Broken Computer

Hello.

Sorry there have been no blogs in ages! My computer broke (the battery is dead and getting another one would cost more than a months worth in wages here- wages are not high, and electronics are expensive)

Anyway, a very short update... I hope... I'm using internet cafe and paying for the privilege.

Some things that are going one:

• I only have 3 weeks left working at CEDEM!
• For those of you that do not know for the last 6 months or so I've had my own classes teaching English, often interlinked with ICT. Before that I was getting to know about CEDEM, doing my training and working more in the social care section when the school children were on holiday for 2 months and the Shelter kids who live at CEDEM were still around.
• It's an amazing place and I feel like I have bonded very well with the children and staff alike and am feeling very happy with the time I have spent so far.
  

• Secondly, as many of you will know I joined 'Nalini Dance Group'- one of Mauritius' famous Indian- classical, bollywood dance groups. I've been dancing since October, but started doing regular shows with them in December. This week alone I'm dancing Saturday, Sunday, Wedensday, Thursday and Sunday again! We have appeared on television a handful of times, and have had our photograph in national newspapers too. Dancing keeps me fit and I have lots of friends there. We are together so often that we have kind of bonded like a family!

• Thirdly, finally I have friends. And it is fantastic. For the first couple of months it was a little hard, but now those times are gone and the good times roll.

• I plan on uploading some photographs soon, so you can get a better picture of what's been going on...excuse the pun.

• Yesterday I went to prayers, with a pooja. A friend from work invited me- the session of prayer (only the middle day) started at 9am and finished at 1.30pm. It was fascinating and the food afterwards was immense- 7 curries and bakri! yum. People were laughing at me for eating slowly, I haven't quite mastered eating hugely quickly with my fingers, there is still time....

A la prochaine fois, les amis. xx

Torrential Rain in the News

If you look at the blog below you will see a short article that I wrote regarding torrential rain in Mauritius.

I received some good feedback on it and decided to submit it to a Mauritian Newspaper called 'The News on Sunday'...

They PUBLISHED IT!

Very exciting news for me, so exciting in fact that I bought myself three copies of the paper (costing me the grand total of 45 Mauritian Rupees... about 90pence)

« Ena Gros la Pluie La » Rain in the Paradise Island- 07.03.11

Not all that long ago drought was plastered across the news. Thousands of homes without water. Reservoirs in desperate need of it. “Rain, rain, go away, come back another day” would have been blaspheme! But the wind has changed. ‘Parasol’ has become ‘parapluie’ and dark pregnant clouds have given birth and we are feeling the effects. Strong and tenacious, their sopping infants descend.

Rain. As a Scot this was a defining part of my child hood. I’d walk to school in it- my clothes would get wet because of it- I’d walk home in it and I’d get ill because of it. I’ll quickly add that I do love my country. However, when I decided to embark on a gap year to Mauritius- “the Paradise Island” I hadn’t quite expected to be met by such wet.

Being in the tropics, I’ve discovered, means expect to be wet often. The rain in Mauritius is savage. Pathetic drops never play a part. Strong and tenacious, hour upon hour it falls flooding the country ‘tigit par tigit.’ It is the kind of rain that knows no fear and no shame and it falls in a country where the drivers possess the same quality. This morning in Rose Hill school girls screamed as buses tore past them- ripping up the water as they went. In Floréal, I walked along the road to work; numerous flashy cars raced through deep puddles beside me, as if they hadn’t noticed I was there.

This morning was special. A film crew came from MBC, some of the children thrived in the spotlight while others withdrew themselves…literally- got up and walked off the ‘set’/ out of the classroom. I was sure that nothing could beat this. Until…

Leave work early? « Mais ena gros la pluie la. Tou ban zenfants bizan parti. » So at 11am this morning copious school vans came to pick the children up and drop them at home. But somehow, three hours later I still find myself here, at school, sitting in an empty classroom. I can hear the rain outside, taunting me, mocking me for my tender age which is no longer, and with each drop I am inclined to accept its importance and necessity within the country. And now I say. Rain, rain, go away…but please feel free to come back another day.

Visitors for England

To my excitement and surprise I found out just over a month ago that my second cousin (the daughter of my mother’s cousin) was doing a term of study at University in Reunion Island. I remember meeting her once before briefly at my grandmother’s wedding last October. It turned out that after her 3 month study period she planned on coming to Mauritius for a holiday with a couple of her ‘copines.’

So, yesterday afternoon after having experienced a little trouble finding the house, four beautiful young English University students elegantly stepped out of a silver hire car in our driveway and came through the gate and knocked on our door. We welcomed them in with ‘bisous’ (French kisses- one on each cheek- it’s very normal in Mauritius) and showed them around our house a little bit.

All four of the girls, young women really, are studying some combination of languages at the University of Bristol; two straight French, one French and Spanish and my second cousin, Emma, French and Italian. She is going to go and do a term at University in Verona, Italy soon. Lucky girl. Katie, Chloe and I were all taken back by their presence- all very tall, beautiful, brown and extremely English girls (accents like I’ve rarely heard before!)

We planned on taking a picnic to Spiritual Gardens as it was a nice day and it would any awkwardness about paying at a restaurant. We had prepared fillings- onions, cheese, sweet corn etc and packed them in a bag along with knives, two large bottles of juice and two baguettes that we had already bought. All we needed to do was nip to the market and purchase a couple more and we would have been sorted.

