Jeudi 26.10.06 Jigs, reels and hornpipes
True to the weekly meteorological pattern of Martinique it rains on my day off. I don’t have anywhere in particular to go or much to do so I don’t mind watching the rain. Plus, after last night’s reminiscent film of all things green, white and gold I’m content with the rain and the coolness. I plan what Irish dances to teach my children. I organise the steps and music to follow.
My room needs a tidy and my washing won’t iron itself in the rain and warmth. I also eat a lot… a lot of cacahuètes to wile away the day and pizza and beer are in order too. There’s a tropical storm a brewing and it’s not long until Thor is clapping at our door. After the torrent comes the sunshine so Nicola and I decide to trek to the shack-shop for sweet stuff. It isn’t open so we head back and indulge on beer instead.
There’s more thunder and lightening to brighten up the sky but we’re undeterred and revel in the majestic yet mysterious midnight motions. We spend the night singing along to cheesy 80’s songs – trying to compete with the nattering from upstairs. All too soon the drink and drowsiness hits us and we’re off to rest our weary, beery heads.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Café au lait
Mercredi 25.10.06 Café au lait
Wahoo! It’s midterm J How will I ever get used to working properly again after having it so easy here? Nicola has one class this morning but I have a typically lazy time and eventually rise to make an omelette and sort out my paperwork for the CAF meeting this afternoon.
Yesterday my CAF dossier arrived for me in Chateauboeuf. The headmistress, Madame Doh, gave it to me in exchange for a slab of brack and a handful of nuts. She could have kept it all because I now have more documents and red tape to play with. The CLLAJ (Comité Local pour le Logement Autonome des Jeunes Martinique) has organised a workshop to assist assistants in claiming back part of their rent under the CAF scheme (Caisse d’Allocation Familiales). Of course there’s a multitude of paperwork to sift through and many documents to be furnished before your application can even be sent off to be processed, and even after that you’re not guaranteed to get anything back. Most people who are fortunate enough to quality for the CAF get 40% of their rent back. But whether you actually get that before you leave Martinique will be another question…
I take the bus into town and then hop on the No.21 Bois Thibault bus to our HQ at GIP-FCIP, 4 Rue de Père Delawarde in Desrochers. The No.21 backtracks halfway up Route de Balata but it easier to take the two buses rather than hang around in limbo on the road for a connection. Nicola, Kyla and Claudia are also on the bus. Marjorie (Ireland/UK), Bea (Spain) and Gilbert (the Dell Boy responsable) are at the GIP to greet us. Lola (UK) soon appears and Carolina (Costa Rica) pulls up and then Madame Catherine Ciserane makes us scatter as she parks among our little grouping.
Our CAF meeting is scheduled for 14,00 but it starts half an hour later with only 20 assistants present. It’s understandable that some assistants don’t want to travel across the island to Fort-de-France for some poxy atelier on how to fill our forms. There are also a few assistants who get free or discounted accommodation because they live in college halls or rent a room in a family home so they have no need to attend. There are seven Spanglophones and the rest are Anglophones. Everyone seems a little drained. It could be the out-of-the-way location, the boring seminar or the desire to be on a catamaran set for Dominica that makes everyone weary.
Some assistants are venturing to Guadeloupe for a week and others are planning to hit Dominica for their midterm excursion. Gilbert has organised a catamaran to take some assistantes to Dominica for a few days during the Créyol Festival. It sounds cool; though a bit cramped and creepy, plus we prefer to be independent voyagers! There are a few people who are staying put in Martinique to explore the island or zip around in their recently purchased motors. Rodolfo and Philip have finally bought a car. Francesca and Bex got the windscreen on their rented car fixed for €180 and Francesca bounds over to us to say that she has just purchased wheels. It’s a former assistantes car. Francesca bought it off Gilbert. He says he’ll buy it back off her when she leaves... Also Madame de l’Inspectrice visited Francesca’s school and told her she would get an additional school after midterm as she was “spoiling this school with her presence”. That could well be taken as a compliment though who knows where the other school will be located.
By 16,30 we’re done with the workshop. The contract de location and the première quittance de loyer Madame Arlette gave us do not satisfy the CAF crew. We both need separate documents and they need to be more officially laid out. A carnet de quittance and a blank contract de location can be purchased in most book stores. It’s normally up to the landlord to have these but we may buy then just to speed up the process; if we’re entitled to this aide au logement why beat around the bush?
Supposedly there’s been a outbreak of mosquitoes with the ‘Dengue Fever’ around Schoelcher so we reconsider going into town with some of the assistants and instead head to Route de Balata to catch the No.22 home. We’ve only just stepped out on the main road when William, our neighbour, zips by in his jade Kid car. It’s timely because we had just started discussing our own car-purchasing prospects. William tells us that he has his eyes on a newer car and that he’s bringing his Kid to the mechanic to sort out the wipers and a weird clunking noise. We tell him that he shouldn’t bank on us to buy it as we’re reconsidering purchasing a car as a rental seems easier to manage and dispose of. He does seem a bit stung but he thanks us for our openness.
We get out at the telephone cabin near our house. It saves us getting into a custody case regarding William’s Kid. Plus we’ve to call Dominica to try get accommodation. We call the Sea View Apartments near Scot’s Head. Frank, the proprietor, seems very easy going; Nicola reckons he’s high. He doesn’t take any credit card or contact details but guarantees that we can have an apartment for the 1st, 2nd and 3rd of November. On verra...
One of the teachers in Nicola’s school wants English lessons so Nicola contacts her to arrange a class. There will be two of them so if each pays €10 for an hour that’ll be the easiest €20 she’s ever earned. A few teachers in Chateauboeuf have hinted that they’d like to improve their English so I’ll have to get on top of that after Toussaint. Madame Bonne and Madame Ciserane both asked us assistants if we were willing to give extra classes so we’re bound to get plenty of supplementary schooling out of that too. Ça rapporte bien. ☻ It’s a nice little earner.
From schemers to earners and back again… We watch one of Nic’s DVDs ‘Relative Strangers’ with Brenda Fricker about a man with a family in Düsseldorf and Dublin. It’s strange to see all the Dublin landmarks; Fricker casts her wedding ring into the River Liffey outside the Four Courts. She stays in a B&B in Rathmines with half the cast of Fair City and Ballykissangel and she takes the rattling old DART to Bray each day to stalk her husband’s other family. Exciting stuff; though a few bottles of Panache and Königsbacher help it go down easy.
Wahoo! It’s midterm J How will I ever get used to working properly again after having it so easy here? Nicola has one class this morning but I have a typically lazy time and eventually rise to make an omelette and sort out my paperwork for the CAF meeting this afternoon.
Yesterday my CAF dossier arrived for me in Chateauboeuf. The headmistress, Madame Doh, gave it to me in exchange for a slab of brack and a handful of nuts. She could have kept it all because I now have more documents and red tape to play with. The CLLAJ (Comité Local pour le Logement Autonome des Jeunes Martinique) has organised a workshop to assist assistants in claiming back part of their rent under the CAF scheme (Caisse d’Allocation Familiales). Of course there’s a multitude of paperwork to sift through and many documents to be furnished before your application can even be sent off to be processed, and even after that you’re not guaranteed to get anything back. Most people who are fortunate enough to quality for the CAF get 40% of their rent back. But whether you actually get that before you leave Martinique will be another question…
I take the bus into town and then hop on the No.21 Bois Thibault bus to our HQ at GIP-FCIP, 4 Rue de Père Delawarde in Desrochers. The No.21 backtracks halfway up Route de Balata but it easier to take the two buses rather than hang around in limbo on the road for a connection. Nicola, Kyla and Claudia are also on the bus. Marjorie (Ireland/UK), Bea (Spain) and Gilbert (the Dell Boy responsable) are at the GIP to greet us. Lola (UK) soon appears and Carolina (Costa Rica) pulls up and then Madame Catherine Ciserane makes us scatter as she parks among our little grouping.
