Melanin Deficiency and Tropical Miscellany

Firstly, I've come up with a vaguely comprehensive list of 'basic necessities' unavailable in Mauritius:

1. Pandora.com

2. Hulu.com

3. iTunes (I cheat by using an American debit card)

4. nbc.com, abctv.com, etc

5. Televised American football (don't worry, I'm keeping up with the Crimson Tide and the Saints online. I'm also naturally keeping track of the Green Wave, but it gets hard to focus on my computer screen through my TEARS!) (Still though, ROLL WAVE!)

6. Barbecued Shrimp/ Pralines/ Fried Green Tomatoes

7. My parents

8. Bruff (Tulane dining hall)

9. PJ's coffee

Secondly, I've bought swim goggles and can be found any day of the week at the beach of Flic en Flac, swimming stupidly around, gazing in amazement at exotic marine life, and stepping on sea urchins. Oh, that's important. As far as I can tell, they're aren't really jelly fish in Mauritius, but the beaches are inundated with sea urchins that are little and black and hide under plants. They are absolutely no fun to step on. Dad says that they are good to eat. Does anyone know how to say, 'barbecued sea urchin' in Creole? I'm also slowly developing a tan. Woah, I know. Don't get too excited- there's only so dark you can go when you start out as white as a bleached sugar cookie. Does anyone know how to say 'melanin deficiency' in Creole?

Speaking of Creole, I've started to learn a bit of the local language (as much as I can get anyone to teach me). I've obviously started by learning the phrases that I predict I will use the most. Mo envi dormi (I want to sleep) Mo pou manze (I'm going to eat) Mo pa touriste (I'm not a tourist). etc. I also obviously know the cuss words.

And speaking of melanin deficiency, allow me to reflect about the 'study' part of my study abroad. As previously mentioned, I have four courses this semester. They are: Disadvantaged Populations and Intercultural Social Work, the Mauritian Economy I, 20th Century American Literature, and the Sociology of Migration. Each of them is defying expectations as the semester goes on. Oh, and since when is it October (well, nearly).

I'd like to discuss primarily the social work class. As I said, it is composed mainly of professionals in the field of social work: the vast majority are married, most have children, more than half are women, and none of them are white. Recent discussions about racism and sexism, therefore, have been particularly enlightening. An anecdote: last Wednesday I was headed to class by bus. It was early morning. I was cranky. I waited for my first bus, as I do every morning, on the beach. This was very nice, except that it was cold (read: it was in no way cold, but it was windy and I longed for a sweater). The first bus ride was uneventful enough, punctuated by my most recent iPod playlist and bouts of snoozing. I arrived in Quatre Bornes to change buses as per normal, and then things went horribly awry. I waited for my next bus for much longer than normal, to start with. Then, when one finally did arrive, a curious thing happened.

Mauritians don't really have a culture of lining up. They, from what I can gather, prefer to push. As a bus approaches, therefore, a huddle of people pushes its way towards the door and waits to be waved on by the controller (the ticket guy on each bus). In this particular huddle, I found myself near the back of the crowd but not last. The bus-goers from the bus got off of it, and the huddle was allowed to enter. The bus was certainly not empty, but it was by no means the fullest bust that I've ridden in Mauritius; it was probably 'standing room only,' but I've ridden buses that were 'standing-on-top-of-at-least-four-other-people-and-their-groceries room only.' In any event, it got to be my turn to board the bus, and three Mauritians were standing behind me (read, lightly shoving me) waiting to get on. At this point, much to my confusion, the controller of the bus put his arm out to restrain me and let the Mauritians on. Once they were aboard, the controller proceeded to close the door in my face. I was astounded. Nearby school children seemed to be gasping in unison (Oh, No he didn't!). Rather than belligerently banging on the side of the bus or shouting obscenities in Creole (as I am now totally capable of doing) and being extremely cranky and late by this point, I carried my wounded foreigner self to the next taxi stand and took a cab to school. Yeah, I was that guy.

I arrived in social work class to find a discussion of racism. We were separated into groups to discuss the topic in Mauritius. I always feel bad at group discussion time, because my presence forces the other members of my group to speak in English or French, rather than Creole. Anyway, my group got to talking. The general consensus was that white people, even in Mauritius, tend to be the perpetrators of most racism and the benefactors of the accompanying discrimination. Fresh off of my morning experience, though, and still quite cranky, I reminded them rather sternly about reverse racism. Let me say that I can't be certain that my race kept me off of the bus- it wasn't my gender, because the Mauritians that were let on instead of me were male. It could have been classism or anti-tourist sentiment, but both of those are related to racism anyway. It could simply have been that the controller thought I looked funny. I don't care- I was perturbed and I was very passionately calling it racism! Yes, in hindsight, I realize how a cup of coffee or possibly some candy could have easily quelled my resentment, and that my impassioned exposition was probably more the result of not enough sleep or caffeine than any great moral injustice. I had, after all, easily been able to afford the taxi (equivalent of $5.50 US) and got to school faster and with my personal space intact. Yeah, I know I sound whiney. But you would, too, if you didn't get coffee in the morning.

