travelogues

un l'ile pour un autre

2007-07-25T23:06:00.001+04:00

Greetings from Antananarivo. In a bout of spotenaiety, I decided to dely my return to the United States by one week to take a quick trip to Madagascar.

My travel buddy for the next 10 days is ma copine, Christin, a German exchange student. Since this will be the first time either of has had a vacation since moving to the Indian Ocean region, it's kind of like a lune du miel.

Internet is slow and rare to find here in Mada, but I will send updates when I can. Stay tuned!

parting is such sweet sorrow

2007-07-23T17:36:00.000+04:00

Since parting is such sweet sorrow, I decided to say goodbye to the friends I've made here in Mauritius not once but on three separate occassions. On Saturday June 14th, my house was site of first in a series of goodybe parties: une soireee d'au revoir gaie. About 20 gay and lesbian friends from the Collectif Arc en Ciel were in attendance, and we danced the evening away. My ambition going into the evening was to have the island's first house party for homos, and in that respect as well as others it was truly a success. Of my vingtaine esteemed guests, no less than 5 had to be put to bed by friends, and i count myself among them. Thanks to the 6 shots of sambuca flambee that I downed over the course of the evening, most of the party's happenings had to be recounted to me the following day. However, according to all who attended, the party was one of the most enjoyable that they had ever been to.

In a rare triumph of efficient multi-tasking (and inspite of a raging hangover), the day after the party I managed to wake up early and conduct focus groups with 20 Chinese garment workers. Of course that is a gross exaggeration-- my chinese comprehension has declined to such a pitiable state that i reguarly say nihao with the wrong tones. However, I was luckly enough to have the language support from a Chinese-speaking French woman who moved to L'Ile Maurice to be with her husband, a Hindu Mauritian doctor whom she met while doing studies in Beijing.

Goodbye party number two happened this past Thursday. To show my appreciation for their generosity, I treated my entire office to a goodbye lunch featuring all of their favorite things to eat. I presented them with cards as well as a photo album containing pictures from the whole of my senjour a Maurice, including photos from the weddings of two staffers. Suffice it to say, the gift was very well received. The on Saturday 21 July, I had a repeat visit with my workmates from Straconsult. The whole group of them came to my house to join the rest of my Mauritian friends in sending me off at a soriee d'adieu, potluck style. Among the more exciting dishes were soy fish curry (soy is to say fake veg fish), gateaux piment curry, and vegetarian fish prepared with greens stuffed with dahl flour and tamarind, served in a spicy and fragrant tomato sauce.

Sunday was dedicated to yet another goodbye get together.. this time, however, at the Belle Mare plage in the company of all the university students who aided me on my research project. In the 2 months that the group of us has been meeting daily for surveys and interviews, we have become fast friends. Thus, in spite of rainy and all around disagrerable weather, we passed a truly beautiful afternoon together, feasting on heaping plates of vegetable Biryani, dessert, and beer. After 10 straight weeks of mixed methods data collection, as well as 6 months of qualitative research, it felt wonderful celebrating the end of the project.

I summary, although my time in Mauritius has not been easy, preparing to leave has given me time to reflect on all that I have appreciated about the experience. I truly feel lucky to have had the opoprtuntiy to live in a place that is so physically stunning, sociologically unique, and other-worldy. Finalment, there are many things that I will miss, surtout mes amis.

the cat ate my research (!!)

2007-06-26T01:19:00.000+04:00

This is a true story.

Pictured above: My consent to interview forms after Kiwi bit a large chunk out of the stack.

Not only is Kiwi our fattest, most voracious cat, ss you can see, he's also rather indiscriminate when he has the munchies.

Nevertheless, inspite of Kiwi's interference, my fieldwork got off to a wonderful start this week. On Monday, my 3-person research team visited 3 garment companies and administered 55 surveys today, which is an all time high. Tomorrow we will be traversing l'ile again to carry out 60 more. Thus, after 10 days in the filed, we have completed nearly 200 surveys... leaving 4 weeks to carry out the remaining 500 to 600. Suddenly seems managable.

Returning to the previous thread on crafty cats, check out what Marley, the mother of all our no-longer-very-"wee"-ones succeeded in doing last Sunday.

photo taken around 3pm:

photo taken about 1 hour later:

That's right.. she successfully knocked both cushions off the couch and arranged it so that the second one was stacked perfectly on top of the first.

Mon dieu... it's amazing the things you can do without opposable thumbs...

Il n'y a qu'un mois qui reste (Only one month remaining)

2007-06-23T00:33:00.000+04:00

In just under 5 weeks time, I am moving back home, which is really hard to fathom.

While there are plenty of reasons why I should be ready to leave Mauritius, the prospect of leaving fills me with a certain sadness. For starters, there's the matter of all the things I will be leaving behind.

First and foremost, I will miss my friends. The few close friends that I have made here are really unforgettable. Ranging in age from 18 to 58, my group of friends counts among its members my constant companion Dorian, the researchers at my NGO, the university students aiding me with my project, my wonderful neighbors, a published novelist, a 30 year old doctor who studied at BeiDa, my Muslim friend who takes me out for drinks and dancing every Friday, my posee of a dozen or so gay and lesbian Mauritians (including one Catholic priest-turned LGBT activist) and a small cadre of progressive female lawyers.

Secondly, I will miss the food. As a wheat free vegetarian here in Mauritius, I have feasted like royalty for next to nothing. Vegetarian food is cheap, abundant, and incredibly creative. In fact, I hit up the veg-friendly eatery in Quatre Bornes so often, I have become friends with all of the servers and owners, and on my birthday, they even gave me a present, albeit a strange one.

There is also a robust culture of food vending on the street. My favorite roadside snack is a dish called gateaux piment, which is yellow dal soaked and blended with garlic and green onions and then fried. The final product is this heavenly meat-ball shaped that is typically eaten in chili.

There are also men that cook chinese dimsum and noodles on the road, and that serve roti with rougaille, pea curry, and seasoned spinach offered as toppings.

Apart from friends and food, I have also enjoyed the idiosyncrasies of the island that don't touch on the side of mistreatment of women. For instance, motorcycles are widely popular here, and on a given afternoon you can see "gangs" of motorcyclists idling at stop lights. However, breaking away from the typical dynamic, many of the Island's motorcyclists are men in their 50's, who use their motos as their primary mode of transit/transport/commerce. Thus, its not uncommon to see motorcyclists maneuvering the streets with hulking bags and oblong boxes or large potted house-plants.

And then there's Creole. Creole was initially the bane of my existence because it made communicating in French and English difficult... however, now I see it as a language that has a great deal of integrity at the level of grammar, and one that erases social distance and breeds a certain intimacy.

Finally, I will miss my fabulous rental house, my 6 remaining cats, my yard full of fruit tress, and the windows that look out onto the mountains...

Not to mention my sub-200 rent. Just received my housing offer from my Law School, and it looks as though I will be paying 6 times that amount to live in a studio the size of my current living room. Yay Manhattan prices!

Alas, now that I'm confronting the fact that I am on my way out, I have3 new commitments:
1. A Commitment to visiting all of the tourist attractions I've some how missed out on (MOST, as it turns out)
2. A Commitment to blog with more frequency &
3. A Commitment to send out postcards at long last.

Thus, to my readers:
If any of you would like to receive a post card from Mauritius, write me a comment with your mailing address in the body. All comments will be screened upon receipt to protect your internet anonymity

et si la lune ne revient pas?

2007-06-21T23:26:00.000+04:00

Wednesday and Thursday evening, I attended a dazzling play called "Ma Ravanne (my drum)"

La Ravanne is a large, flat drum that is used to play sega, Mauritius's national song and dance, and that is featured prominently in the musical traditions of the greater region. Countries where the La Ravanne is popular are also countries where slaves and indentured servants were seized and brought to Mauritius. These include Madagascar, India, and Sri Lanka. Thus, the drum occupies an important place in the patrimony of the Western Portion of the Indian Ocean.

Naturally, when I heard that there was going to be an exposition on La Ravanne, I envisioned a concert of some variety or another. However, to my surprise, "MaRavanne ended up being an experimental play and of the most interesting theatrical experiences I've had.

Foremost, a word about the scene and the players..Ma Ravanne was staged in a room steeped in incense, in a tranche of the floor demarcated by sticks and stones. Further, it was realized of a troupe of 8 extremely good-looking, well-muscled, and scantily clad men (see loincloths) from across the Indian Ocean region, including Mauritius, Madagascar, India, Sri Lanka, Reunion, Seychelles.

The composition and aesthetics of the cast was interesting for several reasons, not the least of which is the demographics of the audience and their typical reactions to the play. Not only was every gay Mauritian that I know personally in attendance, so were dozens of unattached straight women, and both groups were salivating throughout the production and looked ready to slide out of their seats and puddle onto the floor. One 50 year old friend was so excited by the play that she had it 3 times already, but still had to fan herself when recounting her impressions( "C'était suuuPER! TRES jolie.)"

More pointedly, however, it made interesting use of objectification. For a change, it was mens' bodies that were sensualized and put on display, and by doing so, the play engaged in a discussion of performative masculinity and the male body as both a site of power and a site of fragility.

Beyond its selection of actors & constuming, MaRavanne also made very interesting use of narrative, song and dance. La Ravanne drums were both instruments and props through the production... sometimes even being used to obscure the faces of the actors and strung together depict these somewhat mythical figures. Also played reed pipes, indian string instruments, rainsticks and small percussion instruments.. blending the sound with storytelling and movement.

The play's narrative devices were also fascinating. Lines were delivered in French, Creole, Tamil, Hindi and Malagasy and were scattered among the members of the troupe. There were also many other types of vocalizations.. for instance, chirping, moaning, gasping for air/water. In addition, all took turns entering the center of the stage and dancing.. although here, the performers' movements were a cross between dancing and seizing, they were so frenetic.

One line that served as a refrain was "j'ai soif" (i am thirsty). Another recurring expression was a recitation of the names of prophets from Hinduism and Islam, as well as the phrase "si la lune ne revient pas?" (and if the moon does not return?) My initial reading of the line concerning thirst was that it was a reference to the longing felt by the descendants of slaves and the alcoholism that often helps make their exile bearable. However, a friend's interpretation was that the actors thirsted their ancestors, and that they wanted to imbibe the souls of their antecedents and those departed, as well as drink up their roots and traditions since abandoned.

Although my interpretation is perhaps disappointingly literal, my problem with this evaluation is that thirst does not seen like an apt metaphor to describe the desperation of a slave population secluded on an island. I would imagine that persons brought from Mainland Africa, India or Madagascar by coercion to a place like Mauritius (where you can almost always see the ocean) would result in a feeling of profound seasickness, and perhaps even a sensation of drowning.. having lungs full of water...

Ultimately, going to see "MaRavanne" twice allowed me to have two very different appreciations of the production. This difference in perception is based both on my re-view of the play and the fact that each night i was there, the Director adopted a different approach to introducing the play. For instance, on Wednesday when I saw "MaRavanne" for the first time, the play was staged without much in the way of introduction and audience members were left to deduce meanings themselves. However, during the second staging of the production, the director described in his own words what the play was meant to convey, and asserted that the play was mean to discuss slavery.

This commentary had an interesting impact on my experience, in that I found myself constantly searching for clues and corroboration.

