Fragments curated by Mary-Grace

Fragments is this new reflection in the mirrorball that I want to share with you. A place that reflects all these fragments that make up my world. Fragments can be books, places, people, things; it's boundless in time and place. All my fragments are curated with care and time. All my fragments will be shared monthly.

I hope my fragments can turn into your missing piece.

Underneath the ink

1. Funambuler

Funambuler by Shenaz Patel was a book I singled out amongst the many Mauritian books in the library. I'm so grateful it came to me. Funambuler did many things in 8 days. It triggered my mind, creating nests of thoughts and opinions. Now, when I read, I see parallels; I see invisible threads between books and themes. It instilled in me a closeness to Fiction. I read fiction with an awareness rooted in truth. Like putting myself into the shoes of the enslaved, even if they walked barefoot.

After reading Funambuler, I wanted to read more books from Mauritian authors. Stories dismantling my view of the Island. I wanted to hear these authors' point of view. Their stories represent fragments that create a whole. A whole that represents our Island's history- destroyed or hidden by powerful hands. Those who perpetuated atrocities and want their surnames to remain clean. Now, I see behind the glossy postcards.

Word by word, Shenaz Patel removed my opaque filters. She placed me face-to-face with my lack and passivity for the history of my Island. She unlocked this interest to dive into my Identity as a Mauritian.

Funambuler:"Quel est ce mystere d'ecrire?" inspired me to be a witness through writing. In the years to come, I hope my words remain a testimony, one that can't be robbed or tainted by false sayings.

Looking back, Funambuler changed my view on writing. She writes not to reproduce reality but to put into light what lies hidden underneath what is visible. I've unconsciously carried these fragments with me in my writing process. I translate what I feel and how I experience communities. Sometimes I'm worried that my words can upset people, but I always remember Shenaz Patel saying: "On  écrit parce qu'on est tenu par une urgence de dire sa vérité à soi. En tout cas de tenter de l'approcher."

2. Riambel

Riambel by Priya Hein was god-sent. It was proof that coincidence doesn’t exist. If I didn’t read Riambel after Funambuler, this new section of my writing wouldn’t exist. 

When I held Riambel in my hand, I started a dialogue with the book instinctively. I wasn’t just reading. I was drawing parallels between authors, marrying ideas. How enslaved women were greenhouses for babies, even though they were considered movable objects on two feet. The whole I was mentioning earlier was drawn by me - by my instinct, feelings, and thoughts. The whole is at its earlier stage. It might never be whole, but the process of breaking thoughts down brings me into unexplored territories. 

I was watching Riambel’s fiction through the eyes of the author, the main characters, but also through the eyes of the others who didn’t get a chance to exist. The reading experience was such an earthquake that I split my reflection into halves. It unlocked the courage to unseal my lips and untie my feet - to speak and walk on landmines. I question why some Franco-Mauritians stay in Neptune, while some of us live on Mercury. I try to understand “Les familles blanches et leurs descendants. ” How history is painting the actual Island in different shades.

After reading Riambel, I've had so many conversations. I asked people about their experience living in Mauritius. For instance, my colleague and I were sharing how slavery is still perpetuated in Mauritius, but in a more subtle way. I visited Chamarel earlier this month and was shocked by the entry fees. It got me thinking, who owns these lands? Many belonged to old Franco-Mauritian families whose land and wealth ownership traces back to the colonial era - enslaved labour, plantation system and indentured workers. But this will be the subject of another essay.

I've started questioning everything, watching my surroundings with unfiltered glasses.

3. Le Portrait Chamarel

Unlike Funambuler and Riambel, reading Le Portrait Chamarel by Shenaz Patel didn't compel me to share my thoughts. Instead, I grew the desire to visit Chamarel. I wanted to observe this place through my eyes. I wanted to witness what this place concealed. I was watching behind the tall trees.

The story of the book was a hidden secret. Just like the main character, Samia, I was longing for the truth. Samia belonged to which bloodline? She was in search of her roots. She wanted answers. Unconsciously going to Chamarel was a journey to find meaning. It drove me to a conclusion: Who was Chamarel actually for? The question was attached to a recurring theme caged in both Funambuler and Riambel - What was underneath our paradise?

To go to Chamarel, we went past Tamarin and Rivière Noire. The difference between these two places was striking - from riches to rags. How could a family of 5 from Rivière Noire afford a Sunday in Chamarel - on their own Island? As a resident, I found some entry fees astronomical. I wanted to visit Ebony Forest. It costs Rs 1580 for adult residents. It didn't fall in our budget, so we planned it for another time. I haven't been there for years, so I wasn't expecting these prices. I should have done my research!

I was also paying attention to the houses concealed behind the trees. To the beautiful postcard of Chamarel. There were only tourists around. My friend and I were the only Mauritians by the looks of it. I wasn't just rushing into doing things; I was observing how our history rubs off on how we experience life today.

3. La Mémoire Délavée

La mémoire délavée by Nathacha Appanah retraced the life of her ancestors who came to the Island as indentured labourers. Their life in the camp was far from smooth sailing.

La mémoire délavée was a wake-up call.

Both of my grandparents had ancestors from Pondicherry. They have Indian traits and a Madras surname. If you look at my mom, she has long, thick, straight black hair and looks Indian. We look different.

I never really asked questions about their ancestors. I hope it's not too late. My grandfather and his siblings have already passed away. Things are more challenging. However, my grandmother is alive. I've already started asking some questions.

I'm having an identity crisis. What makes me Mary-Grace? Now, I have loads of question marks in my mind. I have the Jamaican side, which is still unknown to me, as I grew up with my mom. On my mom's side, I'm still figuring out our roots, a mix of Creole, Indian, French...

That's the beauty of our Island, Mauritius, but with it comes a lot of questioning.

Where do I belong?