Mauritius awaits Trump’s approval for the UK to hand over the archipelago, with Chagossians at odds over what’s in it for them.
Slam poet Geraldine Baptiste pulls no punches when telling the story of her “Granpapa”, one of the 1,500-plus people ripped from a peaceful existence on the Chagos Islands by the British to make way for a United States military base, most shipped “kouma zanimo” (meaning “like animals” in her native Creole) to a hellish fate more than 1,000 miles (1,610km) across the Indian Ocean in Mauritius.
Belting out her poems in the Port Louis suburbs, the 26-year-old relates her grandfather’s memories of fishing in the crystalline waters of Peros Banhos atoll and feasting by firelight on “seraz pwason” (fish curry) and “Kalou” moonshine, contrasting happy times with the horrors of his violent expulsion in the early 1970s and the decades of impoverished exile that followed – many did not survive.
“Pena okenn antidot; Pou geri sa blesir; Ki ankor pe soupire,” she says – there is no cure for those wounds, still weeping more than half a century on.
That line hits especially hard right now, as Mauritius prepares to assume sovereignty over the 60-island Chagos archipelago after vanquishing the United Kingdom in a landmark decolonization case at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) six years ago. The nation is on a knife edge as it awaits the final nod from the US, which wants cast-iron guarantees on the security of one of its most valuable bases on the atoll of Diego Garcia.
Mauritius has been intent on reclaiming Chagos for decades, having been strong-armed by the UK into selling the jointly administered colonial territory for 3 million pounds in exchange for its independence in 1968. The ICJ victory is further sweetened by the promise of billions of pounds that the UK will reportedly pay in rent and back rent for Diego Garcia under a lease arrangement spanning 99 years.
In a bid to heal past wounds, Mauritius will manage a trust fund for Chagossians, allowing them to resettle on two of the Chagos Islands – Salomon and Peros Banhos. But the islanders, some with roots on the territory stretching back to the 18th century, were locked out of the interstate talks. And, as Baptiste describes it, local families have been torn apart by rows over whether they should accept Mauritian sovereignty over their homeland.
“It’s like being in a tug of war between two sides that are killing each other,” says Baptiste. “We’re already a tiny community. It makes me so sad.”