For instance, if the production was indeed was a discussion of slaves and slavery (as opposed to descendants of slaves, for instance) one interesting thing about its staging is that the slavemasters and slaveowners are never depicted. To an extent, the same was true for bondage in general. Throughout the play, the actors move about the stage unbridled, unrestrained. Thus, the fact that the performers are enslaved or captive is never directly implied...

Interestingly, the only thing that suggested the fact of their captivity was the boundless volatility of their emotions. The actors were childlike in certain moments, hysterical at others, combative on certain occasions, and cloying and sensual at other times. There was a certain madness, a certain volatility about it.. It was the range of that one might imagine of someone in solitary confinement... where your lack of agency in the material world forces you to create an emotional life in your head.

Photography was not allowed at the performance, so I unfortunately do not have any images from the performance. However, a parting visual:

The final scene ends with a man with waist-length dreadlocks turning in a circle and beating the La Ravanne with his hair. Absolutely brilliant.

Since then, I can't tell you how much I've been asked whether I play instruments with my hair as well...

LGBT Film Fest & Pride Wrapup

2007-06-11T19:32:00.000+04:00

Rainbow Pride Mauritius 2007 was a rousing success, as well as one of the peak experiences of my Fulbright year. For only the second time in history, LGBT persons on the Island got together to assert the fact of their existence.

Alongside the Pride March, there was also a International LGBT Film Fest that was impressive both in terms of the diversity of its selections and the overall quality. From a roster of 20 shorts and 4 feature length films, there were many standouts -- none of which I had ever seen or heard discussion of.

One of my personal favorites were Innocent, a film revolving around the life of a gay Hong Kongaise teenage whose family abruptly moves to Canada. From there, the movie recounts his experience coming out in a purportedly tolerant society against a backdrop of family turmoil.

Another excellent film was a documentary called Happy Hookers . Happy Hookers tracked the lives of 4 male sex workers in Bombay, India. The men who were featured came from far reaching backgrounds ... one was a farmer who migrated to Bombay to seek out roles in Bollywood films; another was a more middle class man who worked as dancer and lived with his mother, another worked part time as a tailor, and a final was a married Muslim living in a cramped apartment with his parents, wife and children.

Though all engaged in sex work for reasons of economic sustenance, they all professed male attraction and counted among their friends other homosexual men as well as transgendered women. In addition, a few of the men featured were also were members of a NGO set up to advocate on behalf of LGBT Indians. Collectively, gave viewers a unique glimpse of Bombay..

Yet, when the asked whether they practiced safe sex or had heard about HIV or AIDS, all four of them said no. Listening to these confessions was utterly devastating...

The final film of the festival that absolutely floored me was a documentary called
This Way Out, which recounted the stories of 3 LGBT refugees to the United States: a lesbian from Brazil, a gay man Pakistan and a gay man from Kenya. All three petitioned for asylum in the United States after being targeted for violence in their home countries or witnessing other LGBT persons persecuted. The man from Kenya relayed how gay persons were regularly "lynched" .. or rung with a gasoline doused tire and then lit afire. The woman from Brazil relayed stories of lesbians being assassinated in broad day light by gunmen, confided that she had left Brazil after being raped by a colleague determined to "set her straight." After that point, I bawled.

Nevertheless, softening the blow of these more heartrending movies, the Festival also screened several movies that were light-hearted, absurd, and shocking/fantastic. One such film was a 6 minute court métrage turned in Turkey and told the story of a Court Attendant who drove his Emperor wild with desire by washing his feet, clipping his toe nails, and drinking the water. Then in a second short film, the Milkman, the story centers on a 600lb middle aged man and his teenage paramour, who he woos by offering a bottle of milk. At the end of the film we learn that the older man is lactating, and that the milk he serves the other one came from his own breast. The film finally ends with him breastfeeding the younger one.

Talk about shock-value...I for one could hardly beat watching the sequence. However, given the fact that it interrupted an otherwise sobering selection of films, it ended up being a real audience favorite.

One film that was decidedly not an crowd-favorite was Finn's Girl... complained universally about its length (clocked in at 1.5 hours on a day that had been dedicated to short films (courts métrages). However, despite the fact that it was one of the festival's most poorly received films, it was one of my favorite. I for one have never encountered a screenplay quite so dense. Get this: the subject of the film was a butch 40-something OB/GYN named Finn, who worked simultaneously as an abortion provider AND a reproductive technology specialist (delicious) whose life partner was an abortion provider who had died of breast cancer 2 years earlier.

In addition, the protagonist was the caretaker of a surly, ill-tempered, pot-smoking, shoplifting 12 year old who rejected her as her actual parent, seeing her instead as a step parent. Thus, the film was a drama revolving around their family problems, as well as the numerous death threats and assassination attempts that were raining down on the household because of chosen profession. In addition, it was a romantic concerning the Dr's trysts with another doctor at the abortion clinic, and subsequently with a police officer stationed outside her house on 24 detail.

And as if lesbianism, relationship drama, abortion provision, family disintegration, death of a life parter, and pro-life sniper attack weren't sufficient material, the movie ended with the revelation that the Finn's unruly teenager was really her biological daughter, and the first ever child conceived of two mothers/ two eggs.

In the end the film was dense to the point of being totally absurd, but I personally loved how they stacked the platter.

Apart from the film festival, attention was also brought to LGBT issues through awareness raising in the print and broadcast media. On 3 or 4 occasions, members of the Collectif Arc-en-Ciel appeared on radio talk shows to answer questions about homosexuality from callers. Considering that most of the caller's intentions were to verify that the speakers were gay themselves and then voice their resounding disapproval, this was an incredibly incredibly brave.

Alongside the radio blitz, a series of articles on LBGT issues also appeared in the Mauritian Press, on topics as wide ranging as the film fest, activists battles against homophobia, and the existence of bisexuality. I was interviewed as part of the final piece, and if you read if you'd be tricked into thinking I speak French like a member of the Parisian literati.

The efforts of activists did not go unchallenged, however. On the day of the Island's actual Pride March, a coalition calling themselves the "Mauricien Croyants Bibliques" (Mauritian Biblical Believers) staged a counter rally in Quatre Bornes, the town adjacent to the site of the Pride March. Interestingly, in spite of the name, the Biblical Believers parade turned out to be an interfaith assembly of mono-theistic and polytheistic religious adherents, united under a banner of "Non A La Déviance Sexuelle" (No to Sexual Deviance).

Due to the timing of the event, Mauritian newspapers covered the Rainbow Pride March and the Anti-Homosexuality March together using headlines such as "Deux Marches, Deux Causes.

Perhaps a testament to the diversity of the group, one photo showed a Muslim man leading a crowd of sign-waving protesters, while another showed a Hindu man holding a "Homsexuality is Immorality" poster... (talk about uncanny sense of rhyme). Finally, a Creole man was featured holding a placard with the word "Death" written in hand-drawn capital letters.

While homophobia is nothing that I am unused to, what does surprise me is how religious groups in Mauritius seem to operate on grand consensus. Even if Hindus, Christians and Muslims disagree about the identities of the prophets, none question the prominent role that religion plays in every day life here. Take the recent debate surrounding the decriminalization of consensual sodomy. Polemicists emerged from all possible religious orders, unified in their conviction that the state should regulate private liaisons in the interest of "morality."

The fudging of political debate, religious discourse and ethnic-cultural group membership (i.e. Hinduism as an ethnic community and interlinked set of religious practices) also makes homosexuality a highly closeted affair. Despite the fact that persons of South Asian descent constitute 70% of the Islands population, not a single member of the Collectif Arc en Ciel is Hindu or Muslim... seemingly due to the inflexibility of their sending cultures. Case in point, last year when a Hindu Lesbian came out to her family, she was involuntarily committed to a mental institution for an entire month.

Although it's hard to imagine a scenario where Catholics would be the most progressive group in a society, it seems to be the case here. As a group, LGBT Creole s Catholics have much greater visibility.

In the end, having to square off with the religious protesters scared many of the Rainbow marchers away. Although 300 people attended in the Parade, twice that number had been expected, and twice that figure showed up for the Pride Party that took place in a more sequestered location that same evening.

However, for those LGBT activists who were not too daunted by the counter really, the counter protests renewed our sense of purpose.

Naturally, I took lots and lots of photos of the Pride March...
Rainbow Pride Mauritius 2007 Hope that you enjoy!

On Surveys/Why I love Mauritius (in spite of my frequent complaining)

2007-05-31T23:54:00.000+04:00

Where else in the world can you find this sequence of questions on a nationwide census??

4.1 Have you been to a public beach for purposes other than work during the past 12 months?

4.2 How many times have you been to the beach during the past 12 months?

4.3 For what main purpose do you usually go to the beach?

4.4 What is your favourite beach? (If no favourite beach, the one most recently visited)

4.5 When did you last go there?

4.6 What was your means of transport for going there?

4.7 Where was the vehicle parked?

4.8 (a) At what time did you arrive at the beach?
(b) At what time did you leave the beach?

4.9 How would you describe the following with regards to the beach:
1. Accessibility
2. Shade
3. Parking facilities
4. Quality of sea water
5. Safety at sea
6. Maintenance
7. Kiosk facilities
8. Availability of tap water
9. Toilet facilities
10. Shower facilities
11. Refuse disposal facilities
12. Security on the beach
13. Lighting
14. Availability of leisure activities

4.11 How important are the following factors the choice of a beach?

4.12 Do you consider your favourite beach (or the one most recently visited) as being crowded?

4.13 (a) Are you aware if there are less crowded beaches nearby?
(b) Which is the nearest one you know?

4.14 How would you describe the following with regards to the beach stated in 4.13
(b).
1. Accessibility
2. Shade
3. Parking facilities
4. Quality of sea water
5. Safety at sea
6. Maintenance
7. Kiosk facilities
8. Availability of tap water
9. Toilet facilities
10. Shower facilities
11. Refuse disposal facilities
12. Security on the beach
13. Lighting
14. Availability of leisure activities

That is all.

midweek updates

2007-05-30T00:46:00.000+04:00

Rainbow Pride 2007 is in full force. The first-ever Indian Ocean LBGT Film Fest began on Monday, to a packed house. Over 90 people were in attendance, and after viewing a series of short films, a group of 20 of us went out to eat at King Dragon in Quatre Bornes.

One of the filmmakers whose work we have been screening is actually visiting the Island for the week. His name is Paul Lee, and he is a much lauded filmmaker from Toronto, Canada. The two of us have done some bonding over our shared geographic origins, as well as our affection for New Haven. Apparently, he considered going to Yale for a Ph.D in Anthropology in 2002, but opted to stay in Canada instead.

In other news, my project has recently seen a real flurry of activity. This past weekend, I conducted my first ever interviews with migrant workers. In addition, I just assembled a multi-lingual research team, and hope to spend the entirety of June and July administering surveys to and conducting focus groups with shopfloor workers. This is a departure from the first half of my project, which polled the experiences of company owners. Thus, suffice it to say, I am really excited.

Last but no leased, I am pleased to announce that I just posted 100 new photos at my photoblog on flickr! These pictures mark my first real foray into street photography since coming to Mauritius. I'm rather happy with the outcome. Shot some video as well, but still devising a way to post it.

More photos here...Enjoy.

Press Release for Rainbow Pride Mauritius 2007

2007-05-24T20:56:00.000+04:00

One year after staging the country’s first-ever Gay Pride Festival, LGBT activists on the tiny African Island of Mauritius are returning to the streets once more to rally against the homophobia that touches their lives daily.