Our CAF meeting is scheduled for 14,00 but it starts half an hour later with only 20 assistants present. It’s understandable that some assistants don’t want to travel across the island to Fort-de-France for some poxy atelier on how to fill our forms. There are also a few assistants who get free or discounted accommodation because they live in college halls or rent a room in a family home so they have no need to attend. There are seven Spanglophones and the rest are Anglophones. Everyone seems a little drained. It could be the out-of-the-way location, the boring seminar or the desire to be on a catamaran set for Dominica that makes everyone weary.
Some assistants are venturing to Guadeloupe for a week and others are planning to hit Dominica for their midterm excursion. Gilbert has organised a catamaran to take some assistantes to Dominica for a few days during the Créyol Festival. It sounds cool; though a bit cramped and creepy, plus we prefer to be independent voyagers! There are a few people who are staying put in Martinique to explore the island or zip around in their recently purchased motors. Rodolfo and Philip have finally bought a car. Francesca and Bex got the windscreen on their rented car fixed for €180 and Francesca bounds over to us to say that she has just purchased wheels. It’s a former assistantes car. Francesca bought it off Gilbert. He says he’ll buy it back off her when she leaves... Also Madame de l’Inspectrice visited Francesca’s school and told her she would get an additional school after midterm as she was “spoiling this school with her presence”. That could well be taken as a compliment though who knows where the other school will be located.
By 16,30 we’re done with the workshop. The contract de location and the première quittance de loyer Madame Arlette gave us do not satisfy the CAF crew. We both need separate documents and they need to be more officially laid out. A carnet de quittance and a blank contract de location can be purchased in most book stores. It’s normally up to the landlord to have these but we may buy then just to speed up the process; if we’re entitled to this aide au logement why beat around the bush?
Supposedly there’s been a outbreak of mosquitoes with the ‘Dengue Fever’ around Schoelcher so we reconsider going into town with some of the assistants and instead head to Route de Balata to catch the No.22 home. We’ve only just stepped out on the main road when William, our neighbour, zips by in his jade Kid car. It’s timely because we had just started discussing our own car-purchasing prospects. William tells us that he has his eyes on a newer car and that he’s bringing his Kid to the mechanic to sort out the wipers and a weird clunking noise. We tell him that he shouldn’t bank on us to buy it as we’re reconsidering purchasing a car as a rental seems easier to manage and dispose of. He does seem a bit stung but he thanks us for our openness.
We get out at the telephone cabin near our house. It saves us getting into a custody case regarding William’s Kid. Plus we’ve to call Dominica to try get accommodation. We call the Sea View Apartments near Scot’s Head. Frank, the proprietor, seems very easy going; Nicola reckons he’s high. He doesn’t take any credit card or contact details but guarantees that we can have an apartment for the 1st, 2nd and 3rd of November. On verra...
One of the teachers in Nicola’s school wants English lessons so Nicola contacts her to arrange a class. There will be two of them so if each pays €10 for an hour that’ll be the easiest €20 she’s ever earned. A few teachers in Chateauboeuf have hinted that they’d like to improve their English so I’ll have to get on top of that after Toussaint. Madame Bonne and Madame Ciserane both asked us assistants if we were willing to give extra classes so we’re bound to get plenty of supplementary schooling out of that too. Ça rapporte bien. ☻ It’s a nice little earner.
From schemers to earners and back again… We watch one of Nic’s DVDs ‘Relative Strangers’ with Brenda Fricker about a man with a family in Düsseldorf and Dublin. It’s strange to see all the Dublin landmarks; Fricker casts her wedding ring into the River Liffey outside the Four Courts. She stays in a B&B in Rathmines with half the cast of Fair City and Ballykissangel and she takes the rattling old DART to Bray each day to stalk her husband’s other family. Exciting stuff; though a few bottles of Panache and Königsbacher help it go down easy.
Boats, biscuits and brack - Mardi, 24.10.06
Mardi 24.10.06 Boats, biscuits and brack
Madame Arlette offers to drive us in this morning partly because I have my heavy dish and brack to carry around and also because she wants to go to the early morning market. We’re in Fort-de-France by 6,30 and it’s already full of activity with vendors selling their wares from carts and stalls, commuters boarding TaxiCos and passengers embarking from the Trois-Ilets petrolettes across the bay. We have plenty of time to kill before we’ve to make the move to school so we stroll along the waterfront and find a wooden hut to stretch-out on like one of the many drunks and drifters further upstream. Despite all the activity it’s so peaceful and pretty here overlooking the bay. While we’re lounging, watching the sun rising over the faraway hills four petrolettes from Trois-Ilets come over to leave their loads; students, tourists, traders, business people…
I’m soon in school with my cake and cacahuètes being passes around the staffroom. Claude, le blagueur (joker), quips that I’ll make a good wife if I was to be judged by my cooking skills. I admit that I got lucky with the cake. I’m usually a very accident prone cook so I’m fortunate not to have any injuries to show. I’m asked about the origins of the name Brack. I had found two derivations: 1.) In Northern Ireland and in Ireland, brack is the Celtic word for salt and is used to mean "bread". Barm Brack is leavened bread, the word barm meaning yeast. 2.) The term Barm Brack for an Irish fruit loaf or cake is a corruption of the Irish word "aran breac" (speckled bread).
For today’s classes I used a less detailed lesson plan so the kids all get a balance between the written English exercises and traditional Halloween tales. It’s the last day of school before the Toussaint holidays so I explain to the kids that if they work well and work quickly to get through the four phrases then we will have more time to celebrate Halloween. Everyone’s soon in high Halloween spirits with Trick or Treat scenes, fast, frantic rounds with suspended apples and tummies full of brack. Some children give me chocolate chip cookies as a present which is sweet. I give them extra cake in exchange. A few children say they’ve tasted similar cakes like brack but others who haven’t ask for the recipe so I promise to bring it in after the holidays – I reckon I can get them to write it up for our ‘English Corner’.
School’s soon over and I head into town to meet Nicola for lunch at La Croisière where we both opt for the daily €12 menu. The thirst is on me and I’m almost too full of fizz to appreciate our lovely lunch. We’ve hard boiled egg salad to start and I surprise myself by taking the fish option. It’s a fillet with a smooth fennel sauce, green beans, carrots and rice. For dessert it’s either lemon tart or coconut flan. We have one each and Nicola gets a coffee to wash down her cigarettes.
Nicola has been on the internet all morning looking for accommodation for our trip during Toussaint. We’ve finally got accommodation in Guadeloupe at the Auberge Le Grande Large near Saint-Anne (www.aubergelegrandlarge.com). We had wanted to stay in the Anchorge Dive Hotel but the rooms we provisionally reserved were gone and we were then quoted $500+ which was too excessive. Nicola had been in contact with some charlatan who said he had reserved our pool-side rooms but only when she directly contacted the hotel did she find out the rooms were already taken. We’ll be staying in Guadeloupe for the 29th, 30th and 31st of October and then travelling on to Dominica for four more days. We now need somewhere to stay in Dominica. We have our eye on a spot in the south of the island called Scot’s Head. It’s near Champagne Beach and the Boiling Lake while only being 10km from the capital Roseau. However the owners still haven’t gotten back to us but we reckon we’ll get it since we’re going to be there for the end of the Créyol Festival when things have wound down.
Nicola goes back to school for her last class and I scamper off to the bus. All the brack is gone so my only load is the dish which now seems so light. I meet John there at the bus-stop. He has his saxophone with him as he’s just back from giving lessons. I hear him tooting away later that evening as I sit on the terrace sipping tea and eating my own buttered brack. I reckon I’ve had my quota for the month so I freeze the rest. It’s soon time for me to preserve myself from the mad mossies so I put on my PJs, socks and sprays before settling under the net for the night.
