“Back in the 1990s, my father was able to buy a house. I cannot dream of buying a house and I have a law degree,” a Mauritian woman in her early 40s told me. All around the island, I keep hearing variations on these lines from people in their 20s to 40s. “Lavi tro ser.” The cost of living is too high.
The Mauritian rupee never recovered from the blow that the Covid pandemic dealt to our tourism industry in 2020-2022. It has lost 50% of its value against the US dollar. We remain an import-dependent country, so the price of everything from rice to nappies has been affected by the new exchange rate, and, later, the US invasion of Iran pushed up import costs. Wages have stagnated, and while the minimum wage has gone up in recent years, it hasn’t increased in line with inflation.
At the same time, a post-Covid influx of expats from the Global North has intensified gentrification on the island. They range from young American tech nomads to 80-year-old French billionaires in search of sun, sea and low taxes. The Mauritian government has partnered with the local private sector, which owns most of the country’s land, to create various real estate schemes for expats. Mauritians are growing increasingly frustrated by the inaccessibility of public beaches as more of the coastline is leased out to private owners.
Much of Mauritius' coastal land cannot be legally sold. However, a legal loophole can be used to lease it out for periods of around 99 years. Most beachfront villas are leased out this way.Our public debt is high, so the government needs quick money, which expats bring by leasing our coasts and buying former sugar cane fields. Little of this wealth reaches the local middle and working classes. It mostly stays with conglomerates, which channel it into other property developments and overseas investments, including mining ventures in mainland Africa.
Economic power is still largely in the hands of white Mauritians, even if most of the country is brown and Black. This means that the price of land for Mauritians who earn local salaries has skyrocketed. A few months ago, I met a chartered accountant, a brown woman in her 20s, who told me that she has no choice but to move to Luxembourg and work for a few years in order to afford the deposit. Public school teachers are leaving the country to work as bilingual customer service officers in Canada – about 5,000 Mauritians immigrate to Canada every year.
There is a reason why Bad Bunny is so popular on our tiny Indian Ocean island, even if we speak no Spanish. Lo que le pasó a Hawaii (What happened to Hawaii) is a favourite. This love song to Puerto Rico serves as a warning against the gentrification of his home island, which prices local residents out of their communities and drives them to emigrate. “Kouma dir Moris mem,” say Mauritians. It’s just like in Mauritius.
When I was a child in the early 2000s, the town of Moka in the highlands was mostly sugarcane fields and middle-class homes. It was slightly posh, sure, but it still felt accessible. Now, most of the children I grew up with on my street in Rose-Hill, a town near Moka, are gone. “Pa kav met nene laba.” This Creole expression literally translates to “You can’t put your nose there,” and it means that a place is too expensive to even dare step in. It’s become a common phrase among non-wealthy Mauritians when talking about Moka.
Mauritian Creole (locally known as Kreol Morisien) is the national language of Mauritius. English and French are also used, dating back to the country's colonial history.The government’s response to the rising cost of living has been pitiful. Prime Minister Navin Ramgoolam’s announcement that the national wage compensation scheme would grant workers an additional Rs 635 (US$13) on top of their annual salaries in 2026 was met with anger.
“We can buy only tinned sardines with this much money!” Many people are now forced to buy more instant noodles, tinned fish and frozen vegetables to cope with rising grocery prices, a trend that has prompted many viral jokes on social media.
In July, the government passed a bill to raise the eligibility age for the full universal basic retirement pension from 60 to 65, ending a welfare provision that had remained unchanged since 1958. The government argued that the measure had become fiscally unsustainable in light of an ageing population, the exodus of young Mauritians and high public debt. Yet, despite earlier promises, the bill did not increase taxes on transfers of luxury villas, which would have helped public finances.
July on the island was rocked by protests against the dismantling of the Mauritian welfare state. Trade unions organised a march on July 11, and on July 29, Malina Cheeneebash, a young Mauritian anthropologist who had returned from the US, staged a sit-in outside Parliament. Police violently arrested her over the offence of “potential obstruction of the footpath”, and she was hospitalised.
Videos of Malina’s brutal arrest went viral. It struck a nerve with young Mauritians abroad who are often urged to return home and contribute to the country. A 28-year-old Mauritian in France, Navneesh Ramessur, told me: “The more I see the images, the more I see what the state machine and media are doing to Malina, the more that anger boils. The political class, those useless men-children, love to suck on our young skin, our potential-filled bodies.” Deepshikha Parmessur, a 22-year-old Mauritian who did return home, shared, “I discovered that loving your country does not always mean your country knows what to do with your love.”
After leaving hospital, Malina returned to her protest site in late August. A handful of young people and artists have joined her, and online support remains strong, but her courage has yet to ignite a mass movement like India’s Cockroach protests. The anger of young Mauritians is palpable on university campuses, in office conversations and even in queues for street food. Yet most seem more inclined to leave than to protest, convinced that nothing will change. This begs the question: What will Mauritius look like in 2050? An island emptied of its young people, with only wealthy retirees, expats enjoying a tropical paradise, and exploited temporary migrant workers? We must demand better.
