Nanda Ramasami: The Tin Worker Who Refuses to Be Defeated by Diabetes

At 63 years old, struggling with diabetes that has taken away his eyesight, this tin worker from Camp-Levieux refuses to abandon his trade. Between the memory of his hands and worker pride, he embodies a man who works to stay alive.

In his small tin workshop in Camp-Levieux, Nanda Ramasami can only see about 15%. Diabetes has relentlessly attacked his vision. "Day by day, my sight diminishes," he simply states.

Yet every morning, at 63, he opens the door to his workshop. Not out of heroism, but out of vital necessity. "I can't stay home without working. I believe I would die," he states plainly. This phrase captures everything: for Nanda, work is not just an activity; it is what keeps him standing, giving meaning to his days despite the illness that gnaws at his body.

Nanda began working with tin at the age of 11, a trade passed down through generations since his great-grandfather arrived in Mauritius in 1901. "I was a child... but I believed that work was life." He learned this craft from his great-grandfather and grandfather—men with rough hands and few words, who imparted knowledge through action rather than speech. "They didn't talk much. They showed. You watched, you tried, you repeated."

At that time, tin was ubiquitous in Mauritius. Every home needed a tin worker for watering cans, buckets, piggy banks, utensils, and repairs. It was an essential, respected trade. "Without a tin worker, life would stop," he summarizes.

For years, Nanda worked as a street vendor in Port-Louis, traversing the streets with his creations. "I walked through Port-Louis with my items; people believed in me." Each piece he made served a function, fulfilling a concrete need. "Every item I created was to help people live."

His brother joined him in the trade. Two brothers, two hammers, one shared belief: "Work is not a shame. Work saves the family."

Simla, the Wife Who Becomes His Eyes

Simla entered this simple yet industrious life. They met, recognized each other, and married in 1986. Even today, she stands by his side in the workshop, through fatigue and illness. "Simla is my strength," Nanda says. He adds, with tender modesty, "She is my eyes." Nanda can no longer move alone. Simla accompanies him everywhere, becoming his sight, his guide. "I believe God put her in my path."

Nanda and Simla have two daughters. Vanessa, 38, is a supervisor at a bank, and Vanida, 33, teaches in Canada. "I am proud of my children. My work has borne fruit," he states with quiet satisfaction. Vanessa speaks emotionally of her father: "Dad has always shown us that nothing is achieved without effort."

During the COVID-19 pandemic, she stepped in to preserve his legacy. The workshop came to a near standstill, with no customers and declining sales. "It was a tough time," Nanda recalls. "I decided to help Dad in another way," she explains. She created a Facebook page, did marketing, photographed the items, and shared her father's story. "People began to understand the value of his work."

She also learned to make small items: candle holders, sandal holders, simple decorations. "It was a way to continue his legacy."

The Memory of Hands

Diabetes arrived silently and relentlessly. Today, Nanda can hardly see. But he refuses to give up. "My eyes don’t need to be open; my heart knows." Fatigue is present, as is pain. But his will is stronger. "Work has allowed my children to succeed. I cannot let go."

He knows every tool by heart. He crafts with his eyes almost closed, guided by the memory of his hands. He knows each gesture, angle, and sound of the metal. He still creates his "kutila", his objects, his pieces. "It’s a gift," he simply states.

To keep the workshop alive, Nanda also imports stainless steel products from India. "But my passion is creating," he insists. Creating despite the illness, despite the fatigue, despite the fear of becoming useless. "I believe people must believe in themselves."

Why persist? "Work saved my life," Nanda replies. He does not work for money; he works for dignity, for legacy, for the will to stand. "I believe as long as I breathe, I must work."

To those who complain, he says: "Don’t give up. Work hard, believe in God, believe in yourself." To those who are afraid: "Difficulty is not there to break you but to show you your strength."

Nanda can hardly see the world around him anymore. But he sees his daughters succeed, his wife by his side, and his workshop still thriving. "I believe I am rich," he says. Rich in courage, memory, love. And above all, rich in the conviction that has never left him: that work, even in adversity, remains the greatest dignity.