Madame Arlette offers to drive us in this morning partly because I have my heavy dish and brack to carry around and also because she wants to go to the early morning market. We’re in Fort-de-France by 6,30 and it’s already full of activity with vendors selling their wares from carts and stalls, commuters boarding TaxiCos and passengers embarking from the Trois-Ilets petrolettes across the bay. We have plenty of time to kill before we’ve to make the move to school so we stroll along the waterfront and find a wooden hut to stretch-out on like one of the many drunks and drifters further upstream. Despite all the activity it’s so peaceful and pretty here overlooking the bay. While we’re lounging, watching the sun rising over the faraway hills four petrolettes from Trois-Ilets come over to leave their loads; students, tourists, traders, business people…
I’m soon in school with my cake and cacahuètes being passes around the staffroom. Claude, le blagueur (joker), quips that I’ll make a good wife if I was to be judged by my cooking skills. I admit that I got lucky with the cake. I’m usually a very accident prone cook so I’m fortunate not to have any injuries to show. I’m asked about the origins of the name Brack. I had found two derivations: 1.) In Northern Ireland and in Ireland, brack is the Celtic word for salt and is used to mean "bread". Barm Brack is leavened bread, the word barm meaning yeast. 2.) The term Barm Brack for an Irish fruit loaf or cake is a corruption of the Irish word "aran breac" (speckled bread).
For today’s classes I used a less detailed lesson plan so the kids all get a balance between the written English exercises and traditional Halloween tales. It’s the last day of school before the Toussaint holidays so I explain to the kids that if they work well and work quickly to get through the four phrases then we will have more time to celebrate Halloween. Everyone’s soon in high Halloween spirits with Trick or Treat scenes, fast, frantic rounds with suspended apples and tummies full of brack. Some children give me chocolate chip cookies as a present which is sweet. I give them extra cake in exchange. A few children say they’ve tasted similar cakes like brack but others who haven’t ask for the recipe so I promise to bring it in after the holidays – I reckon I can get them to write it up for our ‘English Corner’.
School’s soon over and I head into town to meet Nicola for lunch at La Croisière where we both opt for the daily €12 menu. The thirst is on me and I’m almost too full of fizz to appreciate our lovely lunch. We’ve hard boiled egg salad to start and I surprise myself by taking the fish option. It’s a fillet with a smooth fennel sauce, green beans, carrots and rice. For dessert it’s either lemon tart or coconut flan. We have one each and Nicola gets a coffee to wash down her cigarettes.
Nicola has been on the internet all morning looking for accommodation for our trip during Toussaint. We’ve finally got accommodation in Guadeloupe at the Auberge Le Grande Large near Saint-Anne (www.aubergelegrandlarge.com). We had wanted to stay in the Anchorge Dive Hotel but the rooms we provisionally reserved were gone and we were then quoted $500+ which was too excessive. Nicola had been in contact with some charlatan who said he had reserved our pool-side rooms but only when she directly contacted the hotel did she find out the rooms were already taken. We’ll be staying in Guadeloupe for the 29th, 30th and 31st of October and then travelling on to Dominica for four more days. We now need somewhere to stay in Dominica. We have our eye on a spot in the south of the island called Scot’s Head. It’s near Champagne Beach and the Boiling Lake while only being 10km from the capital Roseau. However the owners still haven’t gotten back to us but we reckon we’ll get it since we’re going to be there for the end of the Créyol Festival when things have wound down.
Nicola goes back to school for her last class and I scamper off to the bus. All the brack is gone so my only load is the dish which now seems so light. I meet John there at the bus-stop. He has his saxophone with him as he’s just back from giving lessons. I hear him tooting away later that evening as I sit on the terrace sipping tea and eating my own buttered brack. I reckon I’ve had my quota for the month so I freeze the rest. It’s soon time for me to preserve myself from the mad mossies so I put on my PJs, socks and sprays before settling under the net for the night.
Annie Verser - Lundi, 23.10.06
Lundi 23.10.06 Annie Verser
It’s hard to believe we’ve been here a month already; Fergal texts to remind me about this momentous occasion. However, I’ve other things on my mind… Like how are we going to get to school when we’ve been waiting for an hour at the bus-stop with no buses going by. We ask some neighbours if there’s a strike today but they say there’s just a problem with the bus. We start to thumb a lift but anyone who stops is only going down the hill to the local primary school. Not one female driver stops but it’s understandable. Times are changing and people have been warned about hitch-hikers; even two young blanches who teach in town are not desirable car companions for single black females. By the time 7,00 comes around it’s unlikely that we’ll make it even if we get a lift because the traffic is so bad. However, we ring Madame Arlette and five minutes later Charles pulls up alongside us. God must be looking over us because we get in just after 7,30 and I arrive in school with two minutes to spare. I’ve been carrying the heavy brack and an even heavier dish all morning so it’s a relief to lay it down and crack on with my classes.
Since the midterm, Toussaint, starts this week and we don’t have primary school on Wednesday’s, I only have two days of school this week; Monday and Tuesday. That means that I only have each class once. For my lesson plan I have decided to firstly introduce a written exercise which corresponds with the four introductory phrases we previously learnt and then proceed with Halloween celebrations. Of course I meet all sorts of hurdles along the way. I expect my first two classes – the seniors in CM2 D and CM2 C, to be reasonably quick at writing. Au contraire… They must be descendants of the scribes who wrote the Bible because it takes them an eternity to arrange themselves and transcribe four sentences. I have forgotten just how much children will copy their teachers. I write each phrase in a different colour to distinguish it and to simplify the following part of the lesson. However, when it’s the children’s turn to write down my words of wisdom most of them spend half the time using multi-coloured pens to transcribe the sentences. There are a few shrieks of joy when I tell them they can use different colours but I’ll know better for next time to make them stick to black and blue.
Also last week I had asked them all to bring in four cut-out images of people to stick in their copies for a dialogue exercise. Only two students from each class have managed to do this and even at that some of the images are way to big with one cut-out of Beyoncé doubling as a sizeable Halloween mask. Their teachers are more irritated with them than I am but it’s up to me to teach them English so when we’re done with the sentence writing we continue with an adaptation of the cut-out exercise. I quickly draw two scenarios with a stick man and a stick woman in each and both with blank speech bubbles which I later fill with simple dialogue. I ask the children to copy these two layouts but yet again this proves too difficult for most. The reason I asked them to bring in cut-outs was simply to save time drawing images but without the cut-outs my class turns into an Art class with children going to great pains to design their icons. I draw a few stick men for the less artistic students to hurry them up and eventually we get through the lesson.
Perhaps I expected too much from them within too short a time but one of the teachers is really embarrassed by his class and asks them why they act like bébés (babies). In hindsight it my lesson contained material that was too different and too much too quick, and with the holidays coming up they are definitely not in work mode. However, forgetfulness and slowness/artistic care cost them a slice of cake though I do hand out monkey nuts to my little monkeys at the end of the session.
I have break time to reconsider my lesson plan for the younger classes – CE2 C and CE2 B. I’m adamant to get some solid English done but this time I’m more conscious of their capabilities – and the time constraints. Each class succeeds in telling me the phrases we previously learnt and surprisingly they’re quicker at transcribing them than the older classes. I don’t totally let them off with forgetting their cut-outs as I get them to note it for our next class. The second half goes well with the kids enraptured by tales of Halloween. I hang up a Halloween poster which includes most of the usual creepy creatures and spooky characters. A few of the younger children recoil at the sight of the spiders and bats on my flashcards. Of course I have to explain most of it in French as witch cackles and ghost howls can only go so far… I get a few kids up to do Trick or Treat. They choose a flashcard to correspond to their costume and they knock on my door/desk and say “Trick or Treat”. I sing the Trick or Treat tune for them and they then repeat it with me:
Trick or Treat. Trick or Treat.