Rainbow Pride Mauritius begins Monday 28 May 2007 with a groundbreaking International LGBTQ Film Festival, brought to Mauritius by the . The weeklong festival will features award-winning movies from Africa, Asia, Europe and the Americas, along with an appearance by gay filmmaker Paul Lee. Admission is free and open to the public.

Two more hallmark Pride events take place during the weekend. On Saturday 2 June, LGBTQ Mauritians and their allies will assemble for the country’s Second Annual Pride March, in the company of dignitaries, speakers and a diverse group of gay performance artists. That evening, Rainbow Pride will conclude with a dazzling soirée for the island’s LGBTQ community. Nearly a thousand people are expected to attend.

The organizer of the 2006 and 2007 Mauritian pride festivals is the Collectif Arc-en-Ciel, an organization that advocates for LGBTQ Mauritians and sensitizes the public about homophobia and discrimination. Partners for this year also include the Embassy of France and the Embassy of South Africa.

In addition to challenging the stigma that homosexuality carries in Mauritius, Rainbow Pride 2007 will galvanize support for a Parliamentary bill that would decriminalize sodomy. According to existing laws, consensual sodomy is punishable by five years in jail.

Reflecting on this new campaign, organizers at the Collectif Arc-en-Ciel told the press: “Everyone has a right to live, to think and to love, regardless of their sexual orientation. Therefore, our hope is to create a society where sexual diversity is celebrated, and where the civil rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered persons are protected under law.”

List of Activities:
Event: International LGBT Film Festival
Date & Time: 28th May to 1st June 2007, 19h-22h
Location: Centre Culturel Charles Baudelaire, Rose Hill Mauritius.

Event: 2nd Annual Rainbow Pride March
Date & Time: 2nd June 2007, 11h
Location: Rose Hill Municipality, Mauritius

Event: Rainbow Pride Party
Date & Time: 2nd June 2007, 22h30
Location: Kart Loisirs, Petite Rivière, Mauritius

Contact Information for Collectif Arc en Ciel:
Thierry de Ravel (President) thierry@publico.mu cell : +230 422 4119
Audrey Kelly (Vice President) audreyk@intnet.mu cell : +230 732 68 87
Nicolas Ritter (Pride Coordinator) nritter@intnet.mu cell : + 230 729 98 80

Press release done by yours truly...

On ChouChou, and other vegetables

2007-05-23T11:26:00.000+04:00

On Monday, our beloved cat ChouChou turned up dead in a neighbor's yard. ChouChou, who shared his name with one of Mauritius's most enigmatic legumes, was all that you could hope for in a pet: he was warm, affectionate and doting. For example, most mornings when I took my shower, ChouChou would stand just beyond the curtains and wait for me. He also was a heroic figure to the other cats, who often fought amongst themselves for the opportunity to cuddle up next to him.

As I saw it, ChouChou's fur color furnished indisputable evidence that God, provided he or she exists, has a wry sense of humor and a keen appreciation for irony. As an all white cat, ChouChou's fur left a visible record of his misadventures. For instance, ever since March when we got ChouChou fixed, his bottom has been flanged with bright purple streaks... Apparently, veterinary antiseptic products double as permanent hair dye (although, pointedly, none of our other cats remained purple-bottomed for long).

As someone who never had pets growing up, I certainly wasn't expecting to house a small troupe of felines upon my move to Mauritius. However, that said, my cat's companionship has been wonderful and I love them as if they were my own furry, four-legged, meddlesome kids.

Alas, rest in peace ChouChou, you will be missed by all.

More Photos from the Intl. AIDS Candelight Vigil

2007-05-21T03:26:00.001+04:00

More photos here.

updates from May

2007-05-20T22:04:00.000+04:00

Chris and Mikayla, our resident married couple, returned to the U.S. two weeks ago, bringing the number of Mauritian Fulbrighters down from five to three
In the week or so leading up to their departure, there were lots of celebratory dinners and revelry. Although it was sad seeing them off, it gave us the opportunity to reflect on the experiences we've shared over the past few months, and the friends that we have made. Despite the negatives, there have been lots of adventures and lots of laughter.

In spite of all these transitions, however, my social calender of late has been full to bursting. The weekend before last, my French teacher at the Alliance Francaise invited me out for a soiree at her daughter's house in Flic en Flac. The gathering, which was attended by 40 or 50 persons, was a housewarming party (for her daughter and son in law) meets birthday party (for her sister and 1 year old granddaughter) meets going-away bash for a niece, immigrating to France. Although I've been to my fair share of Indian wedding ceremonies and engagement parties, that evening gave me my first real glimpse into the lives of Creole families. One of the things that fascinated me about the gathering was the diverse attendance. Counted among the guests were several Creole and White and Creole and Hindu couples, several interracial children, as well as expats from France and England in addition to the U.S. (lest I fail to include myself).

Over the course of the evening, guests dined on Indian Mauritian fare while discussing the French elections, and recounting their travels to Mainland Africa in English and French to accommodate non-Francophones (of which there were several). Then, following dinner we danced to a playlist that alternated between French ballads and American pop hits. All in all, it was une soiree inoubliable (an unforgettable evening).

Then this past week, I spent Thursday, Friday and Saturday out with two newfound friends.. a Mauritian ophthalmologist and a British labor lawyer. Their company has been so pleasant that I actually agreed to venture back to Kitsch (first time since LGBT night). Astonishingly, even though Kitsch did not resemble a Greenwich Village Disco, I still had a pretty good time.

Finally on Sunday, rather than spending a lazy day at home, I took a road trip around he Island with a friend of mine and his elderly parents. Ditching the Coastal roads for routes that traversed the county's interior, we traveled through a lot of hilly, verdant areas and saw some breathtaking views.

Even though Mauritius in all its grandeur stands the size of Rhode Island, it boasts an extraordinary range of temperature zones and micro-climates. Based on the landscapes I saw this afternoon, I would have guessed that I had been teleported from the middle of the Indian Ocean to the European countryside.

Finally, I ended the weekend by attending a candlelight vigil held to commemorate the lives of persons who have died of HIV/AIDS in Mauritius and around the world. The event was staged in 5 different parts of the Island. The vigil I sat it on was held at a neighboring town, and I found it to be well organized and appropriately somber, despite the fact that Mauritius has largely been shielded from the wrath of the virus.

Interestingly, however, a disproportionate number of those in attendance were Creole or Chinese Mauritians... an interesting demographic for an event such as this one.

more pictures on flickr

and the baby makes eight

2007-05-07T19:28:00.000+04:00

My chiffre des chats (cat total) has climbed up from 6 to 8. Marlee, the mother of almost every cat in our household, moved her new litter into our house a few weeks back..

The new arrivals are Little Monkey (see left) and a cute orange cat that is as of yet unnamed because of its unveiled hatred for us.

Now that most our kittens are full grown cats, the novelty of being the Quatre Bornes "cat house" has truly worn off. Despite the insistence of locals that cats can subsist on rice, our cats only dine on $12 bags of whiskers, and more importantly their appetite is insatiable.

If you do not feed the cats to their satisfaction, they will follow you around the house whining until you do. Or, when they are especially persistent, they will turn a corner and follow you on your three-block walk to your friend's house, and then wait outside the door until you leave (This, sadly, is a true story).

At this point, my roommate and I are easily spending $60 a month on catfood,

which is absolutely ridiculous. Even though Mauritius is Sub-Saharan Africa in "quotation marks," it's not difficult to think of how far that money would go in other parts of the region.

Not only is $60 a month easily more than I spend on my own groceries, it is also the basic salary of an EPZ worker in Kenya, and the amount it costs to send a kid to public school for a year in Tanzania. Suffice it to say, if I only could donate to a single charity, it would not be the Quatre Bornes Cat Preserve.

Anybody want a cat? If you ask nicely, I might even pay to ship them over to you... I'd be surprised if international courier services cost much more than our cat food does.

I'm at least half serious...

la fin de la semaine

2007-04-23T00:40:00.000+04:00

In spite of all of the recent chaos, I feel more secure than ever about being away from home and living in Mauritius.

Although there are many reasons for this newfound reassurance, prominent among them are my friends and family. Foremost, since going public about my attack, I have received a tremendous outpouring of concern from folks back home. To all of you who got in touch this past week, read my blog or just listened, thanks so much for being there... I can't express how much you mean to me, or how much your support matters.

Also heartening are the responses of my Mauritian friends, who have truly been amazing. Since Tuesday, I have been treated to bouquets of flowers, chocolate bars, telephone calls and impromptu visits. My Mauritian colleagues have also mobilized around the issue of my personal safety. When I notified the U.S. Embassy of what transpired, two consulars immediately came to check up on me, and they also accompanied me to the police station to make a statement. Similarly, when I informed my host NGO about what happened, they began compiling a list of trustworthy taxi drivers I can call in the evenings.

Since Tuesday, my Mauritian friends have also give me several tutorials on personal self defense, which have been at the very least wholly entertaining. Among other things, I have been advised to carry switchblades, screw drivers, metal pipes, and aerosol cans, and been given demonstrations on how to kick men in the groin (incidentally, this is the first piece of advice that my male friends volunteer), snap wrists, and break people's noses with my forehead. While some of these suggestions are more recommended than others, one thing is certain: my Mauritian friends are incredibly resourceful.

One particularly inventive Mauritian family has even offered to stakeout my neighborhood deliver my assailant to the police if he passes by. The way the plan has been described to me (stock the car with fast food and movies, plant a male friend in a skirt on the road as a decoy), it sounds like vigilante justice meets drag show meets pizza party, adding up to a grand ol' time.

While this and other responses to my attack have been pretty spirited, they give me a compelling reason why i should stay on for the rest of my grant: namely, Ile Maurice counts among its inhabitants lots and lots of kind, thoughtful and generous people. However, as it turns out, nice Mauritians simply aren't the people who loiter the streets at night.

Which brings me to my next point: based on last week's experience, I have resolved to stop walking alone after sunset (read 6pm) as had been my custom because of Tae Kwon Do, French class, and research. Although it pains me to surrender my rights of travel and transit, I think doing so will make me much safer. Daytime street harassment does not carry the same threat of violence as nighttime harassment. During the day there are eyes on the street, and that enforces a certain type of order... what Foucault's Discipline and punish terms "the panopticon."

Given that I want to be here and am planing on staying, I guess my challenge is to devise creative means to beat immobility. One possibility is taking taxis daily.. However, I've also been thinking about acquiring my own motor vehicle... anything from a vespa to a mini cooper would do (Oh what fun!). Alas, here's to looking on the bright side...

More on the perils of being a black woman in Mauritius

2007-04-18T20:07:00.000+04:00

For those of you who haven't received the memo, street harassment is both pervasive and incessant in Mauritius.

Apart from the daily dose of hissing and leering that I am exposed to, I've been groped by a bus driver, harassed over the telephone by police officers, followed from the market, flashed at a dance club, and most recently, attacked and very nearly sexually assaulted. In a span of 5 months, I have had more experiences of sexual assault than most women accumulate over a lifetime and nothing prepared me for this.. not the Fulbright Foundation, not the Embassy, and not even my experiences of being harassed back home.

The cast of characters are partially new as well as partially old and familiar. They include construction workers, street corner drunks, curmudgeons, as well as motorists (sometimes driving with their children in the rear), married professionals, men on bicycles, doctors, bus conductors, as well as young persons still in their 20s.

One of the things that has unified all of my street-harassers up to date is the fact that all of them have been Indo-Mauritians. Coincidental? Hardly.

