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Winning the Mauritian Elections
by Amit Parmessur

I am still waiting for Scarlett Johansson’s reply.


Last month, believing that the public had to have a wider choice I decided to contest the elections. I gathered up enraged dogs, ill-treated cats, hungry bulls and thirsty camels. Not that I was a leader of animals; these were humans, a bit like Young Fortinbras sharking up lawless resolutes in Hamlet.

In Mauritius, there are 2 major political parties: L’Alliance Sociale and MMM. For people, the final victory was surely for one of them. Small parties include Parti Malin (Clever Party in English), MDN, FSM, Lalit (The Fight) and Parti Tireurs Disables (Sand Excavators).

After expertly dispersing my candidates in the 20 constituencies, I announced that I was tired. My candidates wanted a brainwashing, extensive, mind-blowing and profound campaign and were obviously not happy. Strongly against money and energy wasting, I dismissed them and their useless adjectives.

“Go home and sleep!” I told everyone, pointing at my sleeping puppies.

After all our party’s logo was a woman sitting on a tombstone, the Renaissance symbol of patience. Everyone left brooding, unconvinced. One remarked that I should’ve put a sex-bomb instead of an old hag on the tomb. I waved away his protest, gave him some popcorn and invited him to watch Titanic with me. O! How I still love this film. So profound and mind-blowing.

As the elections approached, my tensions decreased. Every party was busy criticising and swearing at each other. ‘Vote bloc!’ could be heard everywhere. Mind you this is the most famous slogan during election times in Mauritius, telling you to cast your 3 votes on the 3 candidates of a single party in a constituency.

Money and dreams were spread in every street. “Vote bloc!” MMM would shout. “Vote bloc! Vote bloc!” L’Alliance Sociale would shout. “Vote bloc!” Parti Malin would plead. I enjoyed seeing them all on television each night. A couple of parties were so funny that I would roll on the ground laughing and spilling peanuts all over the carpet. My party was nowhere in this electoral commotion and cacophony.

Days before D-Day I took my BMW out for some sunbathing and sight-seeing, jodeling My Heart Will Go On. I had to switch off my phone as my candidates would call me to bark about our lack of canvassing. I was already annoyed at forgetting my new Ray Ban sunglasses at home!

That night I called a meeting and told my stupid candidates to stay at home until the results. I menaced to be the deadliest creature if I were to see anyone out. Everyone left unconvinced and brooding.

The other parties had made people’s choice too clear. When the results were announced we were runaway winners. A few journalists wanted to remove my brain for analysis.

I ran away.

In the heat of the elections everyone had forgotten that my anonymous party was called Bloc. My first official job was to write to Scarlett Johansson. I was impatient to replace that old hag.