In Mauritius, sugarcane plantations, occupying roughly a third of the island, stand tall and proud. Just like Viju Gowreesunkur, who owns quite a few of them, and is a man who has tasted sucrose and success on the windswept island.
On some days in these parts in Central Flacq, the gentle rhythm of the swaying green plantations and cool sea breeze is interrupted by the staccato sound of an old engine roaring to life.
Locals know this to be Gowreesunkur, out for a drive in one of his many classic Rolls-Royces or cabriolets decked in colors that stand out in the ubiquitous green. The timeless appeal of the sugarcane fields and the classic cars take unsuspecting passersby to another era.
“I love old things, old houses, old furniture… and old cars that make me nostalgic,” says Gowreesunkur, who at 63 has almost as many vintage cars parked in his front yard.
“When you see an old car, it brings back memories of your parents, an old film… the cars are that and so many things, you can’t really express it.”
When FORBES AFRICA meets this sugarcane farmer in the airy patio of his unpretentious two-storeyed Mauritius home that he has been staying in for more than three decades, he is seated on a jaded cane sofa in mustard-colored shorts and a grey t-shirt.
His sunglasses are perched on his forehead but his eyes are fixed on the collection of cars, or his “children”, in front of him. There are no pricey artefacts in his patio – his valuables are all out in the dirt, metal and motor shining in the morning sun.
The saying ‘you don’t see classic cars in a therapist’s parking lot’ must hold true for Gowreesunkur, as he is a man for whom therapy is this cathartic sight that greets him every morning; that makes him grateful for the gift of life, as he deeply inhales in the crisp saline air and the sweet smell of money.
“If I don’t see them, I miss them,” he says.
The antique enthusiast says he has at least 50 vintage cars in his collection, a record in all of Mauritius. A respected senior at Mauritius’ Vintage and Classic Car Owners Association (VCCOA), he regularly attends meets and races. He says there may be about five serious vintage car collectors in the country.
In Gowreesunkur’s dark, musty garage, under greasy white sheets, are such jewels as a stunning burgundy 1950 Opel, six Chevrolets, six Jaguars, three horse wagons, a black Daimler that belonged to the Governor of Mauritius in the colonial period, and three Rolls-Royces, including a 1956 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud “believed to have belonged to Marilyn Monroe”.
For his 55th birthday, his wife Sarita, formerly a mathematics teacher who now runs the couple’s craft shop at the departure lounge of the airport in Mauritius, got him an old red BMW, and for his 60th, a blue Jaguar convertible from South Africa.
Gowreesunkur’s trusty mechanics keep them all in working order, although the family as a whole don’t mind getting their hands greasy and dirty.
You need to look at the ground for any evidence of the mechanics – all you see are pairs of legs and grimy gumboots as they are perennially under the cars fixing them.
Born in Vacoas, near Curepipe in Mauritius, Gowreesunkur, whose family goes back four generations to the northern Indian state of Rajasthan, grew up privileged. Parents from both families were landowners who owned cars, plantations and horses.
“My granddad owned racehorses. My father also used to ride horses. My dad’s sister is the first Indian lady to drive a car in Mauritius, and was also the first to cut her hair and ride a horse,” laughs Gowreesunkur as he speaks of his 90-year-old aunt who is still alive. Memories come thick and fast.
“My father was also a champion boxer on the island, but he died when I was little and while doing his medical studies in France. Our house was on five acres and we even had a gym and stable in the huge colonial house.”
Gowreesunkur’s first car was a beige Citroën that he has now given up. Every car he owns has a story. He bought the spotless white 1933 Rolls-Royce in England five years ago for about £20,000 (approximately $25,500 today), and had it shipped when the government allowed the import of vintage cars.
“I had a friend in England, I phoned him and said, ‘can you see the car for me’. He traveled the whole day to reach there and sealed the deal.”
He says he is very particular about checking out the vehicles before he buys them, as he has been duped several times.
“I had bought a 1920 Chevrolet and got a good friend from Port Elizabeth in South Africa to pick up the car. I had bought it based on a picture of the car [I had seen]; but my friend called to say it was useless, and that trees had grown inside the car. So I had to resell it for a very low price,” says Gowreesunkur. Yet, such setbacks haven’t stopped him from indulging in more collectibles. He next wants to invest in a Buick and a Bentley.
“[To buy them], you don’t use the money you need, but spare money, if you have it,” he says.
“He always says ‘this is the last car we are buying’, but these cars are the pulse of our life now,” says Sarita.
“I drive for pleasure… When you drive an old car through the sugarcane fields, you don’t feel anything, you don’t feel the bumps, it’s incredible!” adds her husband.
But ask him the total worth of his car collection and he vehemently shakes his head: “I don’t want to know how much I spent. Please don’t ask me.”
And which is his most favorite car? “You can’t pick a favorite, they are your children too.”
Seated next to him during the interview, his second daughter, Pevashi, 30, a veterinarian trained in Budapest, nods in agreement.
She is on holiday but has a busy schedule looking after her father’s 15 horses on the ranch, as well as the stray dogs that also find a home in an enclosure in their backyard. Gowreesunkur’s elder daughter Venita, 33, is married and settled in the Canary Islands. The two will eventually inherit his car collection.
But Gowreesunkur has plans to build a museum for his cars, the first of its kind on the island. Sarita says he has already invested in the land by the house with the chimney, the river and the sugarcane plantations. But for now, Gowreesunkur is taking it easy.
“I enjoy the island life, drinking wine and good food.”
He also knows Mauritius inside out.
“I have also been cycling around the island for so many years,” he says.
Gowreesunkur started his career in the country’s biggest sugarcane factory. At the same time, he studied to acquire a diploma in auto-mechanics. There were some detours along the way.
“I went to look for a place in Belle Mare [on the east coast where most hotels are] and brought my five horses. Somebody was building a hotel, and asked me to do horse-riding [for guests at] the hotel. That turned into my hobby as a 30-something. And then it [became] a business – all the hotels asked me,” he says.
“Then it became too hectic and I stopped working at the factory. I looked at my cars and thought I don’t want to wait 60 years to retire and ride them. The CEO, also a friend, of the sugarcane factory told me to sell my horses to him, and keep all the benefits; he gave me 20 acres of sugarcane plantations. At the time, sugar was good money. Then I started buying more land. I bought about 20 or more prime properties near the airport.”
Gowreesunkur did so well he returned the 20 acres to his CEO-friend. He had kept them intact, unsold.
“Nothing is yours. You have to be happy in your mind. Your mouth is so little, how much can you consume?” says Gowreesunkur.
This farmer-entrepreneur’s compassion has seen him rescuing stray dogs on the streets – they pose a real public problem in Mauritius – and bringing them home.
His horses still do the rounds at the five-star hotels and some of his cars are on permanent display at the properties.
It costs him a lot of money to register and maintain his cars. Yet, they come alive in his hands, as he resuscitates them with fuel and passion.
Thus the story of a Mauritius farmer whose riches are not in a bank vault but in a grimy garage filled with nostalgia no currency can buy.
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<li>Photo by Motlabana Monnakgotla</li>
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The Sugar And Petrol That Drives A Farmer

