She slipped away last Sunday, softly, almost on tiptoe. In 2015, at the age of 87, Grace Seeneevassen sat down with me for a rare and intimate interview. In this conversation, she opened up about her groundbreaking marriage to the late Renganaden Seeneevassen, her place in a changing Mauritius, and the political ideals that shaped both their lives.

Why did you hesitate before agreeing to this interview?

After Renga’s death on June 5, 1958, I read so many distorted accounts of his life and passing that I chose to stay away from the media. Today, at 87, with the support of my children, I am opening my heart to the press for the first time. I want to share our story – Renga’s and mine.

Your wedding to Renganaden Seeneevassen caused some controversy at the time. Mixed marriages were not common then. Do you consider yourself a role model for modern Mauritius? And how did your parents react to the fact that you would be exposed to Tamil culture?

This question answers itself once I tell you the story. Renga knew my stepfather even before leaving for his studies in England. When he returned, he came to visit our family. He was around 30. I had never met anyone like him – and never have since. His physical presence had an aura so powerful that I was mesmerized.

From then on, he became a regular visitor, always bringing chocolates for us children. At each visit, I made myself small, just to listen to him talk. Every word had an impact on my young mind. That was my first real contact with politics.

When I turned 15, I became disillusioned with school. I was attending Bhujoharry College and wanted to quit. Renga convinced me to continue and personally tutored me all the way to the matriculation certificate – the highest level a girl could reach at the time, in the mid1940s. He had been a teacher before going abroad.

By then, we realized we were in love, though we didn’t talk about it – it felt impossible. Eventually, he asked my parents for permission to marry me. They gladly agreed. We decided not to have a religious ceremony and were legally married on March 18, 1950. Dr. Seewoosagur Ramgoolam was one of the witnesses.

Renga was not only my husband, but also my tutor and my guide. Looking back, I can say that his influence shaped me into who I am today: a strong-willed woman, ready to face any challenge.

What was the reaction of the Tamil community, considering Renga was a leading figure?

At first, there was some shock – not just among Tamils, but across other communities too. Still, I believe the Tamil community in Mauritius is among the most tolerant and openminded, as is generally true in Indian culture. There was never any visible resentment or public objection to our marriage. In fact, acceptance came quickly, with many warm gestures of welcome.

The first came from a wealthy Tamil trader and community leader, Mr. Canabady – known to all as Aya Canabady. He sent us a beautiful carpet as a wedding gift and invited us to dinner. I was welcomed with full traditional honors. Soon after, I visited Renga’s family, where I was also warmly received. My eldest sister-in-law, Aka Lutchmee (Sivaramen), placed two gold bangles on my arms on behalf of the family.

I was quickly embraced as a full member of the household. I loved them, and I know they loved me. I participated in all the traditional rituals and enjoyed meals eaten together at a long table that seated at least 12. I even learned to eat with my fingers so well that I could soon show a clean palm afterward. Renga was delighted to see how naturally our two worlds came together.

I still maintain strong ties with the family, especially with my two nieces, Vijal and Jenagam, and my dear friend Shanti. I try to attend weddings and religious ceremonies whenever I can.

My three children joined a larger group of about ten cousins and were treated just like the others. There’s a lot to be said for the joint family system, especially after seeing how close the Seeneevassen and Sivaramen families became.

Was there political rivalry between Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam and Renga?

Certainly not. But it’s natural for people to see the same issue differently. That sometimes happened between Renga and Kewal (Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam).

For example, Renga was uncompromising about the purity of the Labour Party. He wanted it to be open to all communities, religions and ethnic groups – but never as communal representatives. He opposed forming alliances with identity-based groups for electoral gain.

Kewal saw things differently. For him, if such an alliance helped Labour win an election, then it was worth doing. Sadly, that’s what happened in the elections just after Renga’s death.

But despite those differences, there was no bitterness – only respect and friendship.