Our plan was stunted. We arrived at the market at 1.30pm and it was closed- Sunday- I should have expected this. The supermarket had literally just closed too… We must have been quite a sight. They were all so tall and stunning (and two of them blonde… as well as Katie- all Westerners)- we attracted a lot more attention than normal. It was also partly due to the beachwear of our friend from England. We decided to change plans and go to the street vendors by the bus station and purchase some local cuisine for lunch- rotis! Savory flat bread filled with vegetable curry and rolled up like a wrap. Lunch for 7 was on me; they were all very grateful…and I had only spent the equivalent of 1Pound 40pence!

After a pleasant walk to Spiritual Gardens and an interesting and friendly chat, all seven of us sitting a long a step and drinking cold water and juice beneath the cool shade of a tree we headed back home again. Katie and Chloe had a work ‘ball’ (party/dance) to go to and the others wanted to head back up North to enjoy the beaches for the last time! They are going back to England on Thursday and will be met both with the love of their families and the harshness of winter.

Lucious Letchis (Lychees)

Last night the doorbell rang. This only happens on the odd occasion; and usually when we have to pay our water of electricity bills. I got quite excited but also slightly nervous, who could it be?

I opened the door to find an unfamiliar man standing on the doorstep brandishing a black bag with leaves poking out of it. He said ‘hello’, I said ‘bonjour’, after a little while of him speaking English and I French he got the message and we conversed in the same language. His name is Arthur and he is a neighbour of ours. He has a large productive letchis tree in his garden and had come to share some of them with his foreign friends. What a kind man.

This now means we’ll have to make him a chocolate sponge cake. Whenever a neighbour presents us with fruit from their garden -this has happened a few times- mangoes, bananas and paw paw (papaya)- we thank them with a cake. Sometimes this has been retaliated with yet more fruit and then we are stuck, as it is a bit too expensive to make endless chocolate cakes for everyone who is kind to us.

Anyhow, the letchis from Arthur’s tree were delicious- and as the summer goes on they are set to get ever redder, fatter and juicier!

‘I am Chinese’- The Story of Two Sisters- 02.12.10

I’m sitting in the library I just discovered. It is a 10minute walk from my house. Despite the scorching temperature outside I feel cool; there is a fan. Luxury. Everywhere I see books. French crime novels, Hindi language for Dummies and Great British Classics lay before me. Stacked on shelf upon shelf. Amongst the shelves lie tables circled by wicker chairs for people to read magazines and catch up on the latest gossip, of which I know nothing. Except that Princess Ann is in Mauritius and she arrived on Wednesday. I can’t help but know this- my neighbours repeatedly tell me, almost unable to contain their excitement.

I sit at my desk- one of four desks of four; sixteen places in total. I am writing to

my dear mother. She writes to me every week and has done for the past seven weeks. I have written to her three times (I am working on the fourth letter at the moment.) Suddenly chatter in a foreign tongue permeates the air and people around me clearly become agitated. They are trying to study.

A friendly man burst through the door, clearly of Chinese origin. He was followed by a large group of equally amiable looking pals and a couple of photographers. He had such a presence and such an expectation that everybody wanted to listen that the whole library stood (or sat) to attention to listen what he had to say. He didn’t start off his speech with him name, in fact he forgot that all together, he started with his nationality. ‘I am Chinese’, he beamed, all eyes on him. His paparazzi crew began to snap photographs of all of us who happened to be sitting at desks in our local library. We were stunned; it came as such a surprise. The people spread across the tables were united in amusement and couldn’t help but let wide smiles spread across our faces in this relatively unusual situation. He presented a speech to his pack who regarded us as if we were children in a zoo. Note: I didn’t get the phrase wrong, just changed it. I made eye contact with some members of the team and they responded with enthusiastic thumbs up in support.

Later, on leaving, I passed a sign outside which read ‘ City Sisters. Beau-Bassin/ Rose Hill, Mauritius. Changzhou, China. Unveiled on 02.12.2010 to mark the 12^th Anniversary of Twinning Relations’ Flying proudly behind were the flags of both countries. I felt privileged to have been witness to such a seemingly minor event!

I'm looking for a Wife for my Son... 02.12.10

I’m naked. I’m just about to get in the shower. It is the furthest point from the phone in the whole house and the least convenient time in the whole day for somebody to call. It’s pretty obvious what is coming next. Ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring. Its’ battle cry remains the same, a francophone country or not.

I clutch a towel and dart down the stairs, through the living room and into my bedroom. Before I moved into Vizavi it had simply been the phone room; a desk with a phone on it and something to sit on for phone calls. I quickly changed that. Answering in my best Mauritian accent I could instantly tell that the woman on the other end knew what she wanted. ‘Allo?’ I repeated. She proceeded to ask me questions as I quietly tried to work out who she was and how she got my telephone number; neither question was rewarded with an answer. Yet, after about 7 minutes of discussion in reasonable French it became clear that I did not know her.

She asked who lived in my house. I hesitated. Three girls. She asked our ages. Confidently I rattled them off. Eighteen, eighteen and seventeen.

I was slightly confused as to why she wanted to know this. She began her next sentence…

‘I’m looking to find my son a young wife’.

Was I interested? Could she come and meet me? Startled, I responded calmly with deep regret. I did not want to marry her son; that was out of the question. However, I did feel bad as she had clearly thought that she was onto a winner and her disappointment was carried quite clearly in her voice.

‘Ah. Ok. Desolé. Allée Bye.’