My theory on street harassment in Mauritius is a cultural one, concerning in-group and out-group dynamics on the Isle. Namely, I believe men abide by limited rules of decorum when dealing with women from their own ethnic communities, but behave lawlessly when interacting with women of different origins... particularly Black-African and Creole women.

How else to explain the fact that the same Hindu men who leer, stalk, and hiss at me and my White roommate allow sari-clad women pass by totally unperturbed? Or the fact that not a single one of my three dozen harassers has been a Black man?

What is important to note about this hypothesis is that it stops short of indicting Indo-Mauritian culture as being defective in and of itself. Instead, my contention is that the tenants of respect which govern interactions between Indian persons typically are not applied to interactions between Indians and non-Indians.

As a result of all this, the streets and sidewalks of Mauritius are lawless. Indo-Mauritians articulate their desire for non-Indian women crudely and brazenly ... whether it be hissing at them, soliciting them for sex, grabbing at their bodies or, at worst, tearing their clothes off in the middle of the street.

My second cultural explanation for harassment in Mauritius is that racist and misogynistic stereotypes about black women are pervasive. The one time that I was foolhardy enough to invite a male acquaintance over to watch a movie on a Friday evening, the night ended with him begging to stay the night and looking surprised when I turned him down flat. Mind you, he's Muslim, and prior to soliciting me for sex, he explained that Muslim dating in Mauritius is more or less a formal courtship supervised by parents, where hand-holding is about as intimate as things get. Hmm... makes you wonder why with me, he practically came with his bathtowel and toothbrush.

I will allow that some of this is a problem of nationality, and the way that American women are cast in the blockbuster films that are bootlegged and viewed by Mauritians at a dizzying rate. Apparently, we are ravenous consumers of sex, and there's simply no such thing as "not interested" or "not now." However, the perceptions of Americans that exist in so-called socially conservative countries like Mauritius hardly displace race from its place of prominence in my thesis.

If we erase race as an explanatory factor, how do we explain the statements of the law enforcement officers who handled my case? Consider the following exchanges:

(Police Officer speaking in regards to the bus-driver who groped me)
Officer: "Oh, he probably just thought you were Malagasy. You know, a lot of them are prostitutes"
Me: "Actually, he knew I was American."
Officer: "Oh geez, what a monster!"

And how about this one? (said after my latest case-- essentially an attempted rape)
Officer: "Oh you know, he probably thought you were Creole."

Whatever the intent of these statements, they imply that Black and African-descendant women (sex worker or otherwise) are incapable of being sexually assaulted because they are naturally promiscuous. Thus, we (here I include myself) consent to sex, groping, and unsolicited touching by mere fact of our race. Even whilst putting up a fight...

According to the police, the problem isn't that Black women in Mauritius are systematically denied the right to refuse sex like their Indian, White, and Chinese counterparts, the problem is that I am being misread as one of them.

Thinking about all this has me thoroughly exhausted, so that's all for now. However, more commentary to come. Stay tuned...

Nothing like being assaulted on a Tuesday evening...

2007-04-17T23:31:00.000+04:00

Around 9pm as I was walking home, a man on a bicycle rode up beside me and started making unwanted advances. He was Indian, in his 20s, medium-height and slight-build, and spoke only Creole.

I tried to ditch this man several ways... including saying goodnight, turning off the street, and quickening my pace, but to no avail. The man kept following me and asking me to invite him come over, and when I said no, he got physical and used his bicycle to try and pin me against a row of bushes. When I escaped this trap and began to run, he grabbed the drawstring of my hoodie which allowed him to effectively begin chocking me. While he had me by the neck and collar, he balanced his bicycle against his torso and used his other hand to grope me, grab my privates and tear at my clothes.

Needless to say, I fought back like hell and used tactics as various as flinging an entire bottle of water in his face, screaming and shouting "help" "emergency" in French and English (pointedly, no one came out of their houses), and back pedaling at full speed whenever I was able to disorient him.

After my assailant managed to grab me by the neck for a third time, I escaped by clawing him in the eyes and running to the first lit house that I came across. It ended up being he home of a Muslim family, and no less than 6 members of the family came out to check on me, including a girl in her teens and a women in her 60s. They sat me down and called the police, who came by shortly after and drove me home at my request.

I hate that for every pleasant day I spend in Mauritius, something like this happens to remind me that I'm not safe here, that I cannot feel at ease as a woman... never mind as a black woman. Va te faire foutre, Ile Maurice, for denying me even basic peace of mind.

However, I must extend a big thank you to Erica C, for reminding me of my middle school glory days and the time I beat up a certain locker room menace. I honestly think you helped me drum up the confidence I need to kick my would-be rapist's sorry ass.

Going to the precinct tomorrow to file Police Case Number 3. Anyone else think that this is getting a little bit redundant?

nou pays, nou fierté

2007-03-13T16:47:00.000+04:00

39th Annual Mauritian Independence Day Celebration
Nou Pays, Nou Fierté [Our country, our pride]
Port Louis, MRU - March 12, 2007

An experiment in digital street photography
More photos archived at FLICKR

february 16th & the walk to ganga talo

2007-02-19T13:31:00.000+04:00

Original Post Date: February 16th 2007

Death anniversaries are truly a peculiar animal. However, for all the ways that they are uncomfortable and strange, they are also wonderful. Unlike the remainder of the calendar year, anniversaries can be a day set aside for reminiscing, a day for letting the past creep back into your conscious.

On February 16th 2006, I commemorated the 1st anniversary of my father’s passing by getting a small memorial tattoo. This year, however, I observed the 2nd anniversary of my father’s passing by participating in the island-wide walk to Ganga Talo.

My friends and I (all decidedly non-Hindu) began our journey at midnight, setting out on streets that were eerily vacant. Unlike the previous evening, food servers had vanished, tents had been stuck down, and the only other pedestrians on the road were persons returning from the lake.

Although we had not anticipated it, we were the final pilgrims of the year, and this heightened both my appreciation for the journey and my sense of quietude.

My friends completed the hilly 26 km/ 16 mile trip in just under five hours and arrived at Ganga Talo just in time to witness the sun rise behind a blanket of fog, bathing the lake in soft, somnolent light. There we also found several hundred Hindu families spread out along the lakeside, making offerings of incense, flowers and coconut and saying prayers.

Although the journey was long and fatiguing, it was one the most valuable experiences I’ve had since coming to Mauritius. The journey that many Mauritians make as a demonstration of faith became for me a demonstration of love. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to pause, reflect, and remember.

Photographs from the walk [slideshow]

maha shivaratree & the longest ride home ever

2007-02-17T13:59:00.000+04:00

Original Date: February 14, 2007

When you are a student living on an island where import taxes are so high that used cars run $10,000 dollars, where the people who do have cars drive so precariously that it's unsafe to walk on the sidewalk much less bike in the street, and where nothing is ever as close as you'd think, naturally you naturally spend a lot of time in buses.

However, on good days (i.e. when you’re not being harassed by the ticket collectors of said vehicles), riding the bus in Mauritius is fascinating, both on account of what you observe inside and what you see outside.

Take for instance the red bus line. Owned and operated by a Muslim family, the red line is the only direct bus service to Curepipe, meaning that it does not have to compete with other bus companies on many of its major routes. The red bus line does not misuse its relative monopoly, however. Compared to other companies, the red buses are modern and comfortable. Nonetheless, you can’t help but feel that it is a class action law suit waiting to happen… until recently, I never spotted a female or non-Muslim working the buses. However, late last week, I took a red bus that was staffed by a woman of either Hindu or Creole origin. Who knew?!? I guess the red bus company has good legal consul....

Then there are the blue buses, run by a government corporation. Like true bureaucrats, the blue bus people are so rule-adherent it’s painful. Yesterday, a bus refused to stop for me because I flagged it 5 feet in front of its appointed bus stop, rather than at the bus stop itself. Never mind that it was stopped at a red light!

Unlike Kenya’s glorious system of matatus that provides passengers with first class entertainment while keeping their wait-times down to 2 minutes, due to the sheer number of vehicles on the road, Mauritius’s own places environmental sustainability ahead of customer convenience. Quel dommage.. So after you miss one Express bus to Port Louis (you know, because you tried flagging it down 5 feet to the left of the bus stop sign, instead of at the bus stop itself), it’ll be another 30 minutes before you find one, and by then you’ve sweat through your work clothes standing in the sun and you’re late for all you meetings.

And then there are the small contractors, which undoubtedly have the most character. Buses are colorful, airbrushed with inspirational and pithy phrases.. my favorite being “God is love”. The small bus lines connect urban Mauritius to Rural Mauritius --- geographically speaking, the Central Plateau to the South and the East, ratcheting along less traveled paths and exposing the hidden-away parts of the island.

Due to a curious change of events, I took the longest longest longest bus ride home imaginable... 3.5 hours, which up until now, I hadn't realized was possible given the island’s size.

My journey began at a garment company in Riviere du Rempart, and took me through a labyrinth of rural roads and fields of sugarcane. Sugarcane is such a constant feature of the Mauritian landscape (partout partout partout) that you'd mistake if for grass if you weren't careful... you know, the tall grass you get when your lawnmower breaks down and you don't bother to fix it for the whole summer.

It's definitive: there isn't a square foot of arable land on the Island that isn't growing sugar cane. In fact, there is such much land under sugar cane cultivation I would be surprised if the Island had as much as one farm devoted to fruit and vegetable production. It makes me wonder how I manage to get fruit so cheap here ... i.e. 3 green apples for 30 cents, mangoes for 15 cents.. bananas and oranges for mere pennies.

During hour two of my trip (well, to be precise, hour 1.5 to hour 2.5), rural landscapes were replaced by urban cityscapes. Leaving the country, we ran smack dab into the Maha Shivaratree festival, at the height of its revelry.

For those less conversant with Mauritian flavored Hinduism, Maha Shivaratree is an annual pilgrimage undertaken by Hindu devotees.. The Mauritius specific myth concerning Maha Shivaratree is that Lord Shiva was flying over the then-uninhabited island on a chariot of flowers when he accidentally tipped over a pitcher containing the Lord Ganga (of River Ganges fame), leaving a small lake in his wake. In an attempt to appease the angry aqueous god (sorry, I couldn’t resist alliteration). Lord Shiva declared lake Ganga Talo a holy site, and announced that Hindus would take up residence on the island and make annual offerings at its shores.

Every year more than 500,000 of the Island's 1.3 million citizens take part in the pilgrimage to Ganga Talo. Considering that Mauritius is just under 60% Hindu, there is almost a 90% participation rate within the community. Some Pilgrims come as far as the Eastern Coast of the Island, taking the better part of four days to make the round-trip journey to and from Ganga Talo. Others come from the Central Highlands, traveling anywhere from three to seven hours each way. Finally, children as young as five years old and persons as old as 60 also made the walk.

The Maha Shivaratree celebrations that unfurled before my window were both a visual and an aural spectacle. The roads were filled with thousands of Hindus of all ages and descriptions, wearing white and carrying floats adorned with brightly colored faux flowers and statues of Lord Shiva.

Accompanying the marching faithful were slow-moving cars with speakers mounted on their roofs and Shiva posters splayed out across their hoods, inching along as Hindi hymns boomed out of their sound systems. Also providing a soundtrack for the march was a Hindu marching band that played prayer songs and chants using a combination of Indian flutes, brass instruments and traditional Indian drums.

