Our paradisiacal island, the land of rainbows,
Waterfalls and shooting stars,
With plenteous of unique wildlife in verdant forest,
Rocky Mountains, and white breath-taking sandy beaches,
Was ravaged by a cyclone, fast and furious.
Never did we witness a disaster so capricious,
As the ravaging Cyclone Carol.
Affecting the Mauritians, one and all.
Cyclone Carol will be vivid in our imagination
Due to the images of massive destruction
It left in its wake in our beautiful island,
The Indian Ocean’s precious ‘pearl’ island.
Most Mauritians were extremely shaken.
The more so due to their losses in a previous cyclone.
The strong gusts hardly gave time to recover,
So sudden was the disaster.
February 28th, marked as terribly calamitous,
With hundreds injured, and forty-two lives lost,
Our peaceful islanders’ lives, so unexpectedly,
Simply nipped too suddenly.
The strong winds violently blowing,
The diurnal course of the day swiftly transforming,
Into strong gusts, peals of thunder and flashes of lightning,
Followed by torrential rain in the evening.
Into a destructive storm it strengthened gradually,
As it closed in on the island mercilessly.
Our thatched roof was blown in some patches,
Soon it started leaking in some places.
Followed by the rain water dripping in several areas.
As the strong winds lashed around,
One huge main wooden beam emitted a creaking sound.
With each forceful gust, it worsened.
Knowing that imminent danger was to loom,
My dad protected us from this impending doom.
We rushed to the village school with a few belongings.
As our huge house showed signs of crumbling.
That fateful afternoon, this scenario of my childhood,
Our house with the most solid timber in the neighbourhood
Which I had always thought of as the most indestructible,
Shockingly presented as being perishable.
Just as some of us think quite proudly
As being high and mighty eternally,
When, we are mere vulnerable beings.
Alas! Ephemeral can be our wellbeing.
Out of the blue, disaster can strike any of us,
Reducing us to dust
Whether we are the wealthiest or poorest,
In caste, colour or creed, feeling mightiest.
As puppets, we can be made to dance,
To the whims of Fate or unforeseen circumstance.
So, it was that fateful day,
Unbelievable, fearful nay.
The flow of our cool normal life threatened,
An ominous portend
That life was going to take another turning,
As the powerful hands of destiny were threatening.