Capave croire mo codex: Can you believe my codex?
Mo pou alle gris gris: “I’m going to Gris Gris” (a Mauritian city), but also a play on “mo poil gris gris,” meaning “my grey pubes.”
Pistache pourri: Rotten peanuts.
Sintok: Pejorative for “old Chinese person.”
Ti pete: Small fart.
Ti moment: One second.
Gros boudouf, gros boyo: Big fatso, big belly.
Bousse to liki: Plug your cunt.
Guelard: Crybaby.
Mousse to neznez: Blow your nose.
Caraille chaud: Hot pan.
Bourique: Asshole.
Nee pu manzer: Born to eat.
Debardere lor la rade: Dockhands.
Savate mariposa: Type of sandal.
Gabloo galoupe derriere moi: Police running behind me.
Marchand salete: Garbage collector.
Descende lor pied: Payback time.
Caro canne brilee: Burnt sugar cane.
Ca c ene discussion bien confidential: This is a very private conversation.
Ti aigre doux: “Small sour sweet.” A term of endearment.
Sauver cot capav: Save yourself those who can.
Soutireuse: “Indulger,” as in one who spoils a child.
Ca betasse: That dumbass.
Quel Tapaze: What a racket.
Comptroller Sakibonsa: Comptroller Man-that’s-good.
Get sa faiseur la . . . vantard li voleur: Look at that braggart. If she’s not boasting, she’s thieving.
Mo pas ouler croire: I don’t want to believe it.
Sinon zot pu perdi zot charme: Otherwise they’d lose their charm.
Karro cane prends dife: “Sugar cane field catches fire.” In this instance, referring to Sergent’s hair loss.
Langet tor ma: Mother’s cunt.
Voleur-caveaus: Graverobbers.
Biscuits manioc: Arrowroot biscuits.
Manzerfes: Ass-eater.
Nanier a foutes: Nothing-to-doers.
Diable p marier en bas pied piment: “The devil is getting married beneath a chilli plant.” This literal translation refers to both good and bad weather being equally possible, denoting in some cases the proximity of a cyclone or the derangement of Mother Nature’s forces.
Ki kote twalet la: Which way is the toilet?
A droite: To the right.
Merde dimoune: Shit of the world.
Ene la trappe sa . . . mouche dans alouda limonade: It’s a trap. The immigration police are going to be here like flies on an alouda lemonade!
Aio mama oh, ki lengrenange mo fine tomber: Oh mother, what kind of trouble did I fall into?
Fouille partout de fond . . . zot fine coquin: Dig around everywhere from top to bottom. Check what they’ve stolen from us.
Coma to capav . . . to propre race: How can you do this to your own race?
Kete: What?
Dans dilo: In water.
Tire kaka mettre pete: “Remove shit and put back a fart.” The literal translation is the rough Mauritian equivalent of “swings and roundabouts.”
Aka aka boule caca . . . ister TAC: Mauritian counting rhyme, translating to “shit, shit, ball of shit, worms, worms, ensnared, now, now tack (sounding of a trap),” but carrying the connotation of “you will never catch me.”
Acknowledgements
I would be remiss if I did not draw attention to the influence and contributions of the following individuals.
THANK YOU – Ah-Peng (le Boudouf)
Dane Boaz
Nadia Bozak
Ulysses Castellanos
Cécile
John Goldbach
Grace
Inaam Haq
Helen
Lee Henderson
Christopher Heron
Katrina Lagacé
Elysse Leonard
Jeff MacNab
Sherita MacNab
George Mantzios
Behzad Molavi
Monique
Martin Zeilinger
Jay MillAr
Hazel Millar
Rick Meier
Ruth Zuchter
BookThug
and most of all,
Malcolm Sutton, for keeping the faith
Jean Marc Ah-Sen was born in East York, Ontario, in 1987. He comes from a family of Mauritian winemakers and was a frequent contributor to the Innis Herald, a University of Toronto newspaper. He lives in Toronto with his wife and son. Grand Menteur is his first novel.
Colophon
Distributed in Canada by the Literary Press Group www.lpg.ca
Distributed in the US by Small Press Distribution www.spdbooks.org
Shop online at www.bookthug.ca
Edited for the press by Malcolm Sutton
Copy edited by Ruth Zuchter
Grand Menteur Page 15