In addition to all of the bustle dans la rue, there was also a flutter of activity on the sidewalks and shoulders of the road... Voluntary societies flanked both sides of the street, serving food and refreshments to the pilgrims and offering them an opportunity to repose at tented resting areas, equipped with sleeping mats and red plastic chairs.

Upon reaching the Vacoas – Quatre Bornes road, snacks and beverages were being served in such plenty and abundance that the roadside was effectively transformed into a mobile buffet, with new assortments of delicacies available every few feet. Watching the passerbys delighting themselves on lassis, pakoras, bhajias, fruit and milk tea, I couldn’t help but recall the bedtime stories my dad told me during my childhood... grand grand tales where the tortoise, toujours the mischievous protagonist, gorged himself on a procession of food that suddenly materialized in the desert, a floating oasis, only to find himself stuck hand and foot to the emptied dishes, bopping along unwittingly to the Gods' dinner table.

No such calamities befell the voracious marchers, however, not even those who temporarily forgot the holy nature of their trip and discarded their spent cups and napkins on ever-heaping piles of litter. To the contrary, the voluntary societies were infected with such a spirit of gentilesse and generosity that even motorists and bus passengers left with little cups of lassi and fried goodies ...

The last hour of my never-ending trip home found me shifting from passenger to pedestrian. Stuck in Vacoas at the height of the sacred shuffle, I abandoned my bus and took to the road, walking against the Shiva floats, the marching bands, and the throngs wearing white. Yet and still, despite my blackness (or rather, non-Hinduness), my business casual and my decision to walk clear in the opposite direction of the sacred lake, I still had to refuse offers of food and beverage at least a dozen times.

My journey home from Riviere de Rempart finally ended at 6:30, 3.5 hours after it began. In the end, what I found most astounding was the fact that in spite of being comparable to Rhode Island in size, Mauritius still manages to fill me with wonder..

Alas, Om Na Maha Shivaratree...

post script:
this entry is dedicated to Salman Rushdie, for teaching me to revel in verbosity and take pride in the occasional run-on sentence...

in memoriam

2007-02-16T20:40:00.000+04:00

to my father, whom i love and miss,
especially on this most somber of anniversaries.
[april 18, 1954 - february 16, 2005]

mauritius v.s my computer, round 3

2007-02-15T21:33:00.000+04:00

Dear travelogues reader,

I know that I should blog for often.

however, that said, blogging is difficult when you're busy battling a never-ending onslaught of laptop woes... my exact situation. My computer problems are both chronic and terminal. My woes began in November 2006, when my laptop cord developed an electrical short and my comp stopped charging. Three months and Two creative but sort-lived patch-up jobs later, my computer stopped turning on at all, and I finally resigned myself to buying a brand new adapter. After a little searching, I was able to find a variable output adapter with swappable plugs for 1,300 rupees (40 USD).

Malheuresement, ça n'a rien fait. Said new adapter worked for exactly two weeks, if your definition of working allows for receiving mind-numbing electrical shocks when you brush up against your laptops metal components (i.e. the speakers that span its entire front end).

From here, I came up with the gloriously DIY solution of covering all trouble areas on my laptop with electrical tape (which acts as a sort of insulator), and running my computer at reduced wattage-- 15V instead of the 18.5V necessary to both run the computer and charge the battery.

This week, however, my PC stopped charging once more and when the battery died on Wednesday, I was completely out of luck. To my delight, I got the laptop running again this evening.. however, talk about a premature declaration of victory...

As of today: 6 keys on my keyboard are completely non-operational(!) Those being:
g
h
the quotation mark
backspace
the function button
the escape button

[Consequently, the only reason i was able to write this entry was grâce à the delete key and the venerable keyboard shortcuts Cltl+C & Cltl+V. Every instance of g & h in this post has been copied and pasted.]

In addition, my computer refuses to restart or go on standby.

Now, while rants like this one are ordinarily perfect opportunities for Mac users to gloat about the piteous state of PCs and the superiority of Apple products, here are two points for Apple dilettantes to consider:

A. My friend Chris's 8 month old Macbook has completely stopped charging. Since his arrival in Mauritius (i.e. turns off as soon as it gets unplugged from the wall outlet), and
B. My roommate Alyssa's ibook shocks the hell out of her, too.

Unfortunately, while the Mac-PC parity does wonders for my ego, it does nothing to rectify my sad sad situation. If circumstances do not improve, I may be forced to go old school and start writing my field notes, memos and transcripts by hand. In the meantime, be on the look out for posts that just graduated from drafts to proper entries (a few below, backdated to reflect the date of 1st draft).

kitsch goes gay

2007-02-08T14:23:00.000+04:00

Have you ever been to a nightclub:
that is so mind-numbingly boring you'd rather spend your Saturday evening having your teeth cleaned?
where all the other patrons were anachronisms of various sorts? (i.e. yuppies, men with unbuttoned shirts that reveal their chest hair (circa 1972), men with pick up lines so played out they're practically endangered species?
where people (pour les raisons qui sont dehors de ma compréhension) flock to the dance floor whenever the DJ starts playing monotonous techno songs? (not to be confused with peaches, MIA or gay boy techno).
Or where, the music is such a bore that you have to down half a bottle of rum just in order to start dancing?... yet it takes 20 minute to place a drink order?

Well, if not, welcome to Kitsch. Situated in a shopping complex roughly 10 minutes drive from my rental house, Kitsch is the preferred club venue for wealthy Mauritians, European travelers, and people who'd rather shake their booty to techno than Shakira).

After making a biweekly pilgrimage to Kitsch during my first months on l'Ile, I finally laid down the law and swore off the place. in favor of Enigma.. a club that spins Sean Paul on the regular and is only a stones throw away from my house in Quatre Bornes (Enigma 2, Kitsch 0).

Nevertheless, two Saturdays ago when I returned to Kitsch for the first time in months, the club had a little "je ne sais quoi." Which is to say, for one night only, Kitsch transformed into a hopping gay bar. This was significant for several reasons. First off, it put me in touch with le Collectif Arc-en-Ciel, a human rights NGO that up until then I hadn't caught a glimpse of... no telephone listing, no email address, no nothing. And even more comically, whenever I tried asking Mauritians for info about the group, they usually feign non-comprehension wit statements such as "The rainbow collective? The organizers of the first -ever Mauritian gay pride march? Nope, sorry, never heard of em").

Secondly, the night offered an incontrovertible counter to the assertion that homosexuality doesn't exist in Africa, Asia, or say, any country besides the U.S. and Europe. Kitsch was packed.. 300 to 400 persons easily, with boys dancing with boys, girls dancing with girls, a splattering of boy/girl couples and people fanning outside of the club to get relief from the overcrowded dance floor.

Finally, the fact that 300+ Mauritians traversed the Ile to attend Kitsch's big gay party debunks the notion that homosexuality is something that you can wish away or that the Bible or the Vedas can cast out of you. (Does a certain U.S. minister -- cough cough, haggard-- come to mind?). Somethings are so obvious, you wonder why debates continue.

Alas, here are some conclusions from the night:
1) Big gay dance parties at Kitsch are infinitely more enjoyable than straight yuppie dance parties at Kitsch
2) Wearing jeans and sneakers to a party as a woman automatically makes you butch

As well as some unresolved questions.. namely, what happens to LGBTQ Mauritians every other day of the year?

Although I didn't take any photos from the night, there's nothing better than wrapping up a big gay post with a big gay video from comedian Margaret Cho. Enjoy!

research successes

2007-02-06T21:53:00.000+04:00

On Monday, with the help of a friend, I returned to last week's factory and administered 20 more surveys. Happily, this time things went really really well. Not only was supervisor coaching notably absent this session, I collected (seemingly reliable) data and had a strong response rate.

Then, as icing on the cake, I had a great meeting with someone from the local branch of Amnesty International.

After my disastrous stint in the field last week, it looks as though my research-karma is finally coming up roses...

Alas, my next project objectives are to:
Set up more key informant interviews
Complete a creole version of survey tool
Make appointments to administer more surveys to workers
Schedule interviews with the directors of a new round of companies
Review the Mauritian household budget survey and other quantitative studies for insights

comedy of (methodological) errors

2007-01-31T21:15:00.000+04:00

After three separate research calamities in three days, my Fulbright project is barely registering a pulse. This is frustrating because, in spite of the long technical name for my study, ("a triangulated QUAL (quan) mixed-methods study"), its research methodology is surprisingly straightforward.

Voilà la recette:
1/2 part survey research + 1/2 part interview research = case study on Sub-Saharan garment manufacture that I can lug to a Masters program or deposit on the doorstep of an academic publication.

So far, I have interviewed general managers from 5 different garment companies and administered surveys to workers from 2 of those 5 factories (60 workers total, 30 from each). According to my research design, I am supposed to survey workers from every factory where I interview management. In addition, I am setting up interviews with government officials, industry people and anyone else who is willing to speak with me.

Which naturally leads to two age-old questions.

Question 1: Why Mauritius?
Answer: Because Mauritius is one of the three largest garment exporters in Sub Saharan Africa-- the others being South Africa and Lesotho.

Question 2: Why QUAL (quan) research?
Answers: Because qualitative research is my labor of love for myriad reasons ... the most important ones being my appreciation for QUAL research's depth, richness and explanatory power, and my interest in discourse, narratives and sensemaking -- which is to say the ways in which people process and perceive certain aspects of the world around them.

The second reason that I am doing a Qual(quan) study is that quantitative research suits my topic of study as well as the amount of time I am spending here (ten months). A 10-month research project based solely on interviews would become unmanageable, FAST. During the 2 months I spent researching my senior thesis in Kenya, I conducted a total of 55 interviews with garment workers. Multiply that by 5 to reflect the Fulbright grant period and you're pushing 300. Can you imagine transcribing, coding and analyzing 300+ interviews?? Not only would a task of such magnitude be near-impossible based on my experiences (i.e. taking the better part of eight months to transcribe all of my interviews from Kenya), my data would be redundant.

Survey research, on the other hand, is great for large n-size studies and allows researchers to speak somewhat authoritatively about patterns and trends... provided that their sample population is representative and their survey method is sound/reliable.

Usher in problem one.. unreliable surveys with unrepresentative samples.

Up until now, I have administered surveys to workers of my choosing over their lunch breaks, with management permission but no interference or oversight. Today, however, when I went to administer surveys to workers at Company 123, the management informed me that they would select my participants, bring them to me and supervise the exercise.

While these stipulations alone were alarming, things actually went South from there. The downward slope began when managers started reading my survey to workers aloud, presumably to help them translate from questions from French to Creole (more widely spoken, understood). With in minutes, this evolved into veritable coaching -- first by gesturing towards answers they thought workers should choose, and second by exclusively reading out loud answer choices that boded well for the company (i.e. the responses "very satisfied" and "rather satisfied" on my question regarding worker's level of satisfaction with the textile industry as a whole).

In addition, over what were easily the worst ten minutes I've endured in my brief-stint as a researcher, I also watched a supervisor more or less answer every single question on a female worker's survey. My Mauritian research assistant told me after the fact that he doubted the woman knew a word of French (perhaps making her an Indian migrant worker?). It's probably no surprise then that her survey was the first survey out of sixty that rated its level of job satisfaction as "trés satisfait."

In an interesting turn, my first-time research assistant ran his own type of interference-- for instance, instructing respondents to answer questions differently than I had advised them in the past (i.e. dependents = # of adults and children not working in your household, verses dependents = # of adults and children who you support financially) and urging workers out of the earshot of management to check "pas satisfait du tout " on their surveys...
Quel catastrophe!

