The Taste of the Earth

Title: The Taste of the Earth

In the village of Bel-Air, the Rojhun family has found in gardening an answer to the uncertainty of the world and a way to pass on what truly matters.

It is still early when Ashish Rojhun steps into his garden. The sun has not fully risen over Bel-Air, but the light is already golden and slanting, clinging to the dewy leaves. He pauses for a moment—not to look but to feel.

The scent of damp earth, that blend of minerals and life that no synthetic fragrance has ever managed to replicate. He places his hand on a tomato stem, instinctively checking if it is sturdy. Then he smiles slightly, as one does to a familiar face.

In ten minutes, he will be preparing for school. As a secondary school teacher, his days belong to others: to students, to curricula, to the pile of corrections waiting for him. But those ten minutes in the morning belong entirely to him.

"Honestly, it's not about finding long stretches of time. It's about integrating it into my day. My garden is right there. I can spend ten minutes before work watering and checking on new growth. In the evening, I spend fifteen minutes weeding or harvesting. It's my active meditation, a way to decompress after a day at school," he shares.

On days when he comes home exhausted, drained, the garden is still there waiting for him. "On tiring days, it's the garden itself that brings me back. A weary mind finds peace in simple, quiet tasks. The vibrant green of the leaves, the scent of the earth, the discovery of a new vegetable that wasn't there yesterday... it's incredibly revitalizing."

Ashish’s revelation didn’t occur in a field; it took place in a supermarket. "It wasn’t a unique moment, but rather a gradual awareness. It all started in the supermarket, in front of a row of perfect, shiny imported tomatoes. They were expensive, and I couldn’t help but wonder about their journey, what chemicals had been used, and how much flavor they lost along the way. The thought 'I can do better than this' simply came to mind."

From Earth to Epiphany

The first cherry tomato he picked from his own garden was neither the biggest nor the prettiest. But it was still warm from the sun when he brought it to his mouth. "The flavor was an explosion. It was sweet, tangy, and incredibly complex. Nothing like the bland tomatoes from the supermarket. At that moment, I understood the difference between food as a commodity and food as a living, nourishing gift. It changed my perception forever."

Ashish explains that this experience completely transformed his view of food. "I no longer see it just as fuel or something that appears on a plate. I see the story behind it. I understand the effort, the patience, and the miracle of a tiny seed becoming a plant that nourishes us."

Beyond food, gardening has become a mirror of his own life. "It forces me to cultivate the good while eliminating the bad, teaching me patience, resilience, and the inner work necessary to grow as a person."

This, he says, has made him much more grateful for what he eats, and he wastes much less. "A slightly imperfect vegetable from my garden remains a treasure."

What happens in this modest garden in Bel-Air is not spectacular. No high-tech greenhouses, no sophisticated irrigation systems. Just a few rows, recycled pots, and hands that know where to look. But something essential unfolds there; something that began a generation before him and is now being passed down to the next generation.

A Garden as a Daily Refuge

Premdeep Rojhun, a retired health ministry official, dedicated his career to the well-being of others. But before bureaucracies, before careers, there was the earth. "Gardening wasn’t a choice for me. It was a lifestyle born out of necessity. If we wanted to eat, we had to cultivate. I learned from my parents and grandparents by watching them work the land and care for the plants. The earth became my teacher. It gave me something invaluable: a connection to the land that has supported me throughout my life."

He remembers a world where food was seasonal and local, where people ate what the earth was willing to provide. And he watches what this world has become. "Today, everything is available all the time, but that comes at a cost. Today’s children often don’t know that potatoes grow in the ground, not on supermarket shelves. We’ve lost our connection to the land."

At 70, his days remain structured, not by obligation but by intention. "The garden itself keeps me active. It gives me purpose. The mental benefits are even greater. It grounds me in the present moment. It’s a remedy that no pharmacy can provide." Then, simply: "I am still productive, still contributing, still fully alive."

Between father and son, something has circulated: in the gestures observed, in the closeness to the earth, in the silent evidence of a lifestyle that justified itself each season, each harvest. Premdeep Rojhun watches his son garden. He sees him pass on to his own children what he received, without ever planning it that way. "Gardening has been my greatest teacher. It taught me patience, humility, and faith. Every time you plant a seed, you perform an act of faith. You don’t see the life inside, but you trust that it will grow. This faith reflects so many aspects of life: raising children, building a career, loving others."

Ashish draws the parallel clearly. "I am a teacher by profession, which means I spend my days nurturing young minds. But my passion, what truly nourishes my soul, is gardening." He goes further: "It’s about planting seeds, providing the right conditions, and patiently nurturing growth until something beautiful and fruitful emerges."

Treasure Hunt

For him, gardening is the ultimate master of discipline and consistency. "You can’t be passionate one day and ignore your plants for a week hoping for a harvest. Great results are simply the accumulation of small daily acts of care. There are no shortcuts."

His children now have their own little watering can. They are allowed to get their hands dirty when they plant, to participate in what he calls the "treasure hunt"—finding ripe cherry tomatoes hidden under leaves, spotting a new flower that appeared overnight. "We make it a sensory and fun experience. It’s not a lesson; it’s a game. Through these little moments, children naturally absorb values: patience, responsibility, and respect for nature."

He believes children are very perceptive. "They learn much more by observing what we do than by listening to what we say." As a teacher, he also sees what the school misses. "A small school garden shouldn’t be a one-off club; it should be a living classroom for science, math, and even art. Textbooks can explain photosynthesis, but they can’t teach the quiet joy of nurturing life. Gardening teaches hope, patience, the cycle of life. These are lessons for the soul, not just the mind."

The Plate of Resilience

Mauritius is a small island. It relies heavily on food imports; a dependency that global crises have revealed in all its fragility. "This is no longer a pleasant idea; it’s a necessity for our resilience. Local food production is our safety net."

He dismisses common misconceptions. The biggest? That gardening requires a lot of space, time, and specialized knowledge. "In reality, you can start with a few pots of herbs on a balcony. Even a small windowsill is enough. Start with a few pots or recycled containers with drainage, use good potting soil, and try easy herbs or vegetables. The key is simply to start."

The impact of these small actions? Enormous. "Imagine the collective reduction of our import bill. Imagine the improvement in national health. It would foster a culture of self-sufficiency and a deeper connection to our land."

His father echoes this sentiment. And he calls on Mauritian families: "Return to the land. You don’t need a large plot. Just a small space, a few seeds, and the willingness to try." He is convinced: "A seed in the ground is hope, a plant is patience, and a harvest is gratitude."

In the garden of Bel-Air, under the light that begins to warm the dewy leaves, all of this grows just as it always has... quietly, stubbornly.

Amnah Ummé Tasneem Mudhoo Noorzai

Photos and video: Sravan Ballgobind and Pascal Joly