out a banknote and showed it to me. On the back of the banknote, the denomination was printed in four languages - English, French, Bhojpuri and Tamil. I reached Curepipe and found the dholl puri shop. I started to speak to the woman behind the counter in English and she got startled. "Where are you from?", she asked me in French. I said, "India". She then spoke to me in English, "Where in India?". "Bangalore", I said. "Is that in the north or in the south?", she asked. I said, "South India". "My ancestors were shipped by the French from Karaikal in 1680", she said. Karaikal was French territory in southern India. "I have seen pictures of Karaikal. I want to visit the French church there", she said. The dholl puri was nice. I had two of them.

From Port Louis, I shifted to a hotel in Trou-aux-Biches, a beach on the north-western coast of Mauritius. I was in a bus going from Trou-aux-Biches to Grand Baie. Nothing in Mauritius happens in a hurry and the bus system was a classic exemplar of that. The bus ambled slowly along the coastal road fringed by palm trees and white sand beaches. The bus would come to a bus stop and stop. A few minutes after the bus would stop, any person wanting to get off would get up from their seat and waddle across to the front, where the door was. The person would then talk to the driver and they would joke and laugh for a few minutes. Then they would open the door and get off while saying bye to the driver. The driver would then wait for a few more minutes, just in case somebody wanted to get on.

I wanted to buy a ticket to go to Grand Baie. The ticket conductor in the bus said something to me in French but I didn't understand it. He repeated it and I still couldn't get it. He then waved his hand at me and said something to the young woman sitting next to me. I asked her, "What did he say?". She said, "He doesn't know English. He knows only French. So, you can travel for free!". I said, "Why don't you tell me how much? I will pay". She said, "No. You don't have to buy a ticket. He says it's free for you". She explained, "There are three stops in Grand Baie. The fare to each of them is different. He wanted to know which stop you wanted to go to". "How do you know English?", I asked her. "I learnt it in the British Council", she said. "What do you learn in school?", I asked. She replied, "The medium of instruction is French".

She then asked, "Where are you from? India or London?". I said, "India". "What do you want to do in Grand Baie?", she asked. I said, "Nothing. Just wander around". "I will tell you where to get off", she said. "Are you a Hindu or a Christian?", she then asked. I said, "I am a Hindu". She said, "Then you should go to Ganga Talao. It is the most sacred place for Hindus". "Every Hindu must and should go there", she proclaimed. "Are you a Hindu?", I asked her. She said, "Yes". "Have you been there?", I asked. She sheepishly said, "No!". I did visit the Ganga Talao the next day. It is a very pretty crater lake with a lakeside Shiva temple. The place was full of European tour groups. Non-Hindus are allowed to enter all Hindu temples in Mauritius.

I moved from Trou-aux.Biches to a hotel in Mahébourg, a seaside town in the south-eastern coast of Mauritius. I walked into a tiny seaside restaurant and ordered a Mauritian beer, Phoenix Beer. The restaurant was run by Jacques and his daughter, Suzanne. Jacques did the cooking and Suzanne served, cleared the tables and also did her homework. The only people in the restaurant were Jacques, Suzanne, an American woman from Dallas and I. I asked the American woman, "How do you get to Mauritius from Dallas?". She said, "I flew Dallas to Dubai and then down to Mauritius". It started raining very heavily.

Suzanne was in Grade 11 in school. The woman from Dallas asked her, "What do you want to do after school?". She didn't understand. Jacques said, "This country is going to the dogs. Young people don't know English. They know only French. She doesn't know a word of English". So, Jacques translated from English to French and vice-versa. Suzanne said, "I want to go to Paris and study interior design". The woman from Dallas enquired, "And after your studies, you will continue to live in Paris?". Suzanne said, "No. I like Paris but I would not like to live there". Jacques said, "Mauritians don't want to live in Europe. They want to live in Mauritius". "Our ancestors came here as slaves. But there is no shame now. We have built the richest country in Africa", he said. "Mauritians don't need a visa to enter Europe", he said proudly.

I had finished my beer and it was still raining very heavily. Jacques said, "You can't go anywhere. Have as many beers as you want. I will give you a nice discount". Suzanne opened another bottle of beer and gave it to me. A Mauritian Indian man wearing a raincoat came on his moped to deliver fish. Jacques exploded, "Why is it that a white man never delivers fish?". "Why is it only Indians or Africans?", he bristled. He then started answering his own question, "It is due to the caste system that Indians are not as rich as the Europeans. My name is Jacques and her name is Suzanne, but we are Hindus. We go to temples". The daughter interjected, "We go to churches too". Jacques continued, "We are vaish, grand nasyon, upper caste". "The man who delivered fish is ti nasyon, low caste. If he opens a restaurant, nobody will eat what he cooks. He will always be poor", he said.

Jacques said, "Every election we vote for people of our own caste. But we call ourselves a democracy". Suzanne said, "Same caste marriages should be banned. The caste system can be wiped out in Mauritius in one generation". I said, "That's radical. It infringes on freedom. What if you fall in love with a person of your own caste?". The woman from Dallas said, "You can tax marriages within the same caste. That will deter caste-based marriages". Jacques said, "No politician in Mauritius has the guts to pass such laws". "The caste system can never be wiped out", he declared. The rain slowly came to a stop and I left Jacques and Suzanne. 

Have you come across a country where Hindus live without the caste system? If so, where?

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