Mauritius, my beloved island, is forever marketed as a paradise of turquoise lagoons and smiling faces. The world sees glossy brochures with palm trees swaying in the breeze and couples sipping cocktails by the sea. But beneath this glittering façade lies something far less photogenic. The rot did not arrive yesterday. It has been brewing since 1968, the year we gained independence. Entitlement was then planted as a seed, and like an invasive weed, it has now spread to every crack in the nation’s foundations.

At first it was subtle. A favour here, a free pass there. Politicians discovered that loyalty could be bought cheaply – not with ideas, not with vision, but with privilege. The formula proved so effective that it has become hereditary. Each decade, entitlement grows more fashionable, passed down like some dubious heirloom. The result is a country where fairness is elastic, where rules apply selectively, and where the colour of your political flag often matters more than the content of your character.

Parents Who No Longer Parent

But let us not place all the blame on politicians. Generation X and Y – today’s parents – must carry their share. Many mistake indulgence for love. Their mantra: “I did not have it, so I will give it to my child.” A philosophy that sounds noble but, in practice, creates a generation of little emperors.

Take the case of a minister’s teenage daughter who “borrowed” a family member’s iPhone and promptly gifted it to her boyfriend. Both under 18. When confronted, the parent’s response was the timeless classic: “I will talk to her.” Talk, yes. Return the phone? Certainly not. Punishment? Out of the question. And so the rot continues. One cannot be surprised when spoilt children grow into spoilt adults, convinced the rules are for other people.

Rules for Some, Loopholes for Others

Even basic municipal laws are seen as optional. Regulations demand that perimeter walls be built three feet from the road. Mauritians, however, build right up to the tarmac. If the municipality dares object, the offender does not apologise or comply. Instead, they rush to their favourite politician, who makes the problem vanish. For those without such political insurance, the outcome is quite different: demolitions, fines, sometimes even prison.

This is Mauritius in miniature: not governed by law, but by connections. Three feet for the powerless, carte blanche for the connected.

Copycats Without Conviction

Then there is our obsession with imitation. Mauritians have an odd mental block: they copy whatever appears to bring easy money. Children are pushed into subjects they neither like nor understand because “X, Y and Z are doing it.” Private tuition is the national addiction, a racket that flourishes because parents cannot bear the thought of being left behind.

It is a curious arrangement: the very same teachers who should teach properly in class then charge exorbitant fees to repeat the material after hours. Parents, rather than question the absurdity, simply pay. “Everyone else is doing it,” they shrug, mistaking conformity for progress. Personal development, curiosity, and creativity are casualties of this herd mentality.

The Boy Sleeps, the Girl Sweeps

And then, the topic that no one dares confront directly: gender inequality. In too many households, sons enjoy privileges denied to daughters. In inheritance disputes, daughters who sacrifice years to care for ageing parents are sidelined in favour of brothers who barely lifted a finger. Within families, sick or overworked daughters are still expected to cook and clean, while sons are excused. The most damning aspect? It is often mothers themselves who perpetuate this inequality with that fatal refrain: “It is fine. He is a boy.”

In 2025, this should be an embarrassment. Instead, it is shrugged off as tradition. The result is a generation of women undervalued in their own homes and a society that applauds the laziness of its men.

When Corruption Becomes a National Dish

Entitlement at the family level is bad enough, but magnified through government it becomes lethal. Politics in Mauritius is not about vision; it is about who can secure the juiciest share of the pie. Mauritians rarely vote for the future of the country. They vote for the immediate benefit to themselves – a job for a nephew, a contract for a cousin, a building permit overlooked.

One MP, drunk behind the wheel, crashed into another vehicle with such force it flipped. Instead of taking responsibility, he simply slid into the passenger seat and refused a breathalyser. Refused the blood test too. Today, he sits comfortably in Parliament, paid handsomely by taxpayers. Meanwhile, an ordinary citizen who posts a critical comment on Facebook can expect a summons, a police statement, and possibly the loss of employment. In Mauritius, the crooks legislate while the critics are criminalised.

The Cost of Milk and the Price of Hypocrisy

The economic sphere is no cleaner. A litre of milk cost Rs 32 in November 2024. By August 2025, the same litre was Rs 89. Nearly triple in less than a year. And what does the government do? Instead of tackling abusive businesses, it simply injects more cash into the economy – fuelling the very inflation it claims to fight.