Give me something nice to eat.
If you don’t I don’t care,
I’ll put spiders in your hair.
When I’ve handed out monkey nuts I explain how after doing Trick or Treat the children will return home to play games and eat their treats. I explain how to bob for apples and coins, and choose a few from each class to try to get a bite from the suspended Granny Smith. Eventually a winner is found and they get the slobbery apple. I unveil my brack which is received by gasps and shrieks of joy. I explain the symbolic presence of different items in traditional bracks: a ring for marriage, a coin for wealth, a piece of fabric for fine fashion and a twig for hardship. The kids are clearly more interested in tasting my wares so that becomes the perfect way to end the class with them singing Trick or Treat while I offer around segments of sweet barm brack.
It’s soon time to head into town to meet Nicola, David and Karla. I decide to bring my bowl and brack back home as the cleaners would probably not appreciate finding cake crumbs and rats outside my locker and I wouldn’t appreciate having my locker cleaned out by repulsive rodents or hungry humans. I meet the trio in town and we wander about looking for travel agencies to book our ferry tickets for Guadeloupe and Dominica. We pass on the agency fee of €15 each and decide to plod on to the port later for a cheaper ferry fare. Karla leaves us and goes off to the library, Bibliothèque Schoelcher, in the hope of finding some English books.
Nicola and I are famished so we go for a lunch of pork chops, onion sauce and sautéed potatoes in the Mayflower. David later rejoins us for a drink after buying an electric fan for his flat. He says his place will never, however, be as cool as Rachel and Sara’s place in Diamant. The girls have a huge house with four bedrooms, a super sound system, stacks of CDs, a 50” TV, a table tennis table and of course, a private pool. He tells all about the party we passed on over the weekend. There’s no real gossip; just the usual full fools and drunken displays in the pool. On a more sobering note someone actually drowned at Diamant beach while they were there on Saturday.
We continue on our sea-farers voyage and go to port to buy our ferry tickets. As we book them together we qualify for a family ticket; Nicola is the Mammy and David and I are her squabbling offspring. Nicola’s own mother rings as we wander through La Savanne on our way back into town. We then wander through the market at the edge of the park and I try on a dress which Nicola gets for me as my birthday present. J There’s plenty of chat left in us so we go for drinks in cool cyber café. All too soon it’s time to head home on the bus.
We have a meeting with the CAF (Caisse d’Allocation Familiales) on Wednesday which will hopefully allow us to get some money back off our rent. We need Madame Arlette to furnish us with a contract de location and the première quittance de loyer so we bring her up a barm brack and our month’s rent to sweeten her up. There’s no need to try win her over as she’s naturally a generous and caring lady, and if anything it’s herself and Charles who pull out all the stops as they give us cake and cider (oh, yeah!) and fresh fruit. We don’t go straight to business but once again the Chinese and their oddities crop up. This time it’s talk about Chinese food and how a Chinese shop in Fort-de-France was closed by the health authorities after dog food was found to be a main ingredient in one of their pâtés. The conversation hops from ambiguous oriental dishes to real Créole cooking. Arlette explains how the accras du morue which are served in Martinique are more a tourist dish. The real accras are filled with cabbage, carrot, giraumon and malanga and other grated goodies, and then deep-fried to become delicious spicy beignets (fritters).
With our tummies full of fruitcake and our hands full of fresh fruit we ramble downstairs to our humble abode for another sweet slumber.
It’s hard to believe we’ve been here a month already; Fergal texts to remind me about this momentous occasion. However, I’ve other things on my mind… Like how are we going to get to school when we’ve been waiting for an hour at the bus-stop with no buses going by. We ask some neighbours if there’s a strike today but they say there’s just a problem with the bus. We start to thumb a lift but anyone who stops is only going down the hill to the local primary school. Not one female driver stops but it’s understandable. Times are changing and people have been warned about hitch-hikers; even two young blanches who teach in town are not desirable car companions for single black females. By the time 7,00 comes around it’s unlikely that we’ll make it even if we get a lift because the traffic is so bad. However, we ring Madame Arlette and five minutes later Charles pulls up alongside us. God must be looking over us because we get in just after 7,30 and I arrive in school with two minutes to spare. I’ve been carrying the heavy brack and an even heavier dish all morning so it’s a relief to lay it down and crack on with my classes.
Since the midterm, Toussaint, starts this week and we don’t have primary school on Wednesday’s, I only have two days of school this week; Monday and Tuesday. That means that I only have each class once. For my lesson plan I have decided to firstly introduce a written exercise which corresponds with the four introductory phrases we previously learnt and then proceed with Halloween celebrations. Of course I meet all sorts of hurdles along the way. I expect my first two classes – the seniors in CM2 D and CM2 C, to be reasonably quick at writing. Au contraire… They must be descendants of the scribes who wrote the Bible because it takes them an eternity to arrange themselves and transcribe four sentences. I have forgotten just how much children will copy their teachers. I write each phrase in a different colour to distinguish it and to simplify the following part of the lesson. However, when it’s the children’s turn to write down my words of wisdom most of them spend half the time using multi-coloured pens to transcribe the sentences. There are a few shrieks of joy when I tell them they can use different colours but I’ll know better for next time to make them stick to black and blue.
Also last week I had asked them all to bring in four cut-out images of people to stick in their copies for a dialogue exercise. Only two students from each class have managed to do this and even at that some of the images are way to big with one cut-out of Beyoncé doubling as a sizeable Halloween mask. Their teachers are more irritated with them than I am but it’s up to me to teach them English so when we’re done with the sentence writing we continue with an adaptation of the cut-out exercise. I quickly draw two scenarios with a stick man and a stick woman in each and both with blank speech bubbles which I later fill with simple dialogue. I ask the children to copy these two layouts but yet again this proves too difficult for most. The reason I asked them to bring in cut-outs was simply to save time drawing images but without the cut-outs my class turns into an Art class with children going to great pains to design their icons. I draw a few stick men for the less artistic students to hurry them up and eventually we get through the lesson.
Perhaps I expected too much from them within too short a time but one of the teachers is really embarrassed by his class and asks them why they act like bébés (babies). In hindsight it my lesson contained material that was too different and too much too quick, and with the holidays coming up they are definitely not in work mode. However, forgetfulness and slowness/artistic care cost them a slice of cake though I do hand out monkey nuts to my little monkeys at the end of the session.
I have break time to reconsider my lesson plan for the younger classes – CE2 C and CE2 B. I’m adamant to get some solid English done but this time I’m more conscious of their capabilities – and the time constraints. Each class succeeds in telling me the phrases we previously learnt and surprisingly they’re quicker at transcribing them than the older classes. I don’t totally let them off with forgetting their cut-outs as I get them to note it for our next class. The second half goes well with the kids enraptured by tales of Halloween. I hang up a Halloween poster which includes most of the usual creepy creatures and spooky characters. A few of the younger children recoil at the sight of the spiders and bats on my flashcards. Of course I have to explain most of it in French as witch cackles and ghost howls can only go so far… I get a few kids up to do Trick or Treat. They choose a flashcard to correspond to their costume and they knock on my door/desk and say “Trick or Treat”. I sing the Trick or Treat tune for them and they then repeat it with me:
Trick or Treat. Trick or Treat.
Give me something nice to eat.
If you don’t I don’t care,
I’ll put spiders in your hair.
