Koze

I'm at the beach. It shall remain nameless so as to keep its anonymity.

You see, I am the only European here. It appears yet to be discovered by tourists. At least for today. In fact I am the only person sat here on the actual beach itself. Just me and my flip flops. The water lapping at my feet. There are Mauritians here, lots. It would appear a 'troisieme age' (senior citizen) outing. At least one bus load, maybe two. Scattered in small groups under the cooling shade of the filao trees behind me.

Occasionally they'll take stroll in the shallows, ladies in twos or threes, chatting. Or alone, lost in their own thoughts. All hoisting their sarees above the waves, but no higher than their knees.

"Bonjour, ça va?" They ask as they pass. "Corec merci et vous?" I reply.

The conversation has begun. Mauritians love to talk and of course assume by my brazen start that I am fluent in their local patois. I'm not. Despite understanding so much, I still after all these years lack the confidence to speak it in public. But these kind faced ladies care not for my pauses and mis-pronunciation and are eager to chat.

"Ki pays?" Asks one. "L'angleterre" I reply. "Its cold there." She said. "Yes", I reply and she mocks a sad face when I tell her we are leaving on  dimanche. "My sister is in England!" She tells me proudly, in English. I smile. "For how long?" I ask. "30 years", she answers. "Where in England?" I ask. "Yes!" She smiles as she replies. I try again, "Which town in England?" "Yes!" Comes her reply. And another smile. A huge ear to ear beaming smile, full of pride and friendliness and love.

And we pause. Both still smiling. She nods, "OK, bye bye!" She says, waving her hand as she continues her walk in the warm waters.

"Au revoir madame" I say. Never goodbye.