Hissen Caramben: The Policeman Who Refuses Indifference

On the streets of Mauritius, Hissen Caramben looks out for the most vulnerable. A discreet yet committed police officer, he acts with one guiding principle: never turn a blind eye.

At 33 years old, with a weary face and a modest demeanor, Sivaraj Caramben—Hissen to his friends—doesn’t resemble the heroes of TV shows. There’s no grandstanding or dramatic declarations, just a calm way of speaking from someone who has witnessed too many tragedies to embellish the truth.

For the past ten years, he has navigated the digital world as part of his investigative work. As a constable specializing in cybercrime, attached to the regular police force while also serving as a research officer for an international agency, he spends his days tracking online predators. This includes sextortion, fake profiles, and dangerous challenges aimed at invincible-seeming teenagers.

At work, he dissects what most people engage with without a second thought. Where a user drops a comment, he sees a clue. Where a teenager perceives a game, he identifies a vulnerability. "The danger no longer comes solely from the streets. It comes from the phone in your pocket," he states matter-of-factly.

His current obsession: the digital naivety of youth. These teenagers, convinced of their invincibility behind a screen, discover too late that the Internet does not forgive recklessness. "Don’t share your life with strangers thinking you’re sharing ‘moments’,” he emphasizes. “You need to learn to protect yourself before you learn to post.”

However, another story left a lasting impact last year. A bus ride between Bagatelle and Petite-Cabane. A pregnant woman trembling in silence. An overly insistent man. Hissen Caramben was off duty that day. He could have looked away, minding his own business.

Instead, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and discreetly handed it to the young woman. The man understood and got off at the next stop. “I just did my job,” he says when the incident is brought up. No false humility, just genuine discomfort in front of the microphone. “I am a product of the Mauritian people,” he adds, with an emotion he does not try to hide.

"The police, before being a uniform, is a presence. A promise," he reflects.

His journey hasn’t been straightforward. Before donning the uniform, he held various jobs: street vendor, car washer, and he even studied German language and culture. Those hours spent under the sun or amidst the noise of engines forged something that the uniform has never erased—perhaps humility, or just the awareness that nothing is ever guaranteed.

His career has seen its ups and downs. He earned a promotion to sergeant but lost it overnight—demoted without notice or public explanation. Just one night was enough to strip him of his rank. He says little more, except for the modesty that arises when the topic comes up: "I just want to do my job. To serve. I never pursued this job for the ranks." Others might have quit, fueling social media with resentment. He continued on, without a martyr’s stance or a grand tale of resilience.

In 2020, his mother passed away. Since then, he has become the pillar for his family. His father, ill and hard of hearing, relies on him. "You can’t crumble when others depend on you," he states simply. This phrase perhaps summarizes his character: there’s no choice but to stand firm, so he does.

His work method reflects this philosophy. Observe without revealing oneself, intervene without imposing, help without humiliating. No theatrics, just results. He discusses algorithms and prevention like a soldier who has traded asphalt for routers. "The police, before being a uniform, is a presence. A promise," he reminds. A promise of non-indifference, he reiterates. "Respecting the oath is what remains when everything else falters."

He could have remained silent to protect himself. He chose to act to protect others. He could demand justice for his career. Instead, he prefers to advocate caution for the youth. Soon, he will leave the force—not out of weariness, he assures, but to embrace a new challenge, with the same dedication. "I must be useful," he summarizes. Not "I am a policeman," but "I must be useful." A subtle but significant distinction.

In the evening, as the streets slumber and screens pulse with activity, he remains vigilant. A solitary figure hunched over a screen, bathed in the cold blue of notifications. Someone must continue to watch over.