Swami Pilgrim in the Land of Piment

Today, I became a yoga instructor in a country where 60-70% of the population is Indian or of Indian descent. 

It was only yesterday that I was asked to teach a class at the local gym and so I spent the day preparing my lesson and practicing my asanas.  It’s been a very long time since I had a regular yoga practice and it’s been even longer since I completed my Yoga Teacher Training at the Minneapolis Yoga Center.

When I first came to Mauritius I thought the place would be filled with yoga studios.  Not so much.  In fact, I think there may only be one or two studios devoted to yoga practice and study here.  The place to hit the yoga karma button on the island is in your home or in the temple when a Swami from India is visiting.

And so suddenly, my practice is back on and I’m now the American yoga chick who teaches over at the gym.  The class went better than I thought and people told me they really enjoyed it. 

I don’t know if this will turn into a full-time thing or not, but for the now its fun to teach one class per week and bring an Indian tradition that’s been totally Americanized into this part of the world that’s full of Indians.

 Talk about full-circle or some sort of chutney ricochet.

Indentured Laborers and Golf

Yesterday, the 2nd of November, was the 175th anniversary of the Arrival of Indentured Laborers in Mauritius.  The day is a national public holiday here and shops and businesses are generally closed for the day.

It’s been raining like absolute mad this past week which is odd for this time of year, but Monday seemed to bring about a chance of clear skies and so we decided to head East to Belle Mare to play golf.

We took our normal route, but were forced to take a detour when we started getting closer to Belle Mare.  It seems that the beach at Belle Mare is quite the hopping place to be during a holiday and so the police decided to create some sort of drive diversion.  I’m not certain what was accomplished by the set of road closures they set up for the day except for the fact that we were forced to drive directly into the massive crowds rather than go around them.

Passing the beach, I saw lots of families gathered together to enjoy the day.  Many of them were setting up tents to protect from the hot sun and hanging up crimson, sienna and marigold-colored, large horizontal strips of fabric between the trees to create some sort of fence to blockade off their section of beach land.   There are lots of fences in Mauritius so it doesn’t surprise me that the same concept would go to the beach, as well.

I had plenty of time to observe the beach scenes due to the traffic jam that was slowly inching it’s way past the beach and I had the thought that the beach is one of the few places on the planet where people from lots of different cultures go to do basically the same thing.  People eat and take naps in the shade.  Kids swim and men get excited over trying to light the BBQ. 

When I lived in Chicago, I used to like walking down to Montrose beach on a summer Sunday to watch all the soccer games that were happening and just take in the sights and sounds of the kids riding their bikes into each other and the smell of spicy meat being grilled.

Here, the games being played might be different and the food being served would definitely send a Northern mid-westerner into a convulsive fit, but it’s really the same scene.   Swap the bright saris for cropped pants and v-necks and color the turquoise water inky black and it still wouldn’t feel quite like Lake Michigan, but the beach activities going down in both places could fall into the category of similar sameness.

My mind then wandered onto thinking about what this national holiday was all about and what it meant to me and to these others hanging out by the beach.

Aapravasi Ghat in Port Louis is like a very mini-Ellis Island back in the States.   In Hindi, Aapravasi Ghat means the landing place of immigrants and November 2^nd is a holiday for the memory of the arrival of the first indentured laborers who came to Mauritius. 

In 1834, the British government began to use indentured rather than slave labor to work on the sugar cane plantations.  It’s said that over 70% of the current Mauritian population can trace their ancestry to those that arrived in Mauritius via Aapravasi Ghat or one of the other immigration depots on the island.  From 1849 to 1909 thousands of immigrants came over from India and passed through Aapravasi Ghat. 

It’s a good holiday to have and it’s important to remember and recognize; but, I couldn’t connect with it, personally.  I’m not Mauritian.  I’m not Indian.  Would I have felt differently if my ancestors had been some of the French or British citizens who had colonized the island?

I did think about Juneteenth in the States and wondered why it wasn’t a national holiday that everyone had off and where the shops were closed.  If it were a national holiday, would it cause even more segregation amongst people or bring people closer together?

These thoughts left my head as quickly as they had entered it and as we drove through gates of the golf club and passed the security check point, my mind wandered once more and I found myself thinking about why my drive is currently slicing to the right.

It rained.  I lost many balls.

Swapping Holidays

The first thing I thought of this morning when I woke up was that Halloween is tomorrow.  And tomorrow is a Saturday.  And practically everyone I’ve ever known back in the States will either be at a party, taking the kids out trick-or-treating or cleverly figuring out a way to do both.