My survey is quickly turning into what every survey researcher fears most -- a never-ending pre-test. With all of the irregularities I observed, I don't know whether I should exclude certain questions from tabulation (job satisfaction, dependents), or exclude the entire pile of surveys.

Chagrin and embarrassment aside, let me take a moment to excoriate the buyers who gauge the social compliance of garment producing firms solely by conducting on site interviews with workers. Seeing how it took me all of one day to see how unreliable the process is, shame on you! Your investigatory methods are negligent and irresponsible...

My other research-related calamities of the week come on the qualitative research front.. which is sad because open-ended interviews are "anything goes" by nature. Screwing up an interview takes a rare kind of talent, and unfortunately it seems to be a talent that I am blessed with.

First off, one of this week's interviewees refused to let me make an audio recording of his statements. Thus, instead of a verbatim transcription, the only document that I will have of our 1 1/2 hour interview are three pages of barely-legible notes in shorthand.

Secondly, said interviewee was not a GM but a human resources manager. Not only did this break with my research design, it prevented me from obtaining basic financial information on the firm... i.e. percentage of export devoted to the US, EU, and Mauritius; changes to production following the
MFA-expiry, etc.

Finally, in the most amusing of my week's research disasters, my interviewee showed up late to our appointment and I was forced to cram an interview designed to take 30-45 minutes into a ten-minute timespan. On top of that, my interviewee commandeered my interview schedule, read the questions to himself, and then answered them aloud. Self-administered surveys are one thing, but self-administered interviews?.. Come on! Then, to make things even more interesting, at the end of our ten-minute session I was offered an internship at his company (!?!?).

And thus ends my comedy of (methodological) errors. If living and working in Mauritius has taught me anything, it’s that laughter is potent medicine. Nonetheless, I'm not sure that even laughter rectifies funky research. My only hope is that after this week's disastrous stint in the field, I'll have serious data-collection-karma in my bank account come February...

police conduct & sex crimes

2007-01-31T01:56:00.000+04:00

More sad, sobering news about police conduct with victims of sexual assault. However, this time, the story is out of the US, not Mauritius... fodder for my next post, which will be a consideration of the shortcoming involved in indicting culture when it comes to assault/rape.

According to the Tampa Tribune, a 21 year old woman was arrested after reporting her rape to the police. Why? Because she had a misdemeanor on her criminal record, dating back 4 years.

To make matters worse, the orderly on duty at the holding center refused to dispense emergency contraception to the rape victim because of her so-called religious convictions..

I wish I could say that I these events were impossible for me to fathom. However, in the end, this is just another testament to the ways in which police fail in their mandate to serve and protect women.

Note to the rape victim:
My deepest regret and sincerest apologies. If your case doesn't get heard before 2010, I volunteer to take it up for free. We can carry this all the way to the Appellate Courts.

Note to the Nurse:
Given your concern for the well-being of blastocysts, I suggest you offer your womb as a surrogate host for the undifferentiated cell mass for whom you staged an intervention.

Although science hasn't worked out all of the logistics of such a procedure, just imagine the possibilities -- a pro-life movement stripped of its most glaringly absurd propositions regarding women's rights and choice..

Thanks to angrybrownbutch for the story.

Imperfect Paradise

2007-01-11T22:42:00.000+04:00

My first three months in Mauritius have been a crash course in Hindu Male Privilege, 101.

Men in Mauritius, particularly Hindu men, feel enormous amounts of entitlement when it comes to their treatment of women. As a Black woman, my experience has been all the more acute.. scarcely a day goes by when men aren't honking, whistling, staring at me or otherwise carrying on. Doesn't sound too bad? Nothing truly out of the ordinary? Well, try being followed all the way home from the marketplace by married men who are desperate to have a chance with you...

Or, even better, having doctors in fancy cars corner you on the side of the road and essentially proposition you for sex, on grounds that you remind them of a Black women they screwed 20 years ago in the UK, all while offering to give you a free medical exam. And then imagine said lecherous doctor coming back to your neighborhood several days later to scour the block in search of you/your address/the place they last saw you. EEEEK. (Thank God for roommates who lay down the law and scare the creeps away..)

anyhow.. get the picture?

Well, I thought I did... Which is to say, I thought my aforementioned encounters with Mauritian men had shown me the full extent of the sexual harassment that takes place here in Mauritius.

Sadly, however, I stand corrected. As it turns out, sexual harassment in Mauritius has an even more sinister face.

First off, there is the Hindu man who dropped his trousers on me at a club. In previous blog posts and in conversations with friends, I have tried hard to find humor in the situation and turn the whole debacle into a joke. However, the fact remains that the encounter was a huge unnerving mess. If you have never had someone expose themselves to you and say"Je veux vraiment de te baiser" and "Descends" in the dark recesses of a club, I truly hope you never live to see that day. I was so revolted by the experience, I seriously wanted to scrub out my ears and jab out my eyes.

I wish that I had the presence of mind to cuss out the mec in French and English as things were unfolding, but instead all I managed was a meek Bonne Nuit before grabbing my friend Jason and fleeing the club on foot. However, I guess it's better late than never... Vijay, if you're reading this out there in internet land, va te faire foutre.

Fast forward to this week, Monday. It is 4:40pm and I am sitting on a bus, making what is usually a tranquil ten minute trip from my host NGO to the Tae Kwon Do class I began a month ago. One other passenger is on the bus, and she gets off one stop after I get on, leaving me, the driver and the conductor (person who sells tickets to passengers). Seeing that I am alone, the bus conductor crosses the aisle and sits in the seat across from me. From there, he begins addressing me in French and asking me personal questions.. "Am I married?" "Do I have a boyfriend, and am I looking for one?" Do I want to get married in Mauritius?"

Assessing the situation, I take the man's flirtation to be indication that he is another one of Mauritius's typical lecherous curmudgeons. Wrong. As it turns out, a better way to describe this man is an "old, married, snaggletoothed molester"... because before a minute of conversation passes, said gentlemen has begun reaching over the aisle, stroking my thighs and trying to grope my privates.

Dumbfounded, I try to force the guy's hands away using my arms, as well as a water bottle that I'm wielding like a piece of armor. However, the assault continues, with his hands ever-so-persistently divebombing the crotch of my pants. At this point, my head is spinning, and I leap up from my seat and try to move as far away from him as physically possible.. which leaves me pressed against the window of the bus. However, my aggressor responds by tugging my waist and urging me to sit back down. Pretty soon, we’re both standing and he has me cornered against the window.

At this point, despite the fact that the bus is going full throttle, I try and squeeze past my aggressor and make my way for the door. From there, it's utter chaos. My aggressor starts hollering at the bus driver to keep on driving and essentially hold me hostage on the bus-- all the while grabbing my buttocks and telling me vulgar things. In the end, I basically leaped off the bus when it approached its next bus stop, with the conductor following me all the way to the door.

Suffice it to say, I arrived at Tae Kwon Do shell shocked. I didn't really speak to anyone until after the class ended, and when I finally broke my silence I confided in a colleague from work. Upon hearing my story, he insisted that we drive to the nearest police station and file a report.

To my chagrin, the first question I am asked when I sit down before the on-duty officer is, "what were you wearing when this happened?" -- which is unforgivable for reasons that are hopefully obvious (a little blaming the victim, anyone?).

After that grave misstep, however, the police officer asked me to give a full account of what happened, so I spent the better part of an hour recounting the events as he paraphrased them. However, his transcription took liberties with my testimony and featured several undesired flourishes, for instance, statements like "He touched my privates and I felt very embarrassed," and "I have no witnesses." In the end, I got the former changed to "He touched my privates and I felt violated," but the officer kept the latter as is.. despite my arguments that the bus driver witnessed the whole thing and was also somewhat complicit.

Anyhow, while I can say nothing for the Mauritian Police Force's feminist sensitivity training, I left the station believing that they at least had some semblance of professionalism. According to the officer I spoke with, my case would be investigated as a criminal case and I would eventually be called to testify against my assailant in court.

Sadly, however, I was proved wrong yet again. It all started yesterday night, when I received a flirtatious SMS from a telephone number that I did not recognize. The message read: Salut ma belle. Je veux etre amis (Hello my beautiful, I want to be *friends/lovers-- meaning sort of unclear given the context). To which i responded Qui est ce? Je n'identifie pas ce numero (Who is this? I don't recongize this number...)

In response, I receive another message saying "This is Ryan. I'm 25 years old, blah blah blah (insert some French dribble here)" At this point my mind is spinning because I don't know anyone named Ryan, and I can’t understand for the life of me how someone randomly got my cell number. However, it’s late and I'm tired so I simply ignored the message and go to bed.

However, this strategy is less than successful, because come morning I have several new messages from the mystery caller in my inbox, essentially saying "hello beautiful, why didn't you write back, and why are you being so méchante (mean, cruel)..presumably for not writing.

Owning to the fact that I'm as confused as I am disturbed, I write my mystery caller a follow up message asking: Où avons-nous rencontré? Et comment as-tu trouvé mon numero? (Where did we meet? And how did you find my number?) … To which the guy responds in Creole: "No we haven't met, I just saw you in town. I will tell you how I found your number later . Are you married?"

At this point I'm infuriated, so I write the French equivalent of "No, tell me how the hell you got my number, or stop effing contacting me!", to which I receive the following response:

Ok alors, suis policier ok si je ta v enuirais ok tu mexkuz si tu v pas ke nu soyons amis bn 2soler mai jaimeria bien etre amis ok alor a toi maintenant

Between the text message slang and the Creole and the who knows what, I won't even attempt a 1-1 translation of that message. However, in short, my text message stalker revealed himself to be one of the policemen who handled my sexual harassment case, and who apparently, helped himself to the number I left on file.

Honestly, I'm floored. Absolutely floored. In essence, it’s why I decided to rant in my blog tonight. Most of the time when I write about Mauritius, I try and dwell on all the positives because I ultimately feel fortunate to be here.

However, the fact remains that I have never lived in a society like this before.. a society where the harassment of women is so brazen and unabashed, where you get harassed while seeking redress for harassment, or where being black (and to a lesser extent, foreign) makes you a sexual fetish object in such vulgar and explicit ways. And mind you, none of this harassment comes from Creole/African Mauritians, it comes from Indian Mauritians, who constitute the Majority in a Brown-Black society that resembles the U.S. both in terms of the forms of racism that exist and its race based economic disparities.

Up until now, I've tried to keep my feminist politics of the non-separatist variety. However, with every day that passes here, the women-led society that Charlotte Gilman depicts in her novel Herland seems more and more like Utopia. I, for one, think Mauritius could do with a lot less disrespectful, predatory, misogynistic assholes.

Alas, here's to hoping that I can pass my last 7.5 months here without being groped, solicited for sex, picked up by old married men, or hit on by public servants. In the event that this modest wish does not come true, however, I have resolved that I will begin slapping, cursing and hollering at (in all languages that come to mind) anyone who violates or disrespects me in the future... presumably a much better strategy than diving off moving buses and running out of clubs with my hands covering my eyes. Hmph hmph.

christmas in mauritius

2007-01-07T22:53:00.000+04:00

Passing the holidays Mauritian-style helped to reify exactly how far away from home I am -- as if the 9 hour time difference, the two oceans, and the entire continent separating me from my motherland weren't indication enough.

