A new identity and a new aunt, perhaps

A muted shriek of delight burst out from the three of us in the hushed atmosphere of the National Archives building in Quatre Bourne.
Me, Vivianne and Francoise Gueho had gone there to find the dates on some more ancestors. This really is exciting, especially when you come across something unexpected and accidentally too, as we just had.
The National Archive is an unremarkable, well actually boring, building from the outside. It is hard to find and is tucked away on an industrial estate in the meddle of nowhere. Inside it is studiously quite. On the inside men and women in suits are pouring over huge files and others are stacking those files away. On the face of it the place is drab and colourless. There are some interesting black and white photo's and references to historical events. It is, after all a library, a library of peoples ancestry. Someone comes to attend us. They are used to these sorts of enquiries. After a little scratching of heads, stroking of beards and initial disappointment we are set on the right path. We hope.
Vivianne has got stuck at Grandpere Benett's grandparents. You can imagine the number of different ways you can spell Mootialoo in an essentially illiterate age, and which is the first name and which the family name of some of these ancestors?
We were meant to be looking for the marriage dates of one pair when, by mistake, we came across the birth of one Yerramah Mootialoo. She was born 25 th October 1918.
Well we couldn't contain our excitement. Yerramah, you see, was granpere's mother's name. Granpere was born in 1895. You see what I mean, he was 23 when this girl was born.
After high fives, illicit photographs of the event and 'what do we do now?', we get the bus into Port Louis. To the office of registration of births, deaths and marriages to be exact. We need to find the names of this child's parents.
While we are going there I thought I'd see how hard it is to get a copy of my birth certificate. Why? To see if I can get a Mauritian identity card, of course. With this I should be able to get a passport which will be fun in itself, but would give me the rights of a Mauritian citizen, in particular rights to work here and buy property.
It could hardly have been easier. After a short queue, I show them my driving licence, and remind myself that I am 'John Ivan' on my official documents. ' Typical Mauritian eh' snorts Viv when I tell her. The helpful young woman finds me on a screen and the birth certificate will be ready for collection on Thursday . I will then have to queue up for the identity card at a building just down the main road. We'll see how straight forward it is then. How exciting!