When I’ve handed out monkey nuts I explain how after doing Trick or Treat the children will return home to play games and eat their treats. I explain how to bob for apples and coins, and choose a few from each class to try to get a bite from the suspended Granny Smith. Eventually a winner is found and they get the slobbery apple. I unveil my brack which is received by gasps and shrieks of joy. I explain the symbolic presence of different items in traditional bracks: a ring for marriage, a coin for wealth, a piece of fabric for fine fashion and a twig for hardship. The kids are clearly more interested in tasting my wares so that becomes the perfect way to end the class with them singing Trick or Treat while I offer around segments of sweet barm brack.
It’s soon time to head into town to meet Nicola, David and Karla. I decide to bring my bowl and brack back home as the cleaners would probably not appreciate finding cake crumbs and rats outside my locker and I wouldn’t appreciate having my locker cleaned out by repulsive rodents or hungry humans. I meet the trio in town and we wander about looking for travel agencies to book our ferry tickets for Guadeloupe and Dominica. We pass on the agency fee of €15 each and decide to plod on to the port later for a cheaper ferry fare. Karla leaves us and goes off to the library, Bibliothèque Schoelcher, in the hope of finding some English books.
Nicola and I are famished so we go for a lunch of pork chops, onion sauce and sautéed potatoes in the Mayflower. David later rejoins us for a drink after buying an electric fan for his flat. He says his place will never, however, be as cool as Rachel and Sara’s place in Diamant. The girls have a huge house with four bedrooms, a super sound system, stacks of CDs, a 50” TV, a table tennis table and of course, a private pool. He tells all about the party we passed on over the weekend. There’s no real gossip; just the usual full fools and drunken displays in the pool. On a more sobering note someone actually drowned at Diamant beach while they were there on Saturday.
We continue on our sea-farers voyage and go to port to buy our ferry tickets. As we book them together we qualify for a family ticket; Nicola is the Mammy and David and I are her squabbling offspring. Nicola’s own mother rings as we wander through La Savanne on our way back into town. We then wander through the market at the edge of the park and I try on a dress which Nicola gets for me as my birthday present. J There’s plenty of chat left in us so we go for drinks in cool cyber café. All too soon it’s time to head home on the bus.
We have a meeting with the CAF (Caisse d’Allocation Familiales) on Wednesday which will hopefully allow us to get some money back off our rent. We need Madame Arlette to furnish us with a contract de location and the première quittance de loyer so we bring her up a barm brack and our month’s rent to sweeten her up. There’s no need to try win her over as she’s naturally a generous and caring lady, and if anything it’s herself and Charles who pull out all the stops as they give us cake and cider (oh, yeah!) and fresh fruit. We don’t go straight to business but once again the Chinese and their oddities crop up. This time it’s talk about Chinese food and how a Chinese shop in Fort-de-France was closed by the health authorities after dog food was found to be a main ingredient in one of their pâtés. The conversation hops from ambiguous oriental dishes to real Créole cooking. Arlette explains how the accras du morue which are served in Martinique are more a tourist dish. The real accras are filled with cabbage, carrot, giraumon and malanga and other grated goodies, and then deep-fried to become delicious spicy beignets (fritters).
With our tummies full of fruitcake and our hands full of fresh fruit we ramble downstairs to our humble abode for another sweet slumber.
It’s a Piece of Cake - Dimanche, 22.10.06
Dimanche 22.10.06 It’s a Piece of Cake
Sunday brings another scorcher of a day. At midday I’m up the road in a telephone cabin calling home. Since I cut my Dad off yesterday evening it’s only right I phone home. The cabin has only one panel of glass and there’s a bit of a breeze in the air but I still feel like I’m cooking. It must be 36°C. I can feel the sweat slipping slowly down my back. By the time I’ve walked the 500 yards from the cabin to my door my clothes are fit only for the washing machine. The only wash-day blues are coming from the clear blue sky. There’s super drying. The washed clothes are only out an hour by the time they’re bone dry.
It’s a lazy, hazy afternoon all round. It’s far too hot to do anything other than sit in the shade on the terrace or sit on the sofa by the TV. Nicola rises around mid-afternoon just as the heat is dropping. I’m already mid-cake preparation. I’ve strained the fruit from the tea concoction and am contemplating adding a bit of rhum. For Créole baking the fruit is left to soak in rum not tea; though since this is an Irish cake I decide to stick to the tea. Why waste good drink on snot-faced kids or risk getting told off by the teachers for feeding them alcohol. The soakage used in different countries can tell a lot about the culture. The fact that brack is also known as Tea Brack, that the fruit is soaked in tea and that you eat it with a cup of tea could tell you that Irish people have a weakness for a strong cuppa. But, the notion of a nation of teetotallers is nowhere near the norm.
Here’s the recipe I used for the Barm Brack:
Ingredients - 1 package quick rise dried yeast - 2 cups all-purpose flour - 1/4 teaspoon salt - 3 tablespoons brown sugar - 4 tablespoons butter, melted - 3/4 cup milk, room temperature - 1 egg, slightly beaten - 2 cups dried fruit (mixture of raisins, currents and apricots) - 4 tablespoons diced candied citron – 2 tablespoons mixed spices.
It’s a good job all the quantities are in cupfuls and spoonfuls as our kitchen isn’t equipped with scales. I doubled all the quantities as I wanted to make a big cake for my students to share and a smaller one for Madame Arlette and Charles, or myself – depending on how burnt and broken it turned out. I combined all the dry ingredients and added the ground gingembre (ginger) and cannelle (cinnamon) I had bought in the market. With the butter, milk and egg well whisked I then added them to the flour mixture. Next I stirred in the dried fruits, added some grated lemon rind (from a lemon tree outside our kitchen window) and I poured the mixture into the large moule. I left the mixture to expand and work its magic while the oven heated up. There are only two temperature settings on our gas oven; hot and very hot. I left the first brack in at the highest for 1.5 hours. It turned out slightly browned on the outside yet cooked and moist on the inside. I also put the smaller one in at the highest and it came a bit charred (but still edible) after 45 minutes. I’d enough mixture for another small cake so I put it in at a lower heat and it came out perfect after an hour of babysitting.
All that baking had brought the temperature back up so I settled down to watch Lord of the Flies in the cool living room while the bracks cooled on wire racks in the kitchen. I decided to rename the film Lord of the Mosquitoes as one damn mossy kept annoying me and managed to dodge my numerous swings and slaps. Nicola was outside reading on the terrace. I heard her whimper and hurried scraping chair sounds followed. I peaked outside to see her cowering by the kitchen door, puffing away with a giant toad near where she had been sitting. He was mainly brown with green tinges and he would have fit snugly in a baseball cap. I tried to make him move by prodding him with the long-handled dustpan but the crapaud (toad) wouldn’t budge. Finally with a little liquid persuasion he hopped over to the cupboard and using my brush and dustpan skills I scooped him up and sent him flying. Our neighbour John had told us that there are some poisonous who squirt their milk if they feel threatened so this was all done in a gentle manner without trying to aggravate Mr. Big Load Toad. All the baking in the sun, cooking in the kitchen and the latest toad drama had left me shattered so I hopped off to bed with a tummy full of brack and thoughts of toad-in-the-hole.
Sunday brings another scorcher of a day. At midday I’m up the road in a telephone cabin calling home. Since I cut my Dad off yesterday evening it’s only right I phone home. The cabin has only one panel of glass and there’s a bit of a breeze in the air but I still feel like I’m cooking. It must be 36°C. I can feel the sweat slipping slowly down my back. By the time I’ve walked the 500 yards from the cabin to my door my clothes are fit only for the washing machine. The only wash-day blues are coming from the clear blue sky. There’s super drying. The washed clothes are only out an hour by the time they’re bone dry.