One minister, while in opposition, once theatrically carried vegetables into Parliament to mock rising prices. Today, as a member of government, he seems to have developed amnesia. Conveniently, his own supermarket profits from the same inflated prices. Principles, it seems, have the shelf life of fresh lettuce.

Entitlement in Uniform

Perhaps the most corrosive example of entitlement is to be found in the police force. The so-called guardians of the law often behave as though they are above it. Custodial deaths are explained away with implausible stories: “he hung himself with his shirt,” “she fell in the cell.” Since independence, dozens have died in police custody. Few, if any, officers have been punished. The death of musician Kaya in 1999 remains the most haunting – arrested for smoking cannabis, found dead with broken ribs, officially declared a “self-inflicted injury.”

Fast forward to 2025 and the scandals have only grown more brazen. A Superintendent was arrested for siphoning tens of millions of rupees from the Police Reward Fund. Informant payments that never reached any informant. Meanwhile, the Anti-Drug and Smuggling Unit – the very body meant to fight narcotics – was so riddled with corruption that a commission of inquiry recommended shutting it down altogether. The government refused.

Worse still, the police have been accused of planting evidence to silence critics. Activists and others have become thorns in the side of the then ruling party, suddenly finding themselves accused of possessing 40 kilos of hashish. Part of the evidence later turned out to be chia seeds – the sort you sprinkle on yoghurt. Some of them spent months in prison regardless, while the Commissioner of Police theatrically denounced the court for granting him bail.

And when a whistleblower was found dead in a sugar cane field, investigators rushed to call it suicide. Only a judicial inquest later confirmed it was murder. The police, rather than protect the public, appeared to protect the powerful.

When Courtesy Vanishes

As if entitlement, corruption, and hypocrisy were not enough, Mauritians appear to have surgically removed courtesy from their very DNA. Mannerisms, once a mark of dignity, have been replaced by a brutish impatience. Queues are jumped without hesitation. Driving is reckless, a game of selfish chicken played daily on our roads. At banks, food outlets, or even religious venues, it is always the same: pushing, shoving, grabbing. People take money straight into their palms but never extend it respectfully into yours. It is a small thing, but it speaks volumes. Respect has evaporated; barbarism has become the new way of life.

And this lack of civility does not stop at queues or handshakes. It breeds selfishness everywhere. The collective “we” has been replaced by the self-serving “me.” We are no longer a nation of neighbours, but of rivals, each intent on gaining five seconds at the expense of decency.

A Dormitory or a Kitchen?

Not the kitchen that you are thinking of (la cuisine). Corruption in Mauritius is not only about the grand scandals splashed across front pages. Sometimes, it is played out in the small, ugly ways, in our very neighbourhoods.

Take the case of an Indian businessman who obtained a permit to build a “dormitory” in a quiet residential area. On paper, it sounded harmless. A few staff housed discreetly after hours, a simple place for workers to rest. In reality? The so-called dormitory was a front for a sprawling industrial kitchen.

Neighbours soon found themselves living beside clattering gas canisters – five changed in the morning, five again in the evening – their days punctuated by the metallic hiss of burners and industrial extractor fans. Smoke belched into the air, coating walls and lungs alike. Grease and odours spread with the wind. Food, cooked in bulk, was ferried out to supply outlets across the island. What was sold as “a dormitory” had become an unlicensed food factory, with residents forced to pay the price in sleepless nights, health hazards, and falling property values. Clash of culture would have the “domitory” residents speaking loud as though they are in a market at all hours, vehicles coming in and out; again at all hours with music blasting and its horn sounded carelessly yet again at all hours.

When complaints were lodged with the municipality, the businessman did not panic. He knew the system. Within days, one of the complainants received a phone call from the very man they had complained against, asking bluntly: “Why did you report me?” Complaints are meant to be anonymous, but somewhere inside the municipal office, a hand was greased and a name was leaked.

The brazenness did not end there. Instead of ceasing operations, the businessman doubled down. Outdoor structures were thrown up, operations ran late into the night, and production never stopped. Why should it? He knew the drill. Politicians and municipal officers would look the other way. Connections speak louder than laws.