That being said, the concept of reverse racism had apparently never occurred to many of my classmates. I told them my morning bus story, and they were surprised and amused. When group time ended, my group told the professor that I had a story for the class. Great. A white guy who'd been held off of a bus that morning gets to recount his experience with reverse racism to a room full of non-white adult-aged full-fledged social workers. They were sympathetic, but the roomed burst into laughter more than once during my story-telling. I wasn't the least bit offended by their insensitivity- by this time I had realized that it all was really very funny. One classmate even suggested that I write an angry letter to that particular bus company.

This story is indicative of a major feeling I get in class. Most of my courses (by my own design) concern racism and race relations. Even the American Lit class is about race. It just never occurred to me that I would be studying racism as part of an oft-resented minority and surrounded by the differently-ethnic and differently-religious descendants of slaves and indentured laborers brought to this island by my 'European Brethren' to toil in the sugar cane fields. I'm also a gender minority, as my courses are filled with and taught by women. Not that I at all feel disadvantaged- in fact, I find my minority statuses to be terribly amusing to both me and my classmates/professors. I guess the difference is awareness. I said in class today, "When I'm walking down a street in the USA, it never occurs to me that I'm white. Why would it? But I find that in Mauritius, I'm almost always conscious of it." I'm not claiming to know how American minorities feel at all, it's just a different thing to notice.

Spotted: Mauritians on my bus this afternoon opening windows even though it was 'cold' and raining. I looked around for the reason why: a woman was changing her baby's diaper on the bus. I opened my window.

PS- I've started receiving America mail. Remember how I rented a post office box? Well, mail addressed to my PO box has been mysteriously and regularly delivered to my door. In order for this to occur, the Mauritian post man must look up in his paper work my home address and walk all the way to deliver (read: stick it in my front gate) the letter. It seems like it'd be much easier just to drop it in the slot. Right?

Sweet Home Tropical Paradise

Beach in Flic en Flac- Le Morne in the background

20 Meters from my front porch

Island near Mahebourg

Waterfront View in Mahebourg

Water Altar at Grand Port

More Photos

Sunrise: Flic en Flac, from my Back Terrace

Majhegy and Maxine: Whimsy Mauritians

Emma: English, Saucy, Swine Flu-Free

Tourist Life and Intercontinental Communication Foibles

I don't usually consider myself a tourist. I realize that this is probably not accurate and that students abroad are in many ways just glorified long-term tourists, but nonetheless, I prefer to think that I'm special. Sometimes, however, I suspend that judgement on myself and pursue the most touristy things that I can think of- I do, after all, live(ish) in a tropical island paradise. 

For example, recently I went to Club Med. I'm pretty sure most people are familiar with the institution, but for those that aren't, Club Med is an all-inclusive resort company that operates all over the world. They have two resorts in Mauritius. The company has been accused of providing people with insular bubbles in troubled places, so that visitors are surrounded by touristy poshness and cannot see the real and in some cases horrific conditions in some of these locales. Bah, I say. Bring on the drinks with the umbrellas. 

My friend Emma and I bought day-passes. This way you can enjoy all of the included food, beverage, and fun you want from the hours of 11am-6pm without actually having to fork out the gagillions of roupies to stay there overnight (or having to sully your socially-aware conscience quite as much). I won't tell you how much day passes costed us, but it was enough so that Emma insisted we "get our money's worth." This obviously involved gorging ourselves on the delicious buffet. I started with pizza and french fries, moved on to chopped suey, consumed some creole-style eggs, and then had a giant salad. I actually ate much more than this, but it could get embarrassing for me if I listed everything. Oh, and Emma and I split a giant ice cream sundae. Seriously giant. People assumed that we were on honeymoon. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that was the common perception.

