It had been a long, exhausting flight from snow-speckled Paris. A brief transit in Reunion island and then on to another plane for the forty-five minutes flight that would mark the final leg of my journey. As short as it was, the flight wasn’t without turbulence: it was early February and the Indian Ocean was still stormy from a particularly bad cyclone that had hit the Mascarene Islands just a couple of weeks back. Rain lashed at the plane and there were even a few flashes of lighting in the distance.
Then, around thirty-five minutes into the flight, the clouds parted. And I saw it.
That deep, pronounced greenery that’s unlike any other green you’ve seen before. It jumps out at you, lush and vibrant as it lies nestled between stormy oceans and darkened clouds, the white sand beckoning from so far down below.
From high above, it might seem incomprehensible to first-time visitors that such a tiny island can hold so much character. Indeed, this miniature speck in the middle of the Indian Ocean is home to several cultures and ethnicities, all of whom live in actual harmony to each other. That distinctive medley of food, cultures, religions, and ethnicities is what ultimately sets this tiny dot apart from all the other countries in the world.
For me, this is the place I call home.