It’s a lazy, hazy afternoon all round. It’s far too hot to do anything other than sit in the shade on the terrace or sit on the sofa by the TV. Nicola rises around mid-afternoon just as the heat is dropping. I’m already mid-cake preparation. I’ve strained the fruit from the tea concoction and am contemplating adding a bit of rhum. For Créole baking the fruit is left to soak in rum not tea; though since this is an Irish cake I decide to stick to the tea. Why waste good drink on snot-faced kids or risk getting told off by the teachers for feeding them alcohol. The soakage used in different countries can tell a lot about the culture. The fact that brack is also known as Tea Brack, that the fruit is soaked in tea and that you eat it with a cup of tea could tell you that Irish people have a weakness for a strong cuppa. But, the notion of a nation of teetotallers is nowhere near the norm.
Here’s the recipe I used for the Barm Brack:
Ingredients - 1 package quick rise dried yeast - 2 cups all-purpose flour - 1/4 teaspoon salt - 3 tablespoons brown sugar - 4 tablespoons butter, melted - 3/4 cup milk, room temperature - 1 egg, slightly beaten - 2 cups dried fruit (mixture of raisins, currents and apricots) - 4 tablespoons diced candied citron – 2 tablespoons mixed spices.
It’s a good job all the quantities are in cupfuls and spoonfuls as our kitchen isn’t equipped with scales. I doubled all the quantities as I wanted to make a big cake for my students to share and a smaller one for Madame Arlette and Charles, or myself – depending on how burnt and broken it turned out. I combined all the dry ingredients and added the ground gingembre (ginger) and cannelle (cinnamon) I had bought in the market. With the butter, milk and egg well whisked I then added them to the flour mixture. Next I stirred in the dried fruits, added some grated lemon rind (from a lemon tree outside our kitchen window) and I poured the mixture into the large moule. I left the mixture to expand and work its magic while the oven heated up. There are only two temperature settings on our gas oven; hot and very hot. I left the first brack in at the highest for 1.5 hours. It turned out slightly browned on the outside yet cooked and moist on the inside. I also put the smaller one in at the highest and it came a bit charred (but still edible) after 45 minutes. I’d enough mixture for another small cake so I put it in at a lower heat and it came out perfect after an hour of babysitting.
All that baking had brought the temperature back up so I settled down to watch Lord of the Flies in the cool living room while the bracks cooled on wire racks in the kitchen. I decided to rename the film Lord of the Mosquitoes as one damn mossy kept annoying me and managed to dodge my numerous swings and slaps. Nicola was outside reading on the terrace. I heard her whimper and hurried scraping chair sounds followed. I peaked outside to see her cowering by the kitchen door, puffing away with a giant toad near where she had been sitting. He was mainly brown with green tinges and he would have fit snugly in a baseball cap. I tried to make him move by prodding him with the long-handled dustpan but the crapaud (toad) wouldn’t budge. Finally with a little liquid persuasion he hopped over to the cupboard and using my brush and dustpan skills I scooped him up and sent him flying. Our neighbour John had told us that there are some poisonous who squirt their milk if they feel threatened so this was all done in a gentle manner without trying to aggravate Mr. Big Load Toad. All the baking in the sun, cooking in the kitchen and the latest toad drama had left me shattered so I hopped off to bed with a tummy full of brack and thoughts of toad-in-the-hole.
Farmyard Sounds - Samedi, 21.10.06
Samedi 21.10.06 Farmyard Sounds
I may have slept well last night but I pay for my haste. This morning I count nine fresh mosquito bites around my ankles. I was so spent the night before that I forgot to do my night time ritual; spray repellent under the bed, shake the sheets and net, set out the net, put on long-legged and long-sleeved bed clothes and douse limbs with anti-mosquito ointment.
The mossies aren’t the only snappy creatures; Nicola’s also in an I-don’t-do-mornings mood when I ask her how the search for accommodation in Guadeloupe and Dominica went, as she spent some time on the internet the previous evening. I don’t push for a response but after a while her bones and brain start to thaw. I’m told that since James can’t come along it’s proving more difficult to find accommodation for three instead of four. Nicola’s remote morning manner can also be put down to Edith’s indifferent coolness in their English class. Supposedly Edith was not her usual eccentric or entertaining self and she didn’t pay much attention to Nicola or the class.
Some alternative retail therapy is in order and so we pop into town for the afternoon. Our first stop is the internet café. As it turns out they all charge €3 for half an hour so we quickly browse the net for more accommodation options. Lola is also there searching for similar holiday housing. My Dad calls me during the last crucial minutes of my surfing spree. He understands my dilemma and keeps the greetings brief. Our next port of call happens to be the ferry terminal. We’ve to co-ordinate crossings, accommodation and cultural activities. We plan to hit Dominica for the final day of the Créyol festival. The Créyol Music Festival will be well over but there is also a Créyol Parade which seems more engaging and less commercial – Shaggy and Wyclef Jean are among the main acts at this year’s Music Festival.
We take the scenic route to the croisière port. It’s Saturday evening and all is calm in Fort-de-France so it’s perfect for taking in the sights.
Fort-de-France was built in 1676, due to its strategic trading position in the bay on the south side of the island. The city was named Fort Royal because of the presence of the fort, but in 1848 it was renamed Fort-de-France by Napoleon Bonaparte. After the eruption of Mont Pelée in 1902, the then capital Saint-Pierre was destroyed and Fort-de-France became the new budding capital with intense economical development and the relocation of administrative offices. The town offers some wonderful sites which, although now somewhat ancient looking, were the superb sites during the city’s glory days:
- Le Théâtre Municipal, a beautiful building, was listed as an ancient monument in 1979
- La Cathédrale Saint-Louis (19th Century)
- L’Hôtel de la Préfecture, built in 1933, has been classed as a listed building since 1990.
- The Museum of Pre-Columbian Archaeology
- The Museum of History and Ethnography
- La Bibliothèque Schoelcher
- Le Fort Saint-Louis
We stroll along the seafront and sit for a while watching the waves and listening to the water lapping and slapping. The sun is high in the sky but it’s pleasantly warm with a cool breeze taking the edge off the heat. We wander back by Fort Saint-Louis. The fort is made from volcanic rock from Mont Pelée. It was built in 1638 when the first governor of Martinique, Jacques Du Parquet, decided to reinforce the city’s bay position with the fort becoming a naval base. To this day it is the seat of the Commandant de la Marine Française for the Antilles maritime zone and the Gulf of Mexico.
We later pass through La Savanne, with its flowery walkways bordered with royal palms. There’s a daily market in this public park. As per usual there are lots of traditional Martiniquais wares for sale and show: artwork, woodcraft, jewellery, pottery, hammocks, baskets, paréos, various garments in the madras style, as well as spices, punch and sweet treats. I buy some freshly ground gingembre (ginger) and cannelle (cinnamon) and Nicola picks up some volcanic gems. We admire the traditional madras costumes (multi-coloured check style).
So after helping the local traders we decide to help ourselves at MacDo. A Big Mac Meal™ is my guilty pleasure while Nicola opts for chicken nuggets and a caramel sundae. We also want to make a stop at a particular brassiere but its shut. With our tummies full we then head to Leader Price to fill our shopping bags and our fridge. Flour, yeast, milk, eggs, margarine, raisons, prunes and apricots are all added to the list as I decide to get some ingredients to test my culinary skills.
We arrive at the bus-stop with the plastic bags cutting into our palms and our fingers nearly falling off due to our bulky buys. John, our neighbour, is at the bus-stop too and we pass the time in conversation about toads, frogs, mosquitoes and men - mostiquomen. He’s so flirty with me; though Nicola isn’t left out as the bus driver hands back hier ticket with his name and number on it! Only a few hours previously while stepping out of the internet café another bus driver pulled up alongside us, in an empty bus, and asked if we wanted to go to the beach. They’ve either been having too much fun in the sun or not enough!