Anyway, after lunch we kayaked out into the bay to the catamaran on which Emma works. This was probably not the best idea after having consumed enough food for, well, the entire island. But we made it just as the catamaran was about to leave its anchorage. We were planning to spend some time with the boat crew, but they just said hello and left. I obviously splashed Emma with my paddle as punishment. We headed back to shore and set out drinking beachy things with those obnoxious umbrellas and snacking for the remainder of the day. I will say, there's some truth to the criticisms about Club Med. There's so much to do at the resort that some of the people that stay there probably hardly leave the complex. They'll return home to Europe thinking that they've been to Mauritius, and maybe they have. All I know is that the Mauritius I live(ish) in and the Mauritius they visited are two very different places. I guess if I consider myself a tourist, I consider myself to be more thorough. Nah, let's be honest. I'm totally morally superior. (Kidding) (ish) 

Also on my recent list tourist checklist, I went to the Museum of Natural History today in Port Louis. Normally I would not have been drawn in by a museum of this type, preferring the modern and contemporary art museums that contain works that some people don't consider art at all, but rather enlightened splattering or heaps of needlessly expensive junk. The only reason I went to this museum is because it has an actual dodo bird that has been "carefully preserved." The bird has been extinct for hundreds of years, so as much as I've been looking around my apartment for a live one, I know I'll have to settle for this bit of cultural taxidermy. So, I went into the building, completely bypassing the local fish and lizards, skirting thoughtlessly the indigenous insect life, ignoring fossilized everythings until I found the dodo. Ok, it was exactly what I thought it would be like. By far the biggest bird (living or dead) I've ever seen in person, the dodo looks like it could cause some damage if it stepped on your toes. Also, "carefully preserved" is probably not the most accurate description. The feathers were a bit dirty and both the face and legs were made of cheaply painted wood. But the body was real. I'm told. I suppose I should just be impressed that anyone has managed to maintain a dead creature in any kind of condition for that long, especially a specimen of an extinct genus. They wouldn't allow photography in the museum. I was bummed.

Also, much to my amusement, the dodo gallery at the museum received a lot of support, financially, scientifically, technologically, from various Dutch universities and institutions. This is amusing because it was the Dutch who hunted the bird into extinction in the 17th Century. Guilty conscience perhaps? 

So. As aforementioned, I have a Mauritian PO Box, as my beach apartment has no mailbox. I have yet to receive any America mail at all, though my mother told me she already mailed my 'save the date' card for my sister's wedding. I was excited to receive it, because it apparently has a series of nauseatingly cute photos of my superhuman sister Jean Anne and Mike, her superhuman fiance. The card hasn't come. It's been a long time. Let me say though, that I really don't need to 'save the date.' I've already been measured for a tuxedo and my dad is arranging for my flights home for the ceremony in March. I mentioned this to a friend, who broke into several stories about Mauritius and postal problems. The one I remember best is that my friend, a Mauritian, once ordered several thousand dollars worth of equipment for a car that he was working on. He very insistently instructed the (American) company that he was ordering from to make sure that they put "Island of Mauritius" on the address. They rebuffed him saying that they were professionals and could surely handle a simple international delivery. After three months, the guy had still not received him package. He called the company, they said it had been shipped and should probably have already arrived. Eventually, the products arrived. The package had been addressed to the man, but instead of Mauritius, the address label said, "Mauritania," stamped as clear as day. Mauritania is a primarily desert country found in Northwest Africa. It's thousands of miles away from Mauritius.

I've recently learned that I can send text messages to America for relatively little money. I also recently learned that sometimes these text messages don't go to the person in America who I would've liked. I tried to send Sam, whose area code is 816 for Kansas City, a text message last night. I entered the number correctly- I've checked several times since then. A couple minutes after I hit send, I receive a reply: "i love you too, but i dont know who you are." The text message came from an American number with the area code, 765. After googling, I find that my text message had evidently been delivered to someone in Indianapolis. I replied back to them, "Sorry, that was meant for someone else. Guess the wires can get crossed when you're texting across 2 oceans. Also, probably best not to reply. I bet texting Mauritius is pretty expensive." Needless to say, they didn't reply.

Purchased: Rebel flag hat at Port Louis market. It says, "Good Ole Boy, Southern Born and Bred." I chose it over a selection of pink Auburn University hats and a few from Mizzou. It cost me less than $2 US. I explained to the man who was selling these hats what they meant. He seemed excited that they were universities and not counterfeit clothing brands. 

End of Flucation, and the Prettiest Place on the Planet

So let me explain. I've recently been afflicted by an internet brownout, caused by my not having paid the bill. I would like the know, however, how I was already late in paying the bill seeing as though it never arrived. I shall get to the bottom of this conundrum, although it is not pressing, now that I have found a kiosk on the way to the university where I pay off my bill as often as I'd like. Once again, I hemorrhage roupies. I will tell you that during said brownout, I read my last book, so now I will have to buy more. For which I will hemorrhage roupies.  

