Through the Eyes of the Mauritian
The first sound you hear as morning arrives over Port Louis is the soft, rhythmic beat of a ravanne drum striking once, mingled with the distant call of a tropical bird and the scent of fresh dholl puri and curry drifting from a nearby home. That drum-sound carries our story back to a time of islands and crossroads, when we lived as the peoples of Mauritius – the Creoles, Indo-Mauritians, Sino-Mauritians, Franco-Mauritians, and others who together shaped the island. Our ancestors came from everywhere: African slaves who brought the rhythms, Indian indentured laborers who planted sugarcane, Chinese traders who opened shops, French settlers who built estates. They lived in harmony with the sea as mother and the volcanoes as father: fishermen who honored the lagoons, farmers who grew sugarcane and vanilla, communities where languages and cultures melted together in sega dances and curries. Every family knew the tales of the slave revolts, the feasts of Cavadee and Diwali celebrated together, the bond stronger than origin. That was our golden time: an island of diversity, where people lived with the ocean as road and the mountains as shield, free and connected by mixture and respect.
But then came the wave from outside, like a storm rising from the Indian Ocean itself. The Dutch, French, and British colonized us from the 17th century, turned us into a plantation colony of sugar and slaves. Slaves were shipped from Africa and Madagascar, their backs broken under the sun, their spirits smothered but never killed. Every family knew the loss: an ancestor who arrived in chains, a language that had to survive in secret, a culture that blended to endure. Independence in 1968 brought Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam – hope that grew – but also the trials of a young nation: economic crises, political tensions, the emigration of youth. Every family knew the pain of slavery, the hope and the disappointment, the silence in the streets of Port Louis.
From that depth rises a pride that is warm and multicolored. The sega dance that lets the hips speak, the dholl puri shared with love, the rum from the sugarcane fields that warms the soul. Our people laughing through hardship, our youth rising for a better land, our bond stronger than origin. We have found our voice again: the democracy growing, the tourism that shows our island, the hope that never dies.
Yet the truth colors magenta like a sunset over Le Morne Brabant. The scars remain: poverty in the villages, the memory of slavery, emigration of youth, the pressure of climate change on our coasts. The outside world buys our tourism and our sugar, but often does not feel the depth of a people who never broke.
Still, we remember in silence: around the ravanne where music is made, during Independence Day on 12 March when we raise our flag, in the villages where the spirits still speak – never forgetting who we were. We tell our children of the Taino and of Ramgoolam, of the sea and the mountains, so they know: we were connected and strong before we were challenged.
And yet… the ravanne continues, warm and rhythmic, like a heartbeat that never falls silent. That is our secret: we have suffered under colonization, slavery, and unrest, but first we were a land of mixture and sea. For our children we build no walls, but a sega circle where everyone may dance. How do we let that drum-sound bring unity to everyone again? How does Mauritius remain a home of diversity and laughter?
January 2026
Manna Ori
Attravers l-Zgħajn tal-Mauritian
Premye son ki to tande kan granmatin arive lor Port Louis se son doux, ritmik enn ravanne ki bat enn kout, melanze ek kri lontan enn zwazo tropikal ek loder dholl puri frais ek kari ki sorti kot enn lakaz pre. Sa son tambour-la li ramene zistwar nou ziska letan bann zil ek karfour, kan nou ti pe viv kouma bann pep Moris – Kreol, Indo-Morisien, Sino-Morisien, Franco-Morisien ek lot ki finn form zil la ansam. Nou zanset ti vini de tou kote: bann esklav Afriken ki ti amene ritm, bann travayer kontrakte Indien ki ti plante kann, bann komersan Sinwa ki ti ouv boutik, bann kolon Franse ki ti bati domenn. Zot ti viv an larmoni ek lamer koma mama ek bann volkan koma papa: peser ki ti onore laginn, kiltivatè ki ti kiltive kann ek vaniy, kominote kot langaz ek kiltir ti fonn ansam dan sega ek kari. Sak fami ti kone zistwar bann revòlt esklav, fet Cavadee ek Diwali ki ti selebre ansam, linyon ki ti plis for ki rasinn. Sa ti letan dor nou: enn zil diversite, kot dimounn ti viv ek losean koma larout ek montagn koma boukliye, lib ek konekte par melanz ek respe.
Me lerla ti vini vag de lor, kouma siklon ki leve depi l’Oseyan Indien mem. Olande, Franse ek Angle ti koloniz nou depi 17e siek, fer nou koloni plantasyon kann ek esklav. Bann esklav ti vini depi Lafrik ek Madagaskar, zot ledo kase anba soley, zot lespri toufe me zame mouri. Sak fami ti kone perte: enn zanset ki ti vini an chenn, enn langaz ki ti bizin sobrevivan an kache, enn kiltir ki ti melanz pou reste vivan. Lindepandans an 1968 ti amene Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam – lespwar ki ti grandi – me osi defi enn pei zenn: kriz ekonomik, tansyon politik, emigrasyon bann zenn. Sak fami ti kone douler lesklavaz, lespwar ek dezapointman, silans dan lari Port Louis.
Sorti dan sa profonder-la, enn fyerete santi ek multikolor ki leve. Sega ki fer lapo koz, dholl puri ki partaze avek lamour, rom ki sorti kann ki chofe lame. Nou dimounn ki riye malgre difikilte, nou zenn ki leve pou enn pei meyer, nou linyon ki plis for ki rasinn. Nou finn retrouv nou lavwa: demokrasi ki grandi, turism ki montre nou zil, lespwar ki zame mouri.
Me verite la kuler magenta kouma kouche soley lor Le Morne Brabant. Sikatri ki reste: povrete dan vilaz, souvenir lesklavaz, emigrasyon bann zenn, presyon chanzman klimatik lor kot nou. Lepep lor dibor azete turism ek kann nou, me souvent pa santi profonder enn pep ki zame kase.
Kanmem… nou rapel an silans: otour ravanne kot lamizik fer, pandan Zanfete Lindepandans 12 Mars kan nou hise drapo nou, dan vilaz kot lespri ankoret pe koz – zame bliye ki nou ti ete. Nou dir nou zanfan zistwar Taino ek Ramgoolam, lamer ek montagn, pou zot kone: nou ti konekte ek for avan ki zot defi nou.
E kanmem… ravanne kontinye, santi ek ritmik, kouma bat kèr ki zame arete. Sa se nou sekre: nou finn soufri anba kolonizasyon, lesklavaz ek traka, me premye nou ti enn pei melanz ek lamer. Pou nou zanfan nou pa bati miray, me enn sirk sega kot tou dimounn kapav danse. Kouma nou fer sa son tambour-la ramene linyon pou tou dimounn ankoret, kouma Moris reste lakaz diversite ek riye?
Zanvye 2026
Manna Ori