Nostalgia-Confronting the truth

Nostalgia Confronting the truth

I am Mario Hubin,son of Mr and Mrs Caldicks. After my secondary studies, I left Mauritius at the age of twenty for Toronto to study engineering. I left behind my fifteen-year-old brother named Ben and my five-year-old sister Angela..

Four years later I got graduated. I was lucky to get a job in a Canadian firm. Having worked satisfactorily and efficiently, my firm lengthened my work permit.

When I turned twenty-seven, I made the acquaintance of a Canadian lady. Two years later we got married.in the presence of some Mauritian parents. Over the years, I had a successful professional and married life. At the age of fifty, I was the father of a seventeen-year-old son named Aidon and Angela, a ten-year-old daughter. As I hadn’t visited my native country for almost thirty years, I planned to spend a month-vacation with my family there.

So I reached Mauritius on 15^th August. I headed to Vacoas, a town located on the highland. We came to this town when I was ten. My younger brother and I were born in a coastal village named Chemin Grenier, whereas my sister was born in Vacoas.

I noticed that the town of Vacoas hadn’t known many changes. The marketplace had been reinforced with a larger parking space. Some old stores had been renovated. Three new supermarkets had been set up. Better public buses and new brand cars were plying on the well-asphalted roads. People were more elegantly dressed, All these changes were indicative of a better standard of living. My neighborhood looked more or less the same. When we came here thirty years ago, our residential area was a new one. Some houses had got new coats of pain.

Mauritius is known for its calm lagoons and sandy beaches. As I had previously visited other islands with my family, the Mauritian seaside resorts didn’t appeal too much to me. For almost a year, something had been stirring my nostalgia. It’s my craving to visit my native village, the place where I grew up and had lots of fun playing with my childhood friends. I also remember my grandparents and other elderly persons who related value-laden stories to me and my friends.

I decided to visit Chemin Grenier the following Saturday. I chose that day because it would be possible to meet more people. I didn’t take my family with me because I knew that visit wouldn’t impress them. I set out around nine o’clock in the morning. I had about a one-hour drive before me.

On the way the first thing that came to my mind was the large three-acre litchi orchard lying close to our thatched house.. The owner and his family lived in a big wooden house covered with iron sheets. In those days most people lived in thatched houses. Only the wealthy ones could afford to have houses similar to the owner’s.

Whenever cyclones hit the island, none of the thatched houses could resist. Most of them were either destroyed or had their roofs blown down. Then all the villagers would cooperate to get all the houses repaired. What was amazing was the collective efforts of the villagers.

While I was heading to the village, I paid close attention to the big changes in plantations, road systems and habitations. Almost all houses were made of concrete and were cyclone resistant. The country’s economy had obviously become stronger. The presence of diverse manufacturing plants indicated the economic strides made by the country. Besides, I read much about it and it’s now confirmed.

Then my focus fell again on my native village. I still remembered the big orchard with more than a hundred litchi trees all laden with ripe, juicy litchis. To the Eastern side stood the owner’s house, in front of which was a paved way and a big fish pond.

He was the only person in the village to own a van. The owner had two sons. The younger one named Ruben was my friend. As we didn’t have a place to play football, Ruben sought permission from his dad to allow him and his friends to play near the big litchi tree in the middle where open space was available. Every Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, about ten boys from the neighborhood together with Ruben and I, gathered and formed two teams to play thrilling matches.

I was craving to go back to that place and to meet at least one friend with whom we could share the wonderful moments of our childhood days. Unforgettable childhood mischief flashed to my mind. In those days, especially during the litchi season, my friend Roger and I, used to get into the orchard through a small gap made in the bamboo hedge which surrounded the orchard to steal ripe litchis. We did it on several occasions. When the owner was aware that his litchis were stolen, he let loose his fierce dog. When we learned about it, we stopped. I was ashamed of myself when I recalled that bad act. In those days we were so steeped in poverty, that those stolen litchis filled our stomachs and felt compensated when we had nothing for lunch. I wondered whether the litchi orchard was still there. Could I meet Roger and giggled as much as we could about the stolen litchis. I also had the feeling that the orchard might have changed ownership or been transformed into an industrial or residential area. The craving to get soon to that place and to revive some childhood memories was uppermost in my mind.

In ten minutes I would reach my village. I was passing through a mountainous area. How nice to be caressed by that cool morning breeze and welcomed by the melodious twitter of birds. I still remembered when I was a kid, my parents used to come here to collect ripe guavas. A little drive again. I could see the first houses. All the thatched houses had disappeared. Big concrete houses lined up all the well-asphalted roads. The village had grown up, from an adolescent stage to an adult one.

Boys and girls were elegantly dressed. Even the adults could be seen wearing short-sleeved shirts and jeans. That is the place. I stopped my car here. A one-storeyed concrete house with a beautiful lawn was occupying the place. The nearby orchard was no longer there. Instead, a new residential area had taken birth All the other houses were concrete and cyclone-resistant. I could see the owner. I had a chat with him.

Mario:” Good morning! I'm Mario Hubin. I used to live in that place forty years ago in a thatched house. I was ten years old when we left for Vacoas. My dad sold it to Mr. Curpen.”

Polo: “ I am Polo. You are right. My father bought it from Mr. Curpen. I'm told that Mr. Curpen pulled down your thatched house and built this beautiful one. My father bought it five years ago.”