So school has resumed, and after much bureaucratic finagling, I finally have a complete schedule for the semester. My courses are: 20th Century American Literature (completely an accident, honestly), the Sociology of Migration, the Mauritian Economy, and Disadvantaged Populations/ Intercultural Social Work. The American Lit. class is actually proving to be more pertinent than I had previously anticipated, because the theme of the literature we are studying is race. To inform the literary discussion, the class is comparing and contrasting racial situations and demography in Mauritius and the United States, which is actually giving me a great frame of reference for my own understanding of race in Mauritius. As my independent research here centers around demography and ethnic relations, this class is actually proving to be perfect. Similarly, the social work class is food for my intellectual curiosity, as is the sociology. The economics course is serving two purposes: first to give me a better understanding of exactly how Mauritius got to be the way it is economically, and secondly to remind me why I could never be an econ. major. Ever. There were derivatives on the white board, and while I understood them well enough (read: I had them explained to me at length by a benevolent student after class), they harkened back to my days of calculus. I feel the same way about calculus that my sister does about Naval Officer Candidacy School: I'm glad I went through it, but I never would again. (I really did love calculus, as much as I had to work to understand it. That math stretched my brain in the weirdest ways. Someone find out how Ms. Andrada is for me. I miss her.)

Back to my sister; she is also blogging about adventures abroad. Hers, though are aboard the immensely intimidating USS Nimitz as it makes its grand tour of places she can't disclose for reasons of national security. JABatsea.blogspot.com. She really is spectacular.

It is worth noting that I do not have swine flu. I did, though, manage to give myself food poisoning the weekend before classes resumed. I am certainly no culinary master, as Sam, Mullins, my mother, or anyone else can verify. In fact, I can barely cook at all, though I am forcing myself to learn. The culprit for my food poisoning was chicken, as far as I can tell. I must have gotten some raw chicken juice on something that later entered my mouth. Or, it is certainly possible that I just undercooked the meat. Yes, I am a genius, I know. 

Also concerning my schedule, in true Miles-form, I have managed to avoid having classes on Mondays and Fridays. This leaves me two extra days every weekend. I've started the Monday tradition of going to some part of the island where I have absolutely no reason to go, except that I have never been. This Monday, I went to Mahebourg on the Southeastern Coast of the island (woah. Flickr it). After a serious of buses took me to the old capital district of Mauritius, I wandered around looking for the ocean. Mahebourg has a lovely seafront promenade completed in the past ten years that borders 'Blue Bay.' It is named this because the reef here protects a relatively large part of the bay from the ocean itself, thus keeping it shallower and for some reason, the most brilliant color of water I have ever seen. The mountains on the opposite side of the bay slope down directly into the water. I consider myself moderately well-traveled, due to the endless generosity of my long-suffering dad, but I can honestly say, not even the view from the London Eye or the Great Wall of China can beat this panorama. I didn't bring my camera on Monday, but I will definitely be returning to the area, and I will provide photographic evidence. 

It's also worth noting that I took the longest bus route on the island (Route 198 from Port Louis to Mahebourg) on Monday. The total cost for the journey, of well over 50 km, was 28 roupies. This is well under $1 US. Buses can be pretty economical over long distances. They can also provide you with access to the Mahebourg waterfront, and the Shoprite center outside of Quatre Bornes, if you're so inclined. I hear there's a bookstore at the Shoprite, and who knows? They might even have the covered trash-can for which I've been searching such a long time. I'm not getting my hopes up.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to list a few things about Mauritius that have made it relevant(ish) to the modern world. I'd venture to say that most Americans have never heard of Mauritius, and that certainly is a shame. So here are some fun facts for you.

1) As aforementioned, Mauritius was the only home of the Dodo bird, before European settlers hunted it to extinction.

2) The Aapravasi Ghat, a UNESCO World Heritage Site located in Port Louis, is the birthplace of the worldwide indentured labor trade.

3) The 'Mauritian Post' stamps, a rare series from the mid-19th Century, are among the most famous and most prized stamps in the world by philatelists. They have been known to fetch around $1 million US at auction. Yes, I also like the word philatelist.

4) The naval battle at Grand Port (near Mahebourg) was one of the last (and only) times that a Napoleonic naval detachment defeated a British naval force in a major engagement. There is a monument on the promenade honoring it. 

5) The old theatre in Port Louis was the first operational theatre in the Southern Hemisphere. It only houses performance sporadically, now. 

6) Mauritius is one of the world's leading exporters of clothing, due to some ingenious economic policies since independence in 1968. Check your labels, you might just find "Made in Mauritius." 

So, next time you call someone a dodo (or, more likely, you hear a 4 year old call someone a dodo), defeat a British naval armada, or spend your life's savings on a collectible postage stamp, think about Mauritius. I do it everyday.