I’ve decided to make Barm Brack for my students to give them a little taster of Halloween. The fruit has to be prepared for the cake-making process. I chop up the apricots and leave them to steep overnight with the raisons and currents in a concoction of cold tea. Madame Arlette appears with a pan of râgout du boeuf. I ask her for a cake tin and she produces two doughnut shaped moules.
Arlette looks very dolled up this evening with her hair all fluffed out after spending the day set in rollers. Nicola and I also get ready for our night out with Will and Jimmy; the pimp and the pirate. We’re off to a Reggae club with the lads. It’s the first time I put on make-up…and a dress. I’ve a long, light, floaty black dress so it covers my mosquito bites and it seems casual enough for the night. Nicola wears a red and white polka dot dress to make Will go dotty!
Will collects us at 21,00 – a good hour ahead of the arranged time. We head to Cluny to pick up Jimmy. At first we presume Edith is coming too but supposedly she has gone to the cinema. The reason for Edith’s absence soon becomes more apparent. Jimmy can’t read and he later hands us his mobile with a message from Edith. She’s in a strop and has sent him a message to say that she has gone to s’éclaircit ses idées (clear her head). Later as we sit outside a friterie (chip stand) with our beers and burgers the whole Jimmy-Edith scenario becomes clear.
In short, Edith, at 60, is experiencing the menopause and is all over the place; physically, mentally and otherwise. Even the smallest things set her off. She doesn’t allow Jimmy to smoke but lately (since he met Nicola!) he has taken to having the odd fag. Earlier this evening he produced a packet and Edith started seeing red. She eventually drove off “to the cinema” to “clear her head”. This Saturday night disappearance act is not, as Jimmy tells us, a recent thing. Apparently she has been doing this for the past three months. Of course Jimmy and Will have come to the conclusion that she is seeing someone else; they even proclaim that Gethin is her latest fancy man. C’est incroyable! After looking at one another in disbelief Nicola and I crack up and reassure the lads that the only thing Edith would get off Gethin is grief – especially after the ‘arm specialist’ scenario. However, the lads take it to another level and state that the real reason Edith went to see Gethin was to persuade him to take her bed not a hospital bed! They say that there have been similar stories involving Edith. Somewhere along the line she accosted Will, Jimmy’s best friend! Edith must either be off her rocker or off her tablets; or both. Nicola and I try to educate and enlighten the lads about the menopause, HRT and it’s associated symptoms. Two light-bulbs suddenly start to flicker. Jimmy explains that Edith uses special creams and herbal remedies to combat the menopause but she doesn’t take HRT tablets. Edith’s mood-swings, sexual déloyauté, errant behaviour and her overall oddness are all contributed to the menopause and her struggle to come to terms with (or rather her refusal to recognise) her body’s change of pace and purpose.
It’s after midnight by the time we arrive at the Reggae joint near Ducos. It’s located at the end of a bumpy road which is barely suitable for a tractor let alone the jeeps and motos which seem to have travelled this way tonight. The stench of the mangrove trees and a wandering cow follow Will’s jeep as we jolt and jerk along the rutted road towards the Reggae ranch. The name of the club hardly comes as a surprise: La Ferme du Pèlerin (Pilgrim’s Farm). Since we’re in the middle of a mangrove wood there are millions of mossies hovering in the air. There are also hundreds of vehicles neatly parked nearby. For a club it all seems so organised, so calm, so tranquil; though it helps when everyone’s high on hash. The air is heavy with the smell of ganje. People are only smoking and selling. We’re all frisked on the way in and torches are beamed into our bags. The only commotion is from the two huge, growling bulldogs who are barking hysterically behind the barrier.
Of course Nicola and I are the only two blanches there. A few guys ask Will why he’s bringing English girls in and another tells us he will speak English with us later. I feel, however, that our freckled features don’t stick out as much as our dresses do. I feel so over-dressed. Other girls are wearing little more than the glow-bands we’re given at the gate. The majority are dressed in jeans or denim skirts with halter necks or bandeau tops, though some are all decked out in camouflage gear – it’s just like going-out get-up at home. There seem to be two sorts of guys; those with the Rasta dreads and a matching hat to hide hair and hash or the others with baseball caps, baggy denims, long baggy shirts, white trainers, diamond studs and shorn heads.
This place, music-wise, is more rap than Reggae. The crowd goes wild for Fifty Cents and Chamillionaire. The whole set-up is called a ‘Sound System’. Basically it’s a huge open shed with a galvanised roof, no walls and a large screen at one end. People assemble in rows and they dance on the spot for hours on end. Some of the girls gyrate and grind. Most people shake and shudder the night away and others sway in their daydream trance while day trippin’. You can buy hash in the toilet cabin while you dry your hands. The bar is a long cabin with a wooden counter and huge fridges with a limited supply of drinks; champagne, Coke, Orangina, Porter 39, Royal, Heineken, Desperadoes and Guinness. Will and Jimmy go mad for the Guinness.
The ‘Sound System’ stays open till 5,00 but by 3,00 us blanches decide we’ve had our €6 worth of dancing dopes. It’s great to experience the club culture but even it’s not somewhere I’d make as my local. Jimmy tells me that they’ll find a boite (nightclub) to bring us too next time. On the way out the dogs are dozing – probably high on the hash dans l’air. Will and Jimmy are accosted by their mates on the way out. Later in the jeep Will starts to charm Nicola again by telling her that he has had to pass so many ladies tonight because he only has eyes for her. I make a remark about fan clubs which he doesn’t take too well. At one point he’s ranting so much that I think he’s going to stop and make us walk home. He does sound like an adult lecturing a teenager but that’s just his manner; he talks more than most women, and makes less sense. Jimmy sees the funny side of my comment and we chat among ourselves while Will goes off on another tangent. I suppose you can gauge how much your French is improving when you can manage to annoy the natives one moment and then regain your street cred in an instant. Jimmy states that he will soon leave Edith and he adds that he would like to find a girl like me. My reply is a three letter mono-syllable – non, which ends up having to be explained and simplified since the men here are programmed to be so damn persistent and prying. My reply doesn’t even concern Will but he’s off again on a rant. “Il a tenté sa chance,” shuts them up (He has tried his luck) and I end up getting an admiral address from Will who yaps away for ages praising my use of French… it must be the drink. Nicola and I are dropped off home. And we soon exchange Will’s incessant nattering for the chitter-chatter of the frogs and their flighted friends.
I may have slept well last night but I pay for my haste. This morning I count nine fresh mosquito bites around my ankles. I was so spent the night before that I forgot to do my night time ritual; spray repellent under the bed, shake the sheets and net, set out the net, put on long-legged and long-sleeved bed clothes and douse limbs with anti-mosquito ointment.
The mossies aren’t the only snappy creatures; Nicola’s also in an I-don’t-do-mornings mood when I ask her how the search for accommodation in Guadeloupe and Dominica went, as she spent some time on the internet the previous evening. I don’t push for a response but after a while her bones and brain start to thaw. I’m told that since James can’t come along it’s proving more difficult to find accommodation for three instead of four. Nicola’s remote morning manner can also be put down to Edith’s indifferent coolness in their English class. Supposedly Edith was not her usual eccentric or entertaining self and she didn’t pay much attention to Nicola or the class.
Some alternative retail therapy is in order and so we pop into town for the afternoon. Our first stop is the internet café. As it turns out they all charge €3 for half an hour so we quickly browse the net for more accommodation options. Lola is also there searching for similar holiday housing. My Dad calls me during the last crucial minutes of my surfing spree. He understands my dilemma and keeps the greetings brief. Our next port of call happens to be the ferry terminal. We’ve to co-ordinate crossings, accommodation and cultural activities. We plan to hit Dominica for the final day of the Créyol festival. The Créyol Music Festival will be well over but there is also a Créyol Parade which seems more engaging and less commercial – Shaggy and Wyclef Jean are among the main acts at this year’s Music Festival.
