The sun found a gap between curtain and wall to shine an alarm on my face. In the early hours, I’d torn myself away from a jazz evening at Port Chambly, the Venice-inspired complex North of the capital. It was a foot-tapping soiree; Jean Claude and band crooned while we mixed around a focal fire under the clock tower.
Mauritian life provides stability long lost elsewhere. People on my path 60 years ago reappeared, our faces softened with time. We share travels on Gibran’s• river. These are my contemporaries; their presence comforts, reinforces the knowledge that we are never alone.
My outings since getting back have taken me to a theatre performance, a lunch party, and several dinners. I realise my fresh energy has attracted people to engage, and that’s transforming my view of the Rock. South Africa holds my heart, but I’m exploring purpose here.
The island has been a good example of democracy, but it is free falling at the moment, its social, economic, and political fabric tearing. I’m developing a patriotism only ever assigned to my adopted land. Perhaps it’s in a psychic memory, an umbilical cord that never severs from one’s birth country. I’m statistically old, but I want to help the fight for justice and human rights. Activism engenders its own energy, and the passions of youth are re-surging. About time!
• Gibran’s river: https://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2422
