Beach walks and color lines
Mauritius reopened its borders in October and the landscape changed.
I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.
- Zora Neale Hurston
In early August I was diagnosed with cervicobrachialgia - a condition in which cervical pain radiates through your spine and back and in some cases, your arms. As part of my treatment, the doctor urged me to exercise more, swimming being the preferred option. So in my time off work, I’ve been going to the beach more. It’s been nice. We live near Trou aux Biches - one of the most popular beaches on the north coast of Mauritius - and because of work and life, don’t usually make the most of this proximity. So this has been a welcome change.
On any given day, I start off my walk from the westernmost side of Trou aux Biches and amble all the way to the end of the walkable path, crossing Beachcomber’s deserted stretch of beach. Earlier in the pandemic, the sight of abandoned sun loungers was eerie, a shocking reminder of the deadly virus sweeping across the world, forcing us to shelter in place. Meters of yellow tape barring beach strollers from entry looked like something of a crime scene. But something changed over the course of the 18 months Mauritian borders were closed. As pandemic anxiety relaxed and vaccination rates soared, locals started to head to the beach again, spreading out along the coast. And this time, further and wider than ever before. There was no need to worry about taking up hotel beach space. We were free to roam around as we wanted. Hotel security eventually gave up on trying to keep locals off the patches of grass on hotel property because, what was the point really?
My beach walks have been long and largely uninterrupted. Every now and then, a bunch of young athletic men pass me by on their evening runs. In the distance, children laugh to their hearts’ content. Young girls take pictures of each other in colorful swimsuits and sarongs, presumably for the gram. On the weekends, larger groups gather across the beach, food vendors bustle out burgers and mine bwi to locals of all creeds. Women in burkinis and bikinis swim side by side. Occasionally, a foreign accent carried by the wind drowns in an ocean of Mauritian Kreol and French. In the 18 months of borders being closed, we found a way to reclaim the ocean.
*
On October 1, the borders reopened. The first time since March 2020. Tourists and residents alike can now travel to Mauritius without a mandatory quarantine, which means large numbers of people are expected to be flying in. Newspapers share numbers and percentages. Hundreds of thousands of tourists projected to arrive in the last 3 months of the year. Hotels already booked at near-capacity. Prices going back up to pre-pandemic rates. Businesses revamping their storefronts. Tens of thousands of Mauritians seeing their livelihoods lifted from precarity.
In the week preceding the reopening, I knew I had to make the most of the beach. I wasn’t sure what would happen but I knew the air quality would shift. Would delta find its way in? Would my largely vaccinated family be at greater risk? Would we face another lockdown? Would our healthcare system collapse? I lingered on the empty shores, spreading my body across the sand, reckoning with the privilege of having a beach almost to myself at my doorstep. I sat down on a bench, eating fries with homemade ketchup and mayonnaise from a beach shack. I watched the sun set.
As of October 12, over 12,000 people had already flown in, of which, over 9,000 were foreigners. This was immediately noticeable. On my street, the ratio of white people drastically increased. Spanish, Italian, German, Metropolitan French, British and South African Englishes started floating through the air with self-assurance. My favorite food places filled up. Later that week, I went on another walk. The initial strip of sand was relatively bare but for a white lady lounging on a chair under a straw parasol talking to a Brown man in a white polo with “SECURITE” in all caps written on its back. I kept walking ahead and the beach population grew denser. On one side, white foreigners, in fashionable swimwear, covered in generous films of sunscreen. On the other side, a few people of color, myself included, treading a delicate line. As I walked further along, I caught more and more pairs of eyes lingering on me. I couldn’t read their expressions. I wondered what they were thinking. Did I look out of place, with my long pants and my backpack? Did they wonder why I was walking in front of the hotel? Did I obstruct their view? Did I still belong?
Maybe it’s none of this, maybe it’s all in my head. But as an ever-increasing number of presumably affluent (a Beachcomber stay is currently around 18,000 MUR a night) white people overrun the formerly unoccupied sunloungers, my Brown body no longer just is. I find myself in my head, instead of in the moment. What does this look like? Do they think I’m staff? I wish I was wearing something more beach appropriate. I wish my partner was here to get me out of my head. I kept walking, towards the Trou aux Biches public beach. Of the people of color I came across: a man trying to sell me bracelets and tropical trinkets, another one trying to meet my gaze to pitch a boat ride, hotel staff in uniforms adroitly balancing platters of cocktails on each hand. At the end of the Beachcomber strip, scores of locals huddled in boisterous bunches, dozens of kids running, jumping, shrieking. A shirtless man played the ravann, his friends and family belting out classic beachside anthems. Ahead, an impressive sound system blasted Jason Heerah’s new track La Famille. In my body again and with my heart rate down, I threw my turquoise sarong to the ground and settled down in a cosy spot. The late afternoon waves rippled excitedly, washing seashells and algae away into oblivion.
*
In related news, 12,000 cases detected through “rapid tests” are missing from the official COVID count for October. Delta is making itself known. The press is reporting on the matter with far less alarm than before - even though the numbers are higher than ever - creating a false sense of safety. The young and vaccinated aren’t immunized. Let’s not let our guards down just yet.