Seychelles’ villages are often mentioned as mere location points on an island tour. And it is true that few of them boast features of special interest, such as buildings of architectural merit or associations with historic events, but it is in the villages that we find the essence of Seychelles life; the bedrock upon which society is built in these islands. Here we stand the best chance of glimpsing something of the old way of life now being steadily eroded by the encroachment of the modern world. Life in a Seychelles village hangs on four basic pegs; the church provides for the spirit, the school for the mind, the social centre for the imagination and the shop for the body. You will find these elements in almost any village of any size.
On Saturday nights the steady beat of music drifts on the evening air from the social centre as the weekly disco or traditional dance builds to a climax. On Sundays the population progresses in stately fashion towards the morning mass, gaily clad in their best clothes, women in the majority with the children milling around them. On Monday the children in their smart but simple uniforms troop towards the school gates, and on every day of the week groups of villagers assemble on the steps of the local shops to exchange gossip or complain about the heat. This is the true pattern of Seychelles life reflected in miniature over and over again in every village. Fishing boats drawn up on the beach; fish for sale by the roadside; dominoes slapped down on makeshift tables outside the local shop; idlers sitting on the kerb watching the world go by; a way of life little changed since the earliest times.
Why, on such small islands, are there so many villagers? Probably because, in times when there were only tracks linking settlements and transport on horseback or in carriages was next to impossible, it was simpler and quicker to commute by boat, and so villages sprang up wherever it was easy to launch or haul ashore a pirogue. Once the tracks were widened and became more commonly used, people settled at convenient intervals along the roads, ensuring that pedestrians never had far to go before reaching a place to rest and refresh themselves.
There is another intriguing world to be discovered in the names of these villages. Many are pure romance. They tell us how the villagers felt about the place in which they lived: Bel Air (the best air on earth, the smell of home); Bel Ombre (the kindly shade, the protection of home); Beau Vallon (the beautiful valley; the most beautiful valley of all). Some names record a striking natural feature. Glacis, for example, is the local term for west coast village. There is a huge bay at Grande Anse; takamaka trees grow at Takamaka and casuarinas pines at Anse aux Pins. At Cascade, of course, there is a waterfall. The origin of Anse a la Mouche’s name could seem obvious. The place must be plagued with flies. Perhaps it was at one time, but nowadays the beach does not seem to attract more than its fair share. There is speculation that the name is in fact a corruption of Anse a la Mousse, relating to the lines of foam the tide deposits on the shore.
One of the most intriguing names is that of Anse aux Poules Bleus. Bay of blue hens? Bizarre! But this is a marshy area where, it is resumed, early French visitors saw numbers of the bird they called the Poule Bleu, a species new to them. It disappeared early in Seychelles history and no specimens or bones survive to identify exactly what it was, but we believe today it was most probably a type of gallinule. It was described with a striking purplish blue plumage and is roughly the shape and size of a chicken. Perhaps, one day, bones will be unearthed from one of the marshes to help solve the riddle.
Man-made features are not so frequently commemorated. Just outside Victoria, Le Chantier refers to the district where early settlers had their boat building yard. In those times this area would have been beside the sea and ideal for the launch of new craft. Some sizeable schooners were built here. It is easy to understand the origins of La Bastille when you see the rather formidable-looking plantation house from which it takes it name. Built in the ‘30s, it must have reminded the locals of the famous Paris gaol. In more recent years it was used to house the National Archives which have now moved to a modern building in Victoria. Sometimes human activity is reflected in the village names. Mare Anglaise is a relatively rare reference to Seychelles’ English history. The pond (mare) which presumably existed here in the past, was the spot favoured by the masters of English vessels for water collection. The vital importance of sources of freshwater to early mariners is also reflected in the name of Anse Boileau. This name told the ship’s company that here could be found safe drinking water, whilst Mare aux Cochons (Pig Pond) might be a good place to hunt for wild pigs. Early visitors to remote islands often released livestock such as goats, chickens and pigs in the hope the would breed and so provide a source of fresh meat for subsequent calls. Pigs often frequented the densest parts of the forest, and so this name also implies a really wild area, difficult to penetrate.
For a romantic village name it is hard to beat Anse Forbans – Pirates Bay. It may seem fanciful but in this case there may be some historical substance behind the name. It is interesting that this was known as Pirates Bay from quite early on in Seychelles’ history and it is perfectly possible that buccaneers visiting these islands in the first half of the 18th century did have some sort of a base here. The grand-sounding Anse Royale (Royal Bay) was the location of the Royal Spice Garden established under the auspices of the King of France in 1771.
Quincy Village takes it name from one of Seychelles’ most famous products; Queau de Quincy. He was the French governor (or intendant) of Seychelles during the difficult years of the Napoleonic wars. Somewhere in the area which now bears his name, Quincy and his wife lived a reasonably comfortable life which was little disturbed when, at the outcome of the war, the Seychelles became a British possession. He had done a good job for the French, the new owners reasoned, so why not keep him on themselves? Which is exactly what they did. Monsieur Quincy the French intendant became an English governor and justice of the peace. He is not alone in having a village named for him. Other larger-than-life figures in Seychelles history have enjoyed a similar honour: Machabee, the runaway slave who became a leader and symbol of hope for his oppressed people: Ternay (as in Baie Ternay), a prosperous citizen of Mauritius who was an early trader with the islands; De Launay (as in Port Launay) the hapless commandant of Du Barre’s doomed settlement on St Anne and Baie Lazare, named for Lazare Picault who was the navigator sent by the French to investigate the potential of the islands in the 1740’s.
There are a wealth of stories behind the village names, as there are behind the street facades of the villages themselves. Generations of Seychellois have grown up in the intimate surroundings of these tiny settlements. They are baptised in their local church, educated in their local school, meet their parents at the local social centre and in turn take their children to the church for baptism and the school for their lessons. There is a Creole expression for a country bumpkin: they are people who ‘have never seen the Clock Tower’ meaning they have never visited the great metropolis of Victoria. It is perfectly possible that, even in our age of easy travel, there are people in the remoter villages who have never visited Victoria and indeed have no wish to do so. They have everything they need right there: in the villages of their birth.