For ordinary citizens, this case is an object lesson: you may follow the law, submit your plans, and respect your neighbours, but if you lack the right surname, the right handshake, or the right party colour, you will be hounded for minor infringements. Meanwhile, someone with the right connections can poison a neighbourhood with smoke and grease, all under the respectable disguise of a “dormitory.”

It is a microcosm of Mauritius itself – rules bent until they break, authority leaking like a sieve, and those at the top profiting while those at the bottom endure.

When looking further into the municipality, it came to light that employees within the planning department were casually designing plans and being paid privately which is a blatant breach of their employment contract. Who would you complain to? The person in charge who has transferred out, is also into this quick money scheme.

The Dim-Witted and the Dangerous

Then come the naturally born dim-wits — the ones who would still be living like paupers had it not been for the occasional political bone thrown their way. A contract van licence here, a public-sector job there. They swagger as if they own the roads, driving their poorly maintained vehicles like degenerates, endangering passengers and innocent motorists alike. When tragedy strikes and people are maimed or killed, they plead the same tired refrain: “Boss, mo ena femme zenfan.” Yes, and where were your wife and children when you chose to drive like a lunatic? Where were they when you gambled other people’s lives for your arrogance?

This culture of excuses is the perfect companion to our culture of entitlement. Nobody is ever responsible; everyone is a victim. Politicians exploit this to maintain their stranglehold, sprinkling crumbs in exchange for votes while the cycle of recklessness and irresponsibility rolls on.

Mediocrity on a Pedestal

If entitlement and corruption were not enough, Mauritius has perfected the art of elevating mediocrity while sidelining merit. Here, a person who arrives with impeccable credentials – fluent in our languages, armed with multiple undergraduate and postgraduate degrees, seasoned with international experience – is applauded politely, invited to tea, even paraded as an example of our “diaspora pride.” But when it comes to jobs, contracts, and influence? They are politely shown the door. The spaces are kept warm for the mediocre, the poorly pedigreed, and the politically connected.

Consider one such “success story”: a man notorious for his misadventures with dubious network marketing schemes, a line in overpriced cookware, and even a questionable stint with an American NGO. He dabbled in politics too, but quickly revealed himself for what he was – a charlatan with a poor command of both English and French. He is “supposed” to be the best with words, yet sprinkles his sentences with “zis, zat, ze ozer.” Correct him, and he has the gall to correct you back, declaring with pride that he speaks “American English.” The tragedy is not that such a figure exists, but that he is treated with reverence by those who should know better.

He is not alone. Another parasite, once in the airline industry and later in media, is revered by crowds of equally dim admirers. At his former airline, it was common knowledge that a previous CEO would routinely berate him for producing work of such poor quality it was compared to dog droppings. Yet today, he struts across stages, speaking in exaggerated French that sounds like a gargled pill, or in English that resembles a man in agony from severe constipation. His talent lies not in intellect, but in performance – fooling an audience of the easily impressed.

And then there is the pièce de résistance: a man with no formal education, once convicted of stealing alcohol from his employer, who somehow reinvented himself as a “creative director” at the national television broadcaster. Ask him to draw a straight line in a desktop publishing programme and you’d be well advised to bring a packed lunch. Yet this same half-brain somehow ascended to the rank of Director General. His greatest skill? Changing political allegiances faster than a chameleon changes colour – and with even less dignity.

In Mauritius, mediocrity is not merely tolerated. It is celebrated, rewarded, and enthroned. Meanwhile, those with genuine merit are left wondering whether they ought to dull their edges, mispronounce their words, or join the right party in order to be recognised.

Paradise with Termites

So here we are: a nation where parents spoil, politicians plunder, and police protect the powerful rather than the people. Mauritians, numbed by decades of shrugging, have grown accustomed to the absurd. Corruption is no longer scandal; it is background noise. Entitlement is not shameful; it is aspirational.

The beaches will remain beautiful, the brochures glossy, and tourists will still sip their cocktails in blissful ignorance. But beneath the palm trees, termites chew at the rafters. Unless Mauritians rediscover outrage, unless they stop shrugging at injustice and stop bartering their votes for personal favours, the island risks becoming nothing more than a hollow shell.

Paradise will still glitter in the photographs. But behind the lens, the reality will be stark: a nation that traded its future for handouts, indulged its children into ruin, and allowed its institutions to rot. By the time Mauritians wake up, the sea, the sand, and the memory of what the island might have been may be all that remain.