I remember one moment vividly. We had a rare mango tree with low branches that produced three varieties of mangoes. One day, Kewal was visiting, and Renga convinced him to take off his shoes, climb up, and eat mangoes straight from the tree. I found them both laughing, mango juice dripping down their chins – like two mischievous boys.

I’d like to include Guy Rozemont and Emmanuel Anquetil here. The three formed a rare political bond where friendship and shared ideals guided everything. Kewal would call Renga anytime, day or night, for help or advice. Both he and Renga were at Rozemont’s bedside in his final days.

One day at Civil Hospital, Rozemont asked Renga to speak to me about adopting his son, Guito. We both said yes, but his brother Philip refused. We had no legal claim, so that was the end of it. Rozemont spent his last Christmas with us. Renga got permission to bring him home from the hospital for the evening. He was happy. He died a few days later.

In your view, what is Renga’s lasting legacy?

I prefer not to focus on politics today. But Renga, in his unwavering convictions, believed the Labour Party should be a vehicle to protect and empower workers and the underprivileged, whether in cane fields or at the docks. That was his bond with Rozemont. The party was to be for the people, with the people.

He fought tirelessly for social justice and for the right to education. At the time, voting rights were a major issue. Renga was adamant that voting rights must be extended to both men and women. His speeches were passionate and unrelenting. It’s fair to say that women’s right to vote in Mauritius owes much to his efforts.

Another pillar of his political life was the struggle for independence and the end of colonial rule, which caused deep social and economic injustice. His work in London was forceful and laid the foundation for what would eventually become an independent Mauritius.

He did not live to see that dream realized. There was a unique bond between Grace and «Kewal» (SSR).

Grace and Renga paying their respects to Queen Elizabeth II.

School visit in Port-Louis

Le clan Seeneevassen entourant Grace, dont Rajen, Kriesen et Sarojini, ses trois enfants. July 2008, Grace and her family with Navin Ramgoolam at the State House

Quand Grace raconte «son» Renga

Grace et Renga et leurs trois enfants. La mort de Renga à seulement 48 ans a surpris beaucoup. Pour ses enfants, Grace a tout fait pour pallier l’absence du tribun.

Une voix douce, ferme, sans fard. Celle de Grace Seeneevassen, née Brebner, qui avait 87 ans lorsqu’elle nous ouvrit les portes de sa mémoire, un après-midi bleu de Pointe-auxSables. C’était en 2015, cinquantesept ans après la mort subite de Renganaden Seeneevassen (à l’âge de 48 ans). Pour la première fois, elle parlait. Non pour corriger les livres d’histoire, mais pour dire l’amour, la tendresse et l’injustice du deuil. Depuis dimanche dernier, Grace a rejoint Renga. Voici, à travers son regard, leur histoire.

Il y a des silences qu’on garde comme on garde un bijou. Avec soin, avec pudeur. Pendant près de six décennies, Grace Seeneevassen a choisi le silence. Non par oubli. Mais parce qu’après la mort de «Renga», le 5 juin 1958, elle avait lu tant de récits approximatifs, tant de demi-vérités, qu’elle préféra se retirer. Ne rien dire. Laisser le temps faire son travail de poussière.

Et puis, un jour, à 87 ans, poussée par l’amour de ses enfants, elle a ouvert la boîte aux souvenirs. Elle a parlé. Lentement. Les yeux bleus comme l’enfance. Avec cette grâce des femmes qui n’ont plus rien à prouver, sinon la vérité des émotions.

Nous sommes au milieu des années 40. Le pays gronde. L’indépendance est encore un rêve tapi dans les discours d’avocats et les tracts de syndicats. À Port-Louis, un jeune homme rentre de Londres. Il s’appelle Renganaden Seeneevassen. Il a trente ans, le verbe clair et la silhouette austère des gens sérieux. Il est proche du beau-père de Grace. Elle, elle se cache à chaque visite. Mais elle écoute.

