Mauritius, The Child and His Extraordinary Animals

This story begins on a distant island, set deep in the Indian Ocean, east of Madagascar, twelve thousand kilometers from France. Today it is known as “Mauritius,” but once it bore another name: “Isle of France.” The French claimed it in 1715, shortly after the death of the Sun King, Louis XIV.

At that time, France sought to display its power not only on land, with Versailles and its splendid gardens, but also across the seas. The Indian Ocean was a vital route for the trade of spices, tea, and silk. Yet these waters were treacherous haunted by pirates, feared outlaws who attacked merchant ships to seize their treasures.

To answer this threat, the King of France relied on a special breed of sailors: the corsairs. Unlike pirates, they fought under the law, armed with a letter of marque that authorized them to strike enemy or foreign vessels but never French ones. On the Isle of France, these corsairs became the island’s true guardians, defending this isolated territory in the king’s name.

Many enemies tried to capture the Isle of France, but always in vain. The island was ringed by breakers, a belt of coral lying one or two kilometers from shore. Great waves shattered against them, and careless ships were wrecked upon the reefs. Only a few natural openings existed, called passes, where vessels could enter. Yet these channels were so narrow that only one ship could pass at a time.

The corsairs understood the advantage of this geography. They placed their cannons near the passes and waited. Even if enemy fleets arrived by the dozen, they were forced to advance one by one through these narrow corridors. The corsairs bombarded them, sinking them one after another.

There is still today a place called                 
“Pointe aux Roches,” where reefs lie close to the coast, littered with the remains of wrecked ships. It is said that their rusted cannons still rest there, silent witnesses to the battles lost by those who dared challenge the Isle of France this small stronghold of French corsairs.

The Dodo and the Ocean’s Fury                           
Long ago, along the beaches of Mauritius, lived birds that could not fly like ostriches, yet unique to the island: the Dodos. Hunted and preyed upon by animals introduced by the colonists, they vanished in the seventeenth century. The Dodo, however, remained in memory and became the emblem of Mauritius.

When the British seized the island in 1810, it was still home to many French families, often from noble or bourgeois backgrounds, who owned vast sugarcane plantations. Their presence left a lasting mark on the island’s culture: even today, Mauritians speak Mauritian Creole, derived from French, and use French in education and cultural life.

Mauritius became independent in 1968. No longer belonging to the United Kingdom, it is free a small country that manages well and where peace reigns.

From the shore, one sees a white belt at sea: the foam of waves breaking against the coral. It is a magnificent sight, a bright line encircling the island like a natural wall. Corals are not rocks but tiny living beings, forming colonies of every color red, blue, green, yellow. If taken out of the salty water where they live, they die, drying into stone‑hard skeletons. Thanks to them, Mauritius is protected by a calm lagoon, where one can swim safely.

But the Indian Ocean surrounding the island is vast and sometimes formidable. Sharks abound. At Souillac, for example, there is a pass those narrow openings in the coral barrier that serve as gateways to the island. Sharks gather there, and swimming is far too dangerous.

The solitary navigator Bernard Moitessier, a legendary adventurer of the seas, learned this the hard way. One day, he tried to hunt a shark with his speargun. He shot at a small one, but the mother attacked at once and bit his leg. Fortunately, Mauritian fishermen in their pirogues rescued him. A doctor managed to save his leg, and Moitessier was able to continue his life of adventure.

The Ritual of the Sea                                      
When the Creole fishermen, men of color from this land, close the circle of their nets, the trapped fish thrash in panic. Some, slipping through the wide meshes, are driven onto the sand by the sweep of the catch. The small fish escape, but the larger ones the giants of the coral belt are seized. Among them is one of legend, the Capitaine, a fish so prized that its flesh is considered a delicacy.

Buyers arrive early, before the fishermen return, eager for fresh fish still alive. And it is more than commerce it is spectacle. Spread across hundreds of meters, sometimes even a kilometer, the Mauritians sing their ritual songs, voices rising and falling like the tide itself.

Fishing of this kind is done only on Fridays, during the winter season, across the three months of school holidays. There is no reckless or excessive harvest. The ocean’s creatures are given time to reproduce, to renew their numbers. As the saying goes: “A little fish will grow big, if God grants it life.” One might add: “…if humans respect nature.”

Only professionals, when the season comes, are permitted to practice this fishing that leaves almost no chance for escape. Almost. Perhaps the rising tide allows a few to slip beneath the nets, but they are rare counted on the fingers of one hand for the fishing takes place in shallow waters, the nets brushing the seabed.

And you, too, will feast on the fruits of the sea in Mauritius: fish soups prepared by mother, rich and delicious. The tender flesh of the Capitaine awakens the senses, a taste that lingers. This island is truly a little paradise.