Let's begin with a discussion on the weather. Unlike the twenty-one Christmases I've passed in Buffalo, NY, Christmas in Mauritius was noticeably without snow or as much as a grey cloud in the sky.

Now, on the rare occasions that Buffalo experiences a Christmas without snow, temperatures are so far below freezing its too cold for snow to actually form.

Not the case in Mauritius however. If you're from the Northeast and are having trouble visualizing what a non-white, non-freezing Christmas looks like, here's a bit of photographic evidence. This picture was taken about 2pm on Christmas day, and seated next to me are Chris (another fulbrighter), and Mikalya, his wife of four months.. oh happy happy love!

Wouldn't it be amazing to have a picture like this on your annual holiday card?

In addition to the snow, another thing that was conspicuously absent from Christmas 2006 was family. Ever since 2005 when my father passed, I haven't enjoyed being away from home for the holidays.. or far away from home in general. Happily, however, due to the wonders of Skype, I was able to talk to everyone from home, and in turn, celebrate the holiday with my "family" here in Mauritius.

In typical Mauritian, extended-family style, my family here is comprised of upwards of a dozen people. These are my neighbors Gaw and Kamlesh; Sunil, Enrica and Natalie, a Mauritian-American family; Jason, a Watson fellow in Mauritius for 3 months; Chris and Mikayla, the couple pictured above; and Bill, a Fulbright Scholar teaching at the University of Mauritius.

The group of us got together on Christmas Eve for a festive holiday dinner that consisted of roast chicken (no turkeys to be found here), soy chicken breast (vegetarian must-have), twice baked potatoes, butter nut squash soup, green bean casserole and halim, an Indian-Mauritian lentil soup. Not quite the collard greens, yams and cornbread that I'm accustomed to during the holidays, but delightful none the less.

For Christmas-day proper, the Fulbright-Watson research posse went to the Perrybere beach for a couple of hours (see picture above) and then returned home to watch several heartfelt Christmas-themed movies on DVD.

One thing that struck my about Christmas in Mauritius in general is how widely celebrated the holiday is. Despite the fact that 60% of people here are Hindu, Christmas is just as big here as it is in the United States. For Hindus, it's an occasion to buy gifts, have large office parties and cook really elaborate dinners for family.

The only real differences of note were the absence of Black Friday (which doesn't exist simply because there's no Thanksgiving here) and the dearth of hearty looking Christmas trees .. local varieties of pine are pretty anemic looking.

I don't know whether that makes Christmas in Mauritius a byproduct of secularization, appropriation, or brilliant marketing campaigns. perhaps a bit of all three. In any case, I hope you enjoyed the holidays as much as I did.. whether you passed it christian, jewish (is Hannukah really only a minor holiday? If so, what about the dreidel song?!? Talk about a let down..), or secular-humanist style comme moi.

Indecent Exposures and Other Firsts

2006-12-18T01:44:00.000+04:00

Two months in Mauritius and only 5 posts to show for... Aiy-yo! Well, in an effort to pick up the slack, here is a hasty reflection on some of my Mauritian firsts..

First time being a minority in a non-black and white society/ Living in an African country where people simply opt out of being called African
Although it's been an adjustment, I am living and learning a lot from the experience.

First time having a fruit tree smack-dab in the middle of my front yard As far as fruit trees are concerned, it's pretty hard to go wrong with a lychee tree. Big step up from the crab apple trees indigenous to Buffalo.

First time celebrating Divali.
[With pictures as evidence.]

too legit, too legit too quick.

First time paying $150 a month for rent
Trianon Deux ..what what! Beautiful 3-bedroom house at a steal. Add to that my first genuinely wonderful landlord. We're talking so nice that he offered my roommate and I a free week at his beach front bungalow, totally unsolicited.

First time rooming with newlyweds.
You heard me right. For my first month in Mauritius, my roommates were Chris and Mikayla.. Fulbrighters, newlyweds and truly awesome people.

First time living with six cats
See previous post :)

First time ever playing a drinking game
How I managed to reach the age of 22 and spend four years at Yale without indulging remains a mystery to me. Who knew that rum and coke and cards went together so well?

First-time ever having a blast at a straight club
Truly unprecedented...guess it depends on the company you keep.

First-ever indecent exposure at a club
Yes, you heard me right. Friday night, out of nowhere, the man I was dancing with decided to drop his trousers in the middle of the club and pull out his whatnot. The experience would have been traumatizing if he hadn't been so small that I could wrestle him to the ground in a New York Minute. Nonetheless, the experience was totally uncalled for, and if I ever run into this loser again, I'm going to read off the following letter.

Dear Vijay,
I don't care if you were completement bourré (i.e. drunk out of your skull).. Take a word of advice and keep your wang in your pants next time you're dancing at the club. Taking such measures will (A) prevent giggling and subsequent embarrassment (look down, or refer to BBC News: Condoms made according to international sizes are too big for Indian men to see what I'm talking about)
and (B) ensure that you do not suffer a swift kick to the crotch that subsequently renders you sterile.

Signed,
Your Overly-indulgent Dance Partner who Restrained Herself from Kicking You in the Crotch

p.s. No offense intended to others. First off, I reserve penis jokes for men who are arrogant enough to whip it out in public. Sorry, you're just asking for it. Secondly, I think that the BBC should be smacked for publishing an article this shoddy.. seriously. Thirdly (shout out to Mo :).. who cares about genitals?

First-ever outdoor all night concert
International Creole Language and Culture Festival.. simply amazing. No pictures, however, because I lost my memory card that night:/

First time being truly in awe of nature.

First time living 22 hours and two oceans away from home.
Heursement, jusqu'ici, tout va bien.. (Happily, so far so good)

les six chats de trianon deux

2006-12-17T23:03:00.000+04:00

Most rentals in Mauritius come with a stove, a refrigerator and a few pieces of furniture.

Not my rental, however.

My rental came with a stove, a fridge and CATS. In the beginning, there were just 2 -- Chou Chou and Marley (presumably Chou Chou' s mother).

However, in the 6 weeks that have elapsed since I moved in to my flat, that number has jumped up to six. Why? Because we took in one stray, and then Marley moved her entire litter into our house.

Now, while I like cute furry animals as much as the next person, this is all a little bit much for a woman who never had a pet until 18, when I adopted two hamsters for sentimental reasons. In case you never met them, Lucinda and Maple (R.I.P) were my gayboi hamsters who got in on at night until they got separate cages.

Nevertheless, seeing how these six cats have become my constant companions at Trianon Deux, for better of worse (worse being when they wake me up at 7AM whining for food), I thought I'd better provide you all with an introduction to the crew. [Note: Marley the mama cat was scarce today, so she is not pictured.]

Chou Chou
Today's photo journey begins with Chou Chou. Believe it or not, "Chou Chou" (pronounced ShuShu) is not a made-up nonsense word... it is a type of veggie that grows in Mauritius. If you can imagine a vegetable that looks like a squash, tastes like a potato and grows on a long winding vine, then you've got yourself a Chou Chou.

Although our Chou Chou is not really like a potato, we like him anyways. In fact, given his sweet sweet temperament, he's the only cat I can stand most days. [Picture: Chou Chou chillin on my lap in all his feline glory.]

Kittens
Then there is "Kittens." Kittens is named Kittens not due to our dearth of creativity, but because of the hopelessness of all the names that we came up with prior to kittens. Kittens joined our household in late October, when we heard yelping and found her trapped on a neighbor's fence. Since the gang of us were eating homemade Mexican food the night that we found her, Kittens name was initially Fiesta. However, that name got dropped in favor of the name Miha, due to the former's awkwardness and cultural impropriety.

By all accounts, Miha (translation. dear one), was an awesome name for a cat so I was sad to see it go. However, I have made peace with its demise based on two factors... the first one being my paltry language skills. Picking up French four years after abandoning it for Chinese and Swahili, all while in a society where Creole, Hindi, Bhojpuri and Hakka are also lingua francas, has been hard if not impossible for me to handle as is, so adding Spanish baby names to the mix was a disaster in the making. In hindsight, I should have pushed harder for the name "Chou," or cabbage, which is used to convey an identical sentiment in French (mon petit chou... dear one, sweetheart.)

Anyways, the second reason "Miha" didn't stick with Kittens is that Kittens only responds to the name "Kittens." What can I say... she's special. If that's not evidence enough, consider the fact that she cries whenever she has to go to the bathroom (at which point you're supposed to escort her outside), that she thinks ankles are her caretakers, and that she once took a dump on the middle of our dining room table. Nonetheless, I love her the same.

kittens after a bath:

Kiwi
Kiwi is a more recent addition to the house. He arrived one balmy November day when Marley's entire litter showed up on our doorstep. Since moving in, Kiwi has become Kittens main running buddy. In addition, when Kiwi is not whining for food and acting like he owns the place, he is stretched out on the couch (acting like he owns the place).

I'm more partial to Kiwi than the other cats in Marley's litter because he's not as CRAZY. However, that's not to suggest that he's not standoffish and plenty ungrateful... because he is.

Monkey
Monkey does not need much in the way of an introduction. Quite simply, Monkey looks like a monkey and acts like a monkey, hence his name. This is actually a promotion from "Raccoon," which is what I was tempted to call him based on our initial encounter. Monkey and I first became acquainted when he climbed through an upstairs window and ran circles around one of the bedrooms... at which point I was so terrified that I started screaming and leapt onto the bed.

These days, my verdict on Monkey is that he makes a cute primate and a handsome-looking forest animal of the raccoon and mongoose variety, but that as felines are concerned, you couldn't come across a more unfortunate set of features.

In addition to being endearingly fugly, Monkey is a kitten of the dining and dashing variety. The closest I've come to him is two or three feet, which is why I'm shocked to have a photo of him at all. However, I managed to take this picture early today when he settled down for a nap.

If you think he looks like a cute cat, you can send your kudos directly to the photographer (ahem, ahem). What can I say? I'm just that good...

Bean
Bean is the cutest kitten in Marley's bunch as well as the most bizarre. Despite the fact that she is named after my favorite food, Bean is "special" in all of the loaded senses of the word "special".

Bean doesn't allow people within a 6 foot radius of her, shadows included. As a result, one day when she accidentally got locked into the house with my roommate and I , she ran headfirst into a wall not one but two times. Then, undeterred, she began scaling our living room curtains looking for a way out.

To be honest, given her skittishness and mannerisms, I'm still not sure how I managed to get these photos of her. I was hoping it was a sign that she had come around.. but alas, to no avail.

Another fun fact is that Bean, unlike her siblings, goes on hunger strikes if you linger around after serving her food. As in, she'd rather starve than get within an arm's reach of you.

In a way, Bean's strict adherence to the "I hate you despite the fact that I depend on you for food" policy, makes me respect her more.. She is very consistent in her anathema for us, unlike Kiwi and Monkey who distance themselves when they're content, but trail you whining and crying if you're not up by 7am to serve them breakfast.

However, Bean's attitude also brings home the fact that I am officially nuttier than the Crazy Cat Lady from The Simpsons. I mean, the Cat Lady's cats actually like her...

Thanksgiving at the Ambassadors

2006-11-24T11:00:00.000+04:00

In celebration of Thanksgiving, the U.S ambassador to MRU invited all of the Americans registered at the Embassy to dinner at his house.

By all accounts, the ambassador’s digs were pretty fabulous... in addition to a sprawling house with a patio large enough to accommodate most of the dinner guests (about 50 of us in total), there were two tennis courts, a manicured garden, sculpted grounds, and satellite TV (so key!!).