«Je ne voulais pas qu’il me voie, mais je voulais entendre toutes ses paroles. Je les buvais. C’était mon premier contact avec la politique.»

À 15 ans, elle veut quitter l’école. Le collège Bhujoharry lui pèse. Renga l’en dissuade, la convainc, l’enseigne. L’ancien professeur reprend la craie. Elle obtient son matriculation certificate, l’équivalent d’un passeport pour la dignité, à une époque où peu de jeunes filles allaient aussi loin.

Puis un jour, ils réalisent qu’ils s’aiment. Ils ne se le disent pas tout de suite. C’était trop grand, trop fragile aussi. Quand Renga demande la main de Grace, ses parents acceptent. Leur union semble évidente. Mais le pays, lui, n’était pas prêt.

Nous sommes en 1950. Les mariages mixtes sont encore mal vus, particulièrement pour un homme politique promis à un grand destin. Ils choisissent le mariage civil. Le 18 mars, à Port-Louis, ils s’unissent en présence de celui que Grace appelle affectueusement «Kewal» – sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam, témoin et ami. Pas de prières. Pas de rituel. Seulement la loi et l’amour.

L’amour, justement, a tout absorbé. Même les murmures. Même les regards. Même les convenances. Il les installe au 20, rue Bourbon, chez la famille Sivaramen. Grace y est accueillie comme une fille. Deux bracelets en or autour des poignets. Des repas à douze, mangés avec les doigts, jusqu’à ce que la paume soit sèche. Elle s’y fait une place. Elle y fait famille.

«I became a full-fledged member of the family. Renga, of course, was happy to see how easily his family and I adapted to each other.»

Mais les jours heureux sont parfois comptés. Le 5 juin 1958, jour de l’anniversaire de leur fils Rajen, la mort frappe sans prévenir. Renga s’effondre, foudroyé, à l’âge de 48 ans. La veille encore, il galvanisait les foules. Le matin même, la maison sentait le gâteau.

«On se préparait à fêter. Tout a basculé.»

Le choc est national. La foule est immense. 60 000 personnes se pressent à Vallée-des-Prêtres. Sir Seewoosagur (SSR), les syndicalistes, les ministres, les amis : tous sont là. Mais pour Grace, le monde devient vide. Trois enfants. Un nom à porter seule. Et des rumeurs dans la presse qu’elle ne pardonnera jamais.

Elle parle pourtant. Et elle dit la vérité sur la prétendue rivalité entre SSR et Renga. Non, ils n’étaient pas ennemis. Ils étaient amis. Frères de pensée. Même si Renga tenait à l’éthique du Parti travailliste, à sa pureté d’intention – jamais d’alliance avec des groupes communautaires. Même si SSR, plus pragmatique, pensait autrement. La différence ne faisait pas obstacle à l’affection.

«Un jour, j’ai trouvé Kewal et Renga, perchés sur un manguier du jardin, les pieds nus, le jus dégoulinant sur leur chemise. Ils riaient comme deux gamins.»

Et puis il y avait Rozemont. L’autre pilier du trio. Lorsqu’il se meurt à l’hôpital civil, c’est à Renga qu’il demande de recueillir son fils. Le couple accepte. Mais le frère de Rozemont s’y oppose. L’adoption n’aura jamais lieu.

«Il a passé son dernier Noël chez nous. Renga avait obtenu l’autorisation de le faire sortir. Il est reparti heureux. Il est mort quelques jours plus tard.»

Aujourd’hui, les écoles, les rues, les statues portent le nom de Renganaden Seeneevassen. Mais peu savent qu’il était, pour une femme, bien plus qu’un tribun. Il était l’ami, l’époux, le mentor.

«Il m’a tout appris. Il était tout pour moi. Mon mari, mon ami, mon prof, mon gourou.»

Et c’est ainsi que les grandes histoires d’amour traversent l’histoire d’un pays. En silence parfois. Mais toujours avec éclat.