I have never been one of those people who spend months plotting out the ultimate costume or planning a ghoulish party that would become an annual event.  But, don’t get me wrong.  When I lived in the States I was a happy participant and would scarf down those mini candy bars whenever they were there for the taking. 

In my old work offices I was happy that my fellow co-workers were so clearly jazzed about the upcoming holiday.  But giving me a day-to-day update on the costume progression starting in August was something that should have either a) been done via a one sentence update with no expectation of any feedback coming from me or b) not done at all so that I could really give them the total packaged experience of shock, awe, belly laugh and exclamation when the walk-in display finally took place.

I like Halloween, but I’m not too bummed to be missing it, again.  I missed out last year, as well; but I don’t even remember it coming around last year because I was so caught up in trying to figure out my new life and my new job.  And I already know that I won’t be able to recognize many of the current, hot, American cultural topics/persons to be this year.

Case in point – I know this person who changed his name on his Facebook profile to include the word ‘Falcon’.  Now, the weekend that he did this, he also went to some football game somewhere.  I honestly thought that he had made this change because he wanted to give a shout out to the football team or to some player on the team or something having to do with football.

I had seen tidbits about the balloon boy, but that was it.  No deep reading was done by me on this story and no further information came my way.  It just kind of passed me by.  I only just found out what he was making reference to a few days ago when I discovered that the balloon boy’s name was, in fact, Falcon.

Holiday traditions must puzzle all newbies in foreign lands.  Personally, there are still holidays in Mauritius that I haven’t the foggiest idea about.  After knowing what little I now know about the Indian culture, I’m now trying to picture newly arrived Indians to the States trying to put it all together in a way that would make sense.

Due to the massive amounts of consumerism that go hand-in-hand with many of the American holidays, the newly arrived would definitely know something was about to go down.  Stepping into any store of any kind, they would be dazzled with decorations in hues of orange and black.  Even the everyday paper towels that they would be picking up would give it away.

The offices they work in would suddenly have massive amounts of candy on every horizontal space weeks in advance of the actual holiday, which of course, would lead to yet another conversation back home about why Americans are so fat, “They have candy and food everywhere all the time.”

And if they still couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on, all they would have to do would be to switch on the TV or pick up a newspaper or magazine or just ask the question, “What is Halloween?” at the office and all would be explained.  And in friendly Minnesota, they could ask ANYONE – the gas station cashier, the waitress at the restaurant, the dental hygienist – and no detail would be spared. 

They would probably even be invited to the friendly Minnesotan’s annual spooky bash and the host or hostess would remark, “I’ve got someone coming to the party tonight all the way from India so I really need to have all the bells and whistles going so that I can show them what a REAL American Halloween is like!”

Now, due to the fact that American media is everywhere, there’s no doubt that Halloween would probably be somewhat known before even setting foot on Yankee soil.  When I think back to some of the utterly stupid and lame things I said about American holidays to some of the Indian programmers I used to work with back in the States, I want to crawl in a hole and stay there eating a hoard of Halloween candy.

Maybe they just didn’t care to know.  Maybe they just didn’t want to know.  It’s not their culture or country.  Many of the Indian programmers and co-workers I used to work with were never going to spend the rest of their days in the States.  They were going to work there, make money and then move back to India.  The zoned out looks and rapid head nodding I used to get as I prattled on about Santa and his reindeer were not, as I thought, signs of encouragement to continue.

But, I want to know.  I really, really want to know why do people bake the sweet cakes at Diwali and light the oil lamps?  Is there a story for those traditions?  What should I do and where should I go to properly celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi?  And what about Ougadi and Thaipoosam Cavadee and Maha Shivaratree?  When is the Chinese New Year parade and where’s the best place to watch it from?

When I worked in Port Louis in the office, I would ask so many questions and every person that I asked would tell me something slightly different.  Many people who I asked would also ask me why I wanted to know so much about the Hindi holidays since I wasn’t a Hindu.  I told them that since I lived in Mauritius now and that since this was my home, I wanted to participate in the local culture.

There was one very helpful young man who was a Muslim on one of my teams and when Eid-Ul-Fitr came along he gave me tons of information about the holiday and told me what his family was going to be doing to celebrate.  He even sent me a text message the night before when the moon was seen because he knew that I wouldn’t have a clue about whether or not I should come into the office or not the next day.