Four years of drought and South Africa is counting the costs on the farms. It is tougher than most for hundreds of struggling sugarcane farmers in KwaZulu-Natal who lost everything last year and fear the same this year.
Fifty-year-old Thembelihle Mzila grew up near Wartburg, 40 kilometers from Pietermaritzburg in KwaZulu-Natal. All she wanted, like her parents, was to own a sugarcane field. For more than 20 years, she has lived that dream. All these years, Mzila has worked long hours to feed her children and has build her house.
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“I have learned to use my own hands at a young age. I know how to use my hands, it is something I was born into, I never begged,” says Mzila, pointing to her sugarcane field stretching downhill near her homestead. When FORBES AFRICA met Mzila, the sky over the rural town of Wartburg was grey and the clouds were heavy. It rained when we left but not enough to make up for the four years of drought.
Mzila’s childhood dream is slowly running dry. Since drought struck a few years ago, there is little to harvest, forcing Mzila to look for other income while she prays for rain. Last year, KwaZulu-Natal was the first of five provinces declared drought disaster areas by the government. Early this year, the government announced a R15-billion ($955 million) bailout through loans, but Mzila and her 95 associates won’t qualify for it. They don’t have collateral. While she waits for rain, she is selling soft drinks and snacks to keep her children at school.
Mzila is the chairperson of the Inzwakele Co-operative Group, formed in 2011, that meets once a month. There are 95 members, who plough a field the size of a football field. Most are pensioners, unemployed and single parents. Besides solely depending on rain for ploughing, there are many other problems. They use their annual financial support from government to hire agricultural instruments and repair fences broken down by cattle.
It takes up to two years for a sugarcane harvest. Many are despondent as well as dry.
“Because of climate change, and its unpredictable weather, we find it difficult now to know exactly which months are good for ploughing the fields. Habitually we start in August and through to the end of January, but there was no rain last year, as a result the fields dried up and went hungry with no money,” says Mzila.
“Unemployment is very high here. Many people turn to farming for income. Though we have so many members, we still have a challenge to assist each and every one getting started with their own fields. We have many in the waiting list because we hire tractors and tools. We have a roster that we keep,” says Bongani Shangase, a 75-year-old former bus driver who now farms sugarcane.
<div id="attachment_4748" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-4748" class="size-medium wp-image-4748" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/P26B8333-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200" />Young children collect water from a spring in Kimaswa Western Kenya Wednesday, Sept. 30, 2015. 375 schools in Cheptai and throughout Western Kenya are currently being given Lifestraw Water Filters to ensure that every child at school has clean water to drink. Jaguar Landrover are supporting the project being run in partnership with Vestergaard and Climate Care and employees form Jaguar Landrover are currently visiting the schools to assist with distribution. ( Photo/KATE HOLT)</div>
“As the small cooperation farmers, we get advice or recommendation from the ‘mill’ as to what kind of sugarcane seed we should be planting at the given time. Based on the soil test done by Illovo representatives on our land, we were given sugarcane N12 and N48 seed to plant. Those of us who ploughed in 2012 have started selling sugarcane to Illovo.”
Mfanufikile Mbatha, 52, is another member who has yet to see his first crop. He’s a shopkeeper as well.
“We worked separately on our own gardens, ploughing vegetables for ourselves and selling when the product was good. But when the local officials approached us to organize ourselves, we came up with the cooperation in 2012. The thing that boosted our confidence was the government grant, although at times we received money a little late into the ploughing season, we are grateful for it,” he says.
They’d be even more grateful for a few weeks of torrential rain.

Tag: Sugarcane

FORBES AFRICA SOCIAL MEDIA

The Sugar And Petrol That Drives A Farmer

Dry And Desperate