The Dutch Cemetery

On a forgotten plot of land lies tombs hidden beneath weeds. The land is amid the trees and fallow land. Only a few dare to venture there. Why would they? To access it, one must take the risk of climbing on rocks and walk over thorns. Besides, many know not of its existence. There are no signs to warn visitors of what lies ahead. And when night comes, the cemetery is in total darkness.

It is in such a gloomy place that is found the most ancient cemetery of the island, a National Monument: Le Cimetière Hollandais. Literally meaning "Dutch Cemetery", it is a cemetery found at Grand Port. Do not misunderstand, tombs and cemeteries are two different things. A cemetery is a plot of land specifically designated for burial. A tomb is a vault in which lies the corpse of the dead, and it is not necessarily found in a cemetery. Tombs must have been put elsewhere on the island before the creation of this cemetery, there is no doubt about that. When venturing on the muddy land, we come across tombs, some with Dutch scripture while others have French scriptures written all over them. No doubt that the French must have used this cemetery too. If you look closer, you can see that the rocks have been carved with extreme precision, but those carved during the French period differ from those carved during the Dutch period. The designs and shapes are different. The only thing similar is that all of them are in ruins and have been forgotten.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

I suppose these tombs did not simply appear onto that plot of land. Further down was the village of Port Zuydoosterha (now Vieux Grand Port). It was one of the first towns built by the Dutch. When death decides to pay a visit to one or two inhabitants, the sculptors would start working, carving the stones that would shelter the dead. Once finished, they were tied with thick ropes in a way that allowed them to be pulled.

I can only imagine how it must have been like on the mourning days. The slaves would drag themselves and the stones onto the gentle slope. The ropes were unforgiving as they brushed over their skins. Each movement created friction, tearing the skin, and drawing blood. The red liquid would mix with their sweat and would roll down their sacred skin. Behind them, the mourners would walk slowly, all dressed in black. The women would grip on a handkerchief, letting their tears fall.

Oh, the things that must have happened in this cemetery! The stories one could write... It is a shame that this National monument has sunk into oblivion. I would certainly encourage you to visit this forgotten monument and let your mind wonder about this place that holds so many memories.