Looking back to when I first arrived and wanted to jump into every holiday here, it does make sense that people would find it strange that I wanted to go find a river to dip a statue of Ganesh.  The temples here aren’t Walt Disney rides or interactive museum displays that you go into to ‘experience’.  They are a functioning part of the community and culture.  And this culture isn’t mine.  The paper towels aren’t changed to have pictures of an elephant put on them.

These days I get most information about the upcoming  holidays from books, websites and from the local Mauritian bloggers when they blog in English.  If it’s in Creole or French, it’s just not going into this dusty brain.  The official language of the country is listed as English, but all major newspapers are in French.  I still buy them to try to know what’s happening, but all the information just kind of sits there in pieces not really ever falling totally into place.

And maybe that’s how it will always be here during the holidays.  I’ll kind of know, but never REALLY know.  I’ll be able to participate, but only from a distance and that’s o.k.

It will be fun on Monday to see all the Halloween photos posted from all the parties and trick-or-treaters on Saturday.

2009 Holidays in Mauritius

• Janvier 1 – Jour de l’An
• Janvier 2 – Ferie
• Janvier 26 – Fete Du Printemps
• Fevrier 1 – Abol. des Esclaves
• Fevrier 8 – Thaipoosam Cavadee
• Fevrier 23 - Maha Shivaratree
• Mars 12 -Fete Nationale
• Mars 27 – Ougadi
• Mai 1 –  Fete Du Travail
• Aout 24 – Ganesh Chaturthi
• Septembre 20 – Eid-Ul-Fitr  (depending on moon)
• Octobre 17 – Divali
• Novembre 1 – Toussaint
• Novembre 2 – Arr. Des Imm. Indien
• Decembre 25 – Noel

A soul that’s been cleaned and pressed

Growing up as a PK in Minnesota, I learned a lot about patience.  Not because it was something that was strongly encouraged as a belief to hold onto during Sunday school sessions, but because as a kid, I practically lived at the church on Sundays, Wednesdays during Lent and major holidays.

There was a gang of us church kids:  the organists’ kids, my baby bro and the few choir singers’ kids whose parents would sing in both Sunday services.  After attending one of the services and Sunday school, we were left to quietly roam the church halls seeking out something to do to pass the time until we could go home. 

A small, protestant church building in the mid-west did not allow for many kid-friendly activities.  After drawing quietly on the classroom blackboards grew dull, I would usually wander inside the janitor’s walk-in closet to chill.  Here, it didn’t really feel like ‘church’ and there was always different stuff to look at on the shelves.  I would just sit there, stare and wonder if the particular toliet bowl cleaner that was there was any better than the stuff that was there last week.

And it’s moments like this that make you realize that you have been blessed with some special ability, when just sitting and looking at janitorial supplies becomes a zen-like form of entertainment to pass the time.  It really is a skill to just sit and be still for hours without really being aware of what’s occurring or what’s being said.  It’s like being in a deep meditative trance and it came in handy during a recent visit to France.

This recent trip to France occurred over the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur and I had the opportunity to attend a synagogue for the closing prayer service.  The service was in French and Hebrew which of course meant that I understood practically nothing at all; but it didn’t matter.  It was a time for me to be quiet and reflective.

I came, practiced respect for the differences of others and stood for close to an hour in my patient trance until the blowing of the shofar.  While I was standing there in this French, Jewish temple, I was quietly amazed that I, the Minnesota pastor’s kid, who had just left Mauritius after having had a day off for the Muslim holiday of Ramadan and who would soon be getting ready to eat sweet cakes for the upcoming Hindu holiday of Diwali, was fortunate enough to be in the mix of so many different religions.

As I was leaving the synagogue I noticed a mop in a bucket propped up in one of the stairwell corners.  A little mop.  A little bucket.  I was reminded of the janitor’s closet from so long ago and I thought to myself that even if we are all different, at least we can all come together over the art of the custodian.

Ave Maria and the Buttercream-Colored Girl

Or ‘How I know I’m not in Minnesota anymore’.

Stop signs are optional. 

This was discovered back during the white knuckle days of learning to navigate the streets.  There is one particular stop sign in the big city where everybody just kind of rolls on by.  I do it, too, but the initial thrill has worn off. 

In the beginning it was all rather naughty, but after snickering my way through many roll-bys, I just kind of complain now if the guy or gal in front of me isn’t rolling on through quick enough.

You can park anywhere, anytime for any amount of time.

Sure, there are plenty of no-parking and private parking signs.  But, what good is a sign without enforcement?  I have never seen a tow truck hauling any illegally parked cars here.  Parking tickets?  Maybe they are given out, but I haven’t seen any meter maids or cops walking the streets tagging cars.