And then there’s the kitchen, which, in addition to three ovens and an espresso machine, came with its own little French cook. Now initially, I was not pulsed by the fact.. being a wheat-free vegetarian and all, French cuisine isn’t really my thing (Have you ever tried a salade nicoise? Well, don’t.. just don’t.). However, when I thought about it a little longer, I realized that getting crepes and fruit salad served to you every morning as you dine in your breakfast nook isn’t too shabby..

The ambassador himself was easy going and very hospitable. However, the fact that he doesn’t speak French makes me think that ambassadorial appointments are probably determined by a different system than proletarian, work-a-day jobs…of which, being chums with the President probably doesn’t hurt. In addition to rare paintings and family photos, the ambassador’s living room contained several pictures of himself and his wife grinning beside the Bushes in Crawford, TX.

Although most of us were a little disappointed by the find, one person in our group was kissing ass so hard he tried to chat up the ambassador about how he had heard that George and Laura were “nice, down to earth people” in real life. Aiyah... what has the Democratic party come to? Looks like we have more in common with Haggard and Foley that I realized: (namely, the fact that we’re all c**k suckers).

In any case, I guess it’s better to use tax payer’s dollars to put people up in posh houses than to fund wars. Especially since it’s all in the name of diplomacy. But how likely is it that the U.S will end up in WW3 with Mauritius? Hmm.. my intuitions say close to zero probability.

Coincidentally, I met another Yale alum at dinner .. she graduated class of 05 but moved back to Mauritius to work and be with family (she’s a citizen here). I am ravenously looking for new friends, so this is definitely good news :D.

As for dinner, it was slamming. Ate a lot of veggies, though no collard greens or yams were to be found. Also, the meat eaters were really happy to find turkey on site.

So yeah.. Happy Thanksgiving and jusqu'a la prochaine (until next time).

Elvis Does Mauritius

2006-11-12T15:18:00.000+04:00

On Saturday afternoon, my friend Jason and I went on a people-watching adventure in Rose Hill, the second largest city in Mauritius and the nearest town to our home base of Quatre Bornes.

After getting off the bus, we did a little bit of window-shopping and picked up a pair of cheap sunglasses. However, after making two or three turns, we succeeded in becoming hopelessly and infuriatingly lost.

It was sort of like entering a parallel universe... all of a sudden we had left Rose Hill and were seeing signs for a place called Stanley. Moreover, whenever we stopped passerbys to ask for directions, they stared at us with blank facial expressions, regardless of whether we were speaking French or English. And then, the few people that didn't look at us with total non-comprehension advised us to catch a bus...

What?? Since when do you walk for 10 minutes and suddenly need to catch a bus?

Eventually, a pair of Mauritian women gave us instructions on how reach Rose Hill by foot. Yet, sure enough, the walk back ended up being four times as long as the trip down in the first place.

Despite the length of the walk, there were nice sights along the way. First, we stumbled upon a Chinese shop called the First Hong Kong Superstore that, in addition to having an incredible name, boasted the oddest assortment of groceries imaginable. Ironically, there was no fruit or fresh produce, but five full shelves of firecrackers and an assortment of candy...

We also passed a house with the Chinese characters for double happiness (xi3 xi3) engraved into the molding of the front porch.. each letter about five feet tall. Just as I finished doing a translation for my friend, an incredibly cute Chinese baby darted across the yard, wearing the Mauritian equivalent of LA Lights.

The neighborhood must have been old, because in addition to the house with the monumental Chinese sculptures(not something you'd see in a new build), there were a series of houses made out of wood -- the first such buildings I'd seen on the Island. Trees have been scarce on the Island for decades, so most homes are made of concrete.

The wooden houses that I spotted had vaulted roofs with little wooden steeples on top and intricate moldings around all the windows. All in all, the architectural style was vaguely colonial and reminded me of houses you would spot in Salem, Massachusetts back in the era of the witch-hunts. Given that we were lost in the first place, feeling like we were Back in New England was all very disorienting.

Anyways, two hours after first getting lost, Jason and I finally made it back to the main road and familiar landscapes. We both wanted a stiff drink but instead settled for ice cream, since we spotted a shop within walking distance.

Inside the ice cream parlor we met Sajid, a Mauritian living in Paris who had returned to the Island to bury his mother and was staying behind until the "lychee bloom." Accompanying him was his 13-year niece, an awesome kid who spoke impeccable French and English and talked about wanting to travel the world and become a pilot.

Once Sajid realized that we were American and not Mauritian, he began chatting us up about American culture... and naturally, Elvis. When it became clear that our Elvis repertoire paled in comparison to his own, he offered to treat us to a couple of songs. Apparently, he had been doing Elvis covers around Paris for years.

After being serenaded, the group of us sat down for ice cream and talked about the plausibility of Jesus being buried in Kashmir (???) for the better part of an hour. According to Sajid, Jesus's body is in India and the Vatican is simply covering it up. Hmm.. maybe Dan Brown should start taking notes. Sounds to me like material for his next best seller...

So, even though I did not see very much of Rose Hill on my adventure, I visited the town of Stanley, saw homes that recalled colonial New-England, listened to Elvis covers and made friends with a 60-year old man and a 13-year old girl. Huzzah!

What did YOU do on Saturday??

East & West Africa v.s. Far East Africa

2006-10-23T18:09:00.000+04:00

Mauritius is unlike any other African country I've been to...

Gone are the days of hand washing clothes or cooking on charcoal. Here on L'Ile Maurice, washing machines, microwaves and televisions are in practically every home.

Also, instead of walking around or relying on shared taxis like matatus or dala dalas, people here get around using cars, mopeds, motorcycles and air-conditioned buses .. all which follow the British system and drive on the left side of the road.

Cell phone culture is different here as well. For instance, unlike in Nigeria, Kenya or Tanzania, people here actually use their cell phones to make phone calls... and lengthy phone calls at that! Hehe. From my experience, no such phenomenon exists in East or West Africa. In the countries I've visited previously, cell phones basically function as pagers. You call someone, hang up real fast (before they pick up), and let them call you back at their own expense if their credit permits.

The practice is so widespread it even has it’s own name –- “flashing.” and it’s great unless you REALLY need to talk to someone. For special occasions like those, people break down and send text messages... lots and lots of text messages. Perhaps that makes Mainland African cell phones less like pagers and more like sidekicks?

That's not to paint an overly rosy picture of life on Mauritius. There are definite disparities of wealth here, and many people who I would consider to be poor or at least economically unstable.. However, my point is that, even when that is considered, the quality of life here is still much higher than the rest of Sub Saharan Africa.

Mauritius also feels different than the rest of Africa because more than half of its population is ethnically Indian, and the society here reflects that. Lots of Mauritian women wear sarees and other types of traditional dress on a daily basis, and many women, young-and-old, wear bindis and rub a swatch of red dye on their scalps to signify that their married. Hindu festivals and “Indian Indentured Servants Day” are also celebrated as national holidays.

Similarly, of the three cable TV channels offered by the Mauritian Broadcasting Service, one channel is entirely in Hindi, with Bollywood films running 24/7. Also, since arriving, I've read several newspaper articles that referred to India as "la grande péninsule" .. (translation from french: the Great Peninsula).

However, these observations are not to suggest that Mauritius is simply little India. To the contrary, thirty percent of the population is descendent from Africans and five percent are Chinese, with both groups contributing significantly to Mauritian culture. Creole Sega dancing is the appointed national dance of Mauritius, and its originated in communities of African slaves. Furthermore, Mauritian cuisine has a distinct multi-cultural influence. A typical menu at a Mauritian restaurant features a blend of noodles, fried rice, biryanis, curries, tomato stews, seafood and roti. A final thing that sets Mauritius apart from India and beyond is that most people here speak French or French-derived Creole.

So… if you want to visualize Mauritius, just try to imagine an African island populated with Indians, a splattering of Africans, and the occasional Asian person, all whom speak French and dine on a combination of Chinese food, Indian cuisine, and down-home Creole cooking.

Although adjusting to things has been a veritable challenge, I can’t tell if I’m suffering from culture shock or culture confusion...

Days One & Two

2006-10-13T19:56:00.000+04:00

Traveling to Mauritius took 2 full days.

My voyage began on Thursday October 12 at the Raleigh-Durham airport. To my delight, at the ticket counter I discovered that United Airlines only allows 50 pounds of luggage, even on international flights to Timbucktu and beyond. Which of course made it wonderful that I had three bags weighing between 60 and 70 pounds.

From Raleigh, I flew to Chicago, where air traffic was backed up due to the year's first snowstorm. Instead of landing 2 hours before my connecting flight to London as scheduled, my plane arrived 15 minutes (?!?!) before my departure, incidentally at an entirely different terminal. Yay! (note sarcasm).

Anyone who remembers my career in track knows that I am good for 100 meters when sprinting.. after which point, walking becomes an athletic activity in itself.

So yeah.. despite the odds being against me, I managed to sprint, jog and pant the distance between terminal B and terminal C in just under 7 minutes... Although my lungs had practically collapsed by the time I arrived, I made it to the gate just before the cut off. My baggage wasn't so fortunate, but what can you do?

From Chicago I flew to London, and from London I flew to Dubai. Despite the fact that I only set foot in Dubai for a couple of hours, the experience was memorable enough to write about. I had an 8 hour layover that took place during the oddest of hours.. 7pm to 2am. As a result, although it was too dark and too late to paint the town red, the prospect of spending a third of my day in the airport lobby was equally uninviting. Thus, I stumbled across a happy medium : going shopping!

After clearing customs, I boarded a taxi and had it drop me off at the City Center Mall, just about ten minutes drive away. Although the cabbie chatted me up about his family being Kenyan and handed off his business card, he overcharged me craploads. The return trip from the mall in similar traffic was 15 Dirhams, compared to 25 Dirhams on the way there. Bastard.. but who's complaining?

As I soon came to find out, the Dubai City Center Mall is a three-story monstrosity frequented by shoppers of all races and persuasions-- at all hours of the day. In addition to staying open until the ungodly hour of 1AM, the Mall provided shoppers with what could perhaps be called the definitive Middle-East meets West shopping experience.

If you think the world is still culturally distinct, that just means you haven't been to Forever 21 Dubai or visited the UAE Body Shop lately. That, or picked up the newest offerings from Diesel Jeans Emirates.

Peering into Forever 21 Dubai was a definite pinnacle experience in my shopping excursion. However, passing by Arab versions of Lush, Unos, Starbucks and Burger King came in as a close second.

I was also pretty floored when I encountered a shop dedicated to converse sneakers, skatewear and longboards.

That surprise was only surpassed when I ran into a series of women's clothing stores catering to more 'refined tastes.' One shop in particular featured a series of mannequins wearing rinestone studded hijabs and veils accented with gold thread.

At the end of my extended tour of the mall (4+ hours when you factor in the time in took to order french fries and 2 rounds of jasmine tea), I returned to the airport convinced that global capitalism is a wondrous, wondrous thing.. and by wonderous, I mean jaw-dropping, ubiquitous and absolutely terrifying.

Alors, mon voyage a l'Ile Maurice continue (Alas, my voyage to Mauritius continues...)

Welcome to the Electric Fence E-Zine!

2006-10-10T23:35:00.000+04:00

For the next 10 months I will be documenting my travels in and around Mauritius, a small African island in the Indian Ocean.

Updates to follow...Allons-y!