Mario: “ In the place of this residential area there was a litchi orchard. The owner had his big house in it.”

Polo:” When we came to live here, most of the houses in this residential area were already built. Only three plots were empty. In the last two years, the owners built their houses. Mr. Curpen told us that the orchard owner sold his property to a wealthy guy who came with much money from the UK. The latter cut down the trees. He then divided the whole area into small plots which he sold to individuals for residential purposes.

Mario:” I see it’s a well-planned area with good road links and other infrastructural facilities. I don’t know whether the people who used to live in the adjoining houses at that time were still here or they had left. Have you heard these names: Madhoo, Ashim, Rolo, and Herold.?”

Polo:” The others, no. Herold, yes! Unfortunately, Herold is bedridden as he got a stroke a year ago. I think he can be of help to you because he can talk a little. His wife and his daughter live with him.”

Mario: “ I don’t think they know me. When we left the place. I was ten and Herold was fifteen years old. Can I meet them?”

Polo: “It’s Saturday, Both of them may be at home. You may park your car in my yard.”

Mario:” Thank you!”

I walked to Herold’s place. I knocked at the door. Herold’s wife opened and welcomed me. I explained to her that I used to live in that place forty years ago and I knew Herold as a childhood friend. She ushered me inside and led me to Herold’s room. She hinted a little about Herold’s health. I got seated close to him.It was a large bedroom, well ventilated with a table and four chairs beside the bed. Both of us were meeting after forty years. We were physically much changed. When I told him that I was Mario and we were both friends and neighbors. He nodded profusely, with tears trickling down his cheeks. I understood that he remembered me and some past memories had flashed to his mind. His wife Rita told me that he still had a good memory, The only handicap was that he couldn’t express himself well and his right leg was very weak. He couldn’t maintain a good balance. He was undergoing physiotherapeutic treatment and was slowly improving. I related to him about our football matches. He seemed to remember those days and with repeated flying kisses and noddings, he held my hands and kissed them on and on, expressing his endless joy to see in front of him, a childhood friend who reminded him of those marvelous days during which we had so much fun. Herold insisted that I should have lunch with him as his wife had already prepared the meal. He raised himself in a seated position and his sympathetic wife asked me not to refuse him as it was the first time since he got the stroke, he saw him so elated and lively. We talked and his wife told me that their daughter was a nursing officer and was married to a doctor. Before I left, Herold told me that he knew Mrs. Rani who used to sell bananas and who lived the next road would be able to tell me more about my friends and neighbors. I gifted him some money. He refused to take it but I urged him to accept it as a friendship token. I took leave of them. I entered my car and proceeded to Rani’s place. It wasn’t difficult to find her house. Arriving there, I introduced myself to the seventy-year-old Rani. As a banana seller, she knew almost everybody in that locality and also those who no longer lived there. She still remembered the Hubin family. She said:” I couldn’t forget your mom because we were both talkative. How is she?”

Mario:” She is fine. She is diabetic. She is very careful about her health and so she is managing it fairly well. My dad passed away three years ago.’

Rani: “ I'm sorry to hear about it. I knew your dad was a perfect guy. What about you?”

I told her about myself and my family. I explained to her my craving to visit my native village and to revive my childhood memories. I noticed many changes here. Many neighbors had moved. Some of them are no longer here.”

Rani:” You are right.”

Mario:” I’ve noted many positive changes. I met Herold, a childhood friend. I had a few friends. I don’t know their whereabouts.”

Rani:” Mention their names. I’ll see if I can help you.”

Mario: “They were Anif, Azad, Prem, Joe, and Reddy.”

Rani.:” Anif and Azad left the village and moved to Rosehill some twenty years ago. When Prem got married, he emigrated to Australia with his wife to live with his in-laws.. Joe went to study in France ten years after you left for Vacoas. I'm told he married and settled there.”

Mario:” What about Reddy?”

Rani:” Reddy was entangled in a drug business. He left his parents and went to live in Rosehill. He owned a big house and had luxurious cars. The police cracked down on him. He was caught and sentenced to jail.”

Mario: “I am sorry for him. In class, he was a studious boy. He must have got bad connections. The former orchard owner had a younger son named Ruben. Do you have any information about him?”

Rani: “No, I don’t. I'm told that after selling their property, they went to settle at Quatre Bornes.”

Mario:” Tell me about yourself and your family.”

Rani:” We are a family with limited means. My husband, Mr. Ardil, was a laborer. When you left, I was a young thirty-year-old mom. My daughter was two years old. As I had to look after her, I couldn’t take up a job, Fortunately, I had some twelve banana trees. They continuously gave me a supply of bananas that I could sell to our villagers. This additional income enabled me to meet the family budget. My daughter got married and is now the mother of two children. She lives at St. Pierre.She is leading a happy married life. My husband became a cancer patient twelve years ago. In spite of intensive medical treatment, he couldn’t survive. I am now a widow. My daughter is always in touch with me. I still have banana trees. People come and buy bananas from me. “

Mario: “I gifted Rani, kissed and hugged her. I left with a prick in my heart.”

The environment had changed so much that it voiced a message to me: “You are no longer one of our inmates. You are a foreigner. My nostalgia melted out. I expected to meet some childhood friends to talk excitedly about the days spent together, of our bonding, and of the numerous events that had sparked cherished memories in my mind. The time has come for me to divert them to oblivion. The truth is indeed bitter.