The whole island is like a giant free-for-all parking lot.  If you can’t find a spot, just pull off the road an inch so that at least one tire is off the pavement and park it.  No need for hazard lights or even to signal that you are, in fact, slowing down to park in the middle of the street.  That’s what brakes are for and the steering wheel was made for moving around such obstacles.

It took 5 weeks to change the pool light.

I still don’t know why this particular repair was such a tricky one.  After we had the fire in the fuse box, it only took 4 days to get electricity back to normal in all parts of the house and when the kitchen light went a little batty, it took a mere 2 weeks to discover that, indeed, the bulb really did need to be changed.

At the 3 week mark and while a friend of mine was visiting from Chicago, I had high hopes that soon the pretty blue glow would once again be bouncing off the palms.  When I came home from work that night, my friend told me that the pool guy had, once more, been around and changed the light.  I walked over to the on/off switch and flipped it on.  Nothing. 

Maybe the underwater element added another level of complexity or maybe it was just time to call it a day?  And I guess after 3 weeks of trying different bulbs and other such electrical maneuvering, to test that the most recent bulb installation would work, would be rather a big occasion.  I think the pool guy graciously wanted me to have the first joy of experiencing the light working, again.  And after another 2 weeks, it did.

Sometimes it pays to get that extra option.

There’s a parking ramp located at the main/tourist shopping complexes here.  The drill is to pull a ticket when entering and then pay at a machine before heading back into your car to exit.  Just remember to load up on your ginko biloba if you’re parking there.

On many an occasion, the Frenchman and I have sat in our car and waited while someone who had driven down to the one exit, parked their car at the exit and got out of their car.  The driver then walked back up the steep concrete ramp and across the parking garage to head over to the elevators to go down to the machine on the main level to pay the ticket.  One chance, folks.  Just one chance.

As many people or things that can fit into a car can also fit onto a scooter.

There’s always space and when there’s a scooter, there’s a way.  It’s not uncommon to see 3 people cruising the main roadways and town streets on one scooter.  Add to the mix, a pile of bags with the weekly shopping and you really do start to question the necessity of a mini-van.

 Sometimes, the early morning traffic mix will include a gifted and talented man with a giant bundle of tree clippings, the breath of which is as wide as the road,  strapped to his head put-putting it to his end point.  Have body.  Have scooter.  Will move.

Scooter helmets are mandatory, but lights at night are a nice-to-have.

 I’ve developed a reflex night-driving skill – quick recognition of a body outline atop a scooter in the inky darkness.  While wearing of a helmet when riding a scooter is mandatory and everybody here complies, it seems as if having working tail lights and headlights is not as critical. 

Sure, lights are great when trying to see where you’re going at night, especially if the territory is unknown and bumpy; but are they really necessary when quickly cruising down the main paved highway? Once you become familiar with a road, it’s like auto-pilot.  One could even say that you really could drive it with your eyes closed.

Indoor lighting design is over-rated and unnecessary.

Why fuss and muss with choosing a fancy-pants light fixture even if you have extra money to toss about.  Just slap a long tube fluorescent bulb to the middle of a wall or at the edge of a ceiling and you’re good to go.  It’s easier to change the bulb without the cover and nothing gets in the way of the pure light projectile.

It’s good to have friends.

Some people scope the lines at passport control to find someone they know and then shake hands during passport processing.  I always just go to the line they send me to and I’ve never been offered a hand to shake.

Black smoke is nothing to worry about.

The burning sensation in your eyes and throat is either caused by the annual burning of the sugar crops or your neighbor  is just burning some trash and furniture in his front yard.  Smoke blows away.

It’s not us, it’s you.  Now, please go away.

Swiping of debit and credit cards doesn’t always work the first time due to heavy traffic, but instead of trying to swipe your card again, the cashier tells you it doesn’t work and starts helping the next customer.  99% of the time when asked for a second swipe, it works.  Hope is holding onto the 1%.

Prices are determined by how ‘money’ you look.

When shopping at any of the bazaars or local fruit and vegetable stands, the price that I pay always seems to be slightly higher than the going daily rate.

Always have offline activities ready at the office

I can not count how many times when I was working in the main downtown business hub that we lost network connectivity for over 3/4 of a day.  The reason for lost connectivity?  Stolen cables that were dug out of the ground to be sold.  The first time, I bought it.  The second time, I thought maybe they should install a fence or have a patrol.  The third time, I knew the IT network guy was just buying time.