‘How did he,’ I ask, ‘a Créole mixed-race man in 1940s Mauritius, come to such a prominent position?’
‘Maybe he worked hard,’ one white student says.
I explain that, according to me, this man could possibly be the illegitimate son of the governor: it explains his position, his dress, his colour. I tell him that, though this governor is English, the practice of white men fathering children of colour – ‘enfants naturels’, they are called, ‘bastard-born’ – is common in Mauritius, from French colonial times to today.
I tell them how much of Creole blood is the result of sexual violence: that this is probably not a happy story of a governor falling in love with his maid. How, two hundred years ago, people of African and sometimes of Indian descent were considered as property, bien meuble, to be used however white owners saw fit. That such violence is a legacy that we carry in our bodies.
A boy raises his hand to speak. He tells me he disagrees with this idea of violence as legacy. ‘She was raped,’ shoots Chloe in his direction. The boy struggles to find a rebuttal. He is worked up now, and I am unbearable to him.
I turn to Ananda Devi and the 2016 state of the nation novel she presents in Eve Out of Her Ruins. I speak of poverty, abuse. I tell them how lucky they are to have such a wonderful school and pristine education, because most Mauritians don’t have that luxury. The boy interrupts. He says he completely disagrees with me. He is French and has lived here for a while, believes I am too pessimistic in my outlook. He says racism exists, but if everyone works hard they’ll get to the place they deserve in life. I understand immediately; I ask him if he is white. He tells me his mother is white but his father is darker than I am. ‘Maybe you should talk to your father tonight, ask him about the racism he faced in France.’ The boy is adamant that his father has suffered from no racism at all. I talk of microaggressions. He says his father is checked by the police in France ‘as often as everyone else’. That he is a brilliant man, an entrepreneur. I said I have no doubt about that. He says I propound an ideology of the victim. I’d have recommended Light in August if he were older, but even then Faulkner would slip through his fingers. He has bleached himself into oblivion.
— An Education by Ariel Saramandi
