Do you Dzaoudzi?

A story set in the Indian Ocean

I struck up conversation with a yachtie wife one afternoon while waiting for the tide to change.

 I asked her where she’s from.

“ From Reunion.” She says

“Ah,” I say,

“I was there last week. Lovely place, Reunion.”

“Pha!” she spits out in her superior French manner.

“We’ve been living on Mayotte for the past seven years. Its much better. There’s not so much tourism or commerce. ‘Ere everyone is ze same.”

“ A very peaceful life here. Its good for ze children.”

I couldn’t fault her there. The island of Mayotte certainly is peaceful and the people friendly. The natural beauty is astounding and the flying foxes intriguing. It is also fairly wealthy as islands go with France pouring in a lot of money. It is still a piece of paradise void of any hideous tourist traps and therein lies its appeal.

We found ourselves on the Island of Mayotte whilst cruising the Indian Ocean Islands. We had to stock up on supplies and prepare paperwork for our next leg to Madagascar.

The local yachties were extremely accommodating and went out of their way to make us feel welcome. The yacht club was our base while we prepared for our voyage ahead. While basic, it was still our home from home, a place where we could grab a bite to eat, do our washing, take a shower, check up on weather reports or trade stories and information with other sailors. A source of constant amazement was the number of families sailing round the world. Ocean crossings are notoriously difficult so once they found a good spot, they would stay for a couple of months and were only preparing to move on account of the hurricane season about to begin. I’ve never seen such happy care free and well adjusted kids. Home schooling certainly has its merits.

Yachtie fashion on dry land is cut off jeans, those shorts so beloved during the 80’s but clearly still practical.

In 1974 the French held a referendum that forced them to give up the Comoros, however, on Mayotte 64% of the people voted against independence. Two years later they held another referendum and this time an overwhelming 99% voted to stay French. Today Mayotte remains a Collective Territoriale de France. All citizens are members of the EC and entitled to the same benefits they would receive in France.  Officials sent to work on Mayotte considered themselves exiled, so to attract people to work on the island, large salaries were offered with many benefits. Something that still persists today. People are paid up to one and a half times as much as in France. The island remains expensive and wealthy, thanks to France.  Its strange to see French number plates on vehicles on the island.

Mayotte comprises of two islands, the main island called Grand Terre which houses the capital called Mamoudzou and the smaller island called Petite Terre, with the main town there called Dzaoudzi.

While we were waiting for the weather to change before we set sail, I took the ferry to Mamoudzou on Grand Terre to check my emails and stock up on supplies. It’s a 15 minute ferry ride from Dzaoudzi on Petit Terre where we were based to the capital on Grand Terre and costs a mere Euro 0.75 for a return trip. It was nice to see another part of the island so I took a taxi collective to the south of the island.  I ended up having a cool drink at a boat club in the south and watched couples heading off in their boats for a fun filled day on the water. The island is surrounded by an atoll which creates a natural breakwater giving calm conditions and creating spectacular diving and fishing.  I saw one chap walking round in his Speedo with his long graying hair tied back into a ponytail complete with gold chain and earring. “What a cool dude” I thought. A real playboy.

Hitchhiking is common and the locals almost feel compelled to stop when they see a hiker. So, hitching back later that afternoon, imagine my surprise when the playboy from the beach stops to pick me up.

“Where do you live?” I ask

“On my boat at the yacht club.” he says

“And where are you going to now?” I ask

“To Sadu. To fly my plane.” He replies…

Later that evening the skipper and I walk to town for diner. We find a quaint restaurant and walk in. It appeared as if the entire Gendarmerie was there for dinner.

“Sorry.” The owner said, “ We ‘ave a private function on ‘ere tonight, but I can drive you to another restaurant.”

“What?” we ask in disbelief.

“Your restaurant is full but you are willing to drive us to another restaurant?”

“ Wi, of course!” he says

“See ‘ere is my Renault outside.”

Who are we to argue so he politely drove us to one of his competitors where we thoroughly enjoyed Canard au miel.

The yacht club comes alive on Friday nights. Its Braai night and all the sailors turn up. Someone put a large fresh tuna on the braai and afterwards the real work began, trying to keep up drinking as only a sailor can.

“I’m DuDu” one sailor introduces himself.

“Yes.” One of his friends say,

“In the morning we ask him; What are you going to Do, DuDu?”

 This brings on spasms of pastis induced laughter. DuDu just smiled confidently to himself and we carried on our pleasant conversation.

Much later when things became a little wilder I saw that DuDu was a bit of a ladies man and had the girls queuing up to dance with him.

DuDu’s boat was moored close to ours. By Sunday he had no less than three women on board spending the day swimming and relaxing in the sun.

I was still thinking of DuDu and of life on the Island when we set sail later that afternoon. With favorable winds predicted we couldn’t delay our departure and set off for our next adventure.