We take the scenic route to the croisière port. It’s Saturday evening and all is calm in Fort-de-France so it’s perfect for taking in the sights.
Fort-de-France was built in 1676, due to its strategic trading position in the bay on the south side of the island. The city was named Fort Royal because of the presence of the fort, but in 1848 it was renamed Fort-de-France by Napoleon Bonaparte. After the eruption of Mont Pelée in 1902, the then capital Saint-Pierre was destroyed and Fort-de-France became the new budding capital with intense economical development and the relocation of administrative offices. The town offers some wonderful sites which, although now somewhat ancient looking, were the superb sites during the city’s glory days:
- Le Théâtre Municipal, a beautiful building, was listed as an ancient monument in 1979
- La Cathédrale Saint-Louis (19th Century)
- L’Hôtel de la Préfecture, built in 1933, has been classed as a listed building since 1990.
- The Museum of Pre-Columbian Archaeology
- The Museum of History and Ethnography
- La Bibliothèque Schoelcher
- Le Fort Saint-Louis
We stroll along the seafront and sit for a while watching the waves and listening to the water lapping and slapping. The sun is high in the sky but it’s pleasantly warm with a cool breeze taking the edge off the heat. We wander back by Fort Saint-Louis. The fort is made from volcanic rock from Mont Pelée. It was built in 1638 when the first governor of Martinique, Jacques Du Parquet, decided to reinforce the city’s bay position with the fort becoming a naval base. To this day it is the seat of the Commandant de la Marine Française for the Antilles maritime zone and the Gulf of Mexico.
We later pass through La Savanne, with its flowery walkways bordered with royal palms. There’s a daily market in this public park. As per usual there are lots of traditional Martiniquais wares for sale and show: artwork, woodcraft, jewellery, pottery, hammocks, baskets, paréos, various garments in the madras style, as well as spices, punch and sweet treats. I buy some freshly ground gingembre (ginger) and cannelle (cinnamon) and Nicola picks up some volcanic gems. We admire the traditional madras costumes (multi-coloured check style).
So after helping the local traders we decide to help ourselves at MacDo. A Big Mac Meal™ is my guilty pleasure while Nicola opts for chicken nuggets and a caramel sundae. We also want to make a stop at a particular brassiere but its shut. With our tummies full we then head to Leader Price to fill our shopping bags and our fridge. Flour, yeast, milk, eggs, margarine, raisons, prunes and apricots are all added to the list as I decide to get some ingredients to test my culinary skills.
We arrive at the bus-stop with the plastic bags cutting into our palms and our fingers nearly falling off due to our bulky buys. John, our neighbour, is at the bus-stop too and we pass the time in conversation about toads, frogs, mosquitoes and men - mostiquomen. He’s so flirty with me; though Nicola isn’t left out as the bus driver hands back hier ticket with his name and number on it! Only a few hours previously while stepping out of the internet café another bus driver pulled up alongside us, in an empty bus, and asked if we wanted to go to the beach. They’ve either been having too much fun in the sun or not enough!
I’ve decided to make Barm Brack for my students to give them a little taster of Halloween. The fruit has to be prepared for the cake-making process. I chop up the apricots and leave them to steep overnight with the raisons and currents in a concoction of cold tea. Madame Arlette appears with a pan of râgout du boeuf. I ask her for a cake tin and she produces two doughnut shaped moules.
Arlette looks very dolled up this evening with her hair all fluffed out after spending the day set in rollers. Nicola and I also get ready for our night out with Will and Jimmy; the pimp and the pirate. We’re off to a Reggae club with the lads. It’s the first time I put on make-up…and a dress. I’ve a long, light, floaty black dress so it covers my mosquito bites and it seems casual enough for the night. Nicola wears a red and white polka dot dress to make Will go dotty!
Will collects us at 21,00 – a good hour ahead of the arranged time. We head to Cluny to pick up Jimmy. At first we presume Edith is coming too but supposedly she has gone to the cinema. The reason for Edith’s absence soon becomes more apparent. Jimmy can’t read and he later hands us his mobile with a message from Edith. She’s in a strop and has sent him a message to say that she has gone to s’éclaircit ses idées (clear her head). Later as we sit outside a friterie (chip stand) with our beers and burgers the whole Jimmy-Edith scenario becomes clear.
In short, Edith, at 60, is experiencing the menopause and is all over the place; physically, mentally and otherwise. Even the smallest things set her off. She doesn’t allow Jimmy to smoke but lately (since he met Nicola!) he has taken to having the odd fag. Earlier this evening he produced a packet and Edith started seeing red. She eventually drove off “to the cinema” to “clear her head”. This Saturday night disappearance act is not, as Jimmy tells us, a recent thing. Apparently she has been doing this for the past three months. Of course Jimmy and Will have come to the conclusion that she is seeing someone else; they even proclaim that Gethin is her latest fancy man. C’est incroyable! After looking at one another in disbelief Nicola and I crack up and reassure the lads that the only thing Edith would get off Gethin is grief – especially after the ‘arm specialist’ scenario. However, the lads take it to another level and state that the real reason Edith went to see Gethin was to persuade him to take her bed not a hospital bed! They say that there have been similar stories involving Edith. Somewhere along the line she accosted Will, Jimmy’s best friend! Edith must either be off her rocker or off her tablets; or both. Nicola and I try to educate and enlighten the lads about the menopause, HRT and it’s associated symptoms. Two light-bulbs suddenly start to flicker. Jimmy explains that Edith uses special creams and herbal remedies to combat the menopause but she doesn’t take HRT tablets. Edith’s mood-swings, sexual déloyauté, errant behaviour and her overall oddness are all contributed to the menopause and her struggle to come to terms with (or rather her refusal to recognise) her body’s change of pace and purpose.
It’s after midnight by the time we arrive at the Reggae joint near Ducos. It’s located at the end of a bumpy road which is barely suitable for a tractor let alone the jeeps and motos which seem to have travelled this way tonight. The stench of the mangrove trees and a wandering cow follow Will’s jeep as we jolt and jerk along the rutted road towards the Reggae ranch. The name of the club hardly comes as a surprise: La Ferme du Pèlerin (Pilgrim’s Farm). Since we’re in the middle of a mangrove wood there are millions of mossies hovering in the air. There are also hundreds of vehicles neatly parked nearby. For a club it all seems so organised, so calm, so tranquil; though it helps when everyone’s high on hash. The air is heavy with the smell of ganje. People are only smoking and selling. We’re all frisked on the way in and torches are beamed into our bags. The only commotion is from the two huge, growling bulldogs who are barking hysterically behind the barrier.
Of course Nicola and I are the only two blanches there. A few guys ask Will why he’s bringing English girls in and another tells us he will speak English with us later. I feel, however, that our freckled features don’t stick out as much as our dresses do. I feel so over-dressed. Other girls are wearing little more than the glow-bands we’re given at the gate. The majority are dressed in jeans or denim skirts with halter necks or bandeau tops, though some are all decked out in camouflage gear – it’s just like going-out get-up at home. There seem to be two sorts of guys; those with the Rasta dreads and a matching hat to hide hair and hash or the others with baseball caps, baggy denims, long baggy shirts, white trainers, diamond studs and shorn heads.
This place, music-wise, is more rap than Reggae. The crowd goes wild for Fifty Cents and Chamillionaire. The whole set-up is called a ‘Sound System’. Basically it’s a huge open shed with a galvanised roof, no walls and a large screen at one end. People assemble in rows and they dance on the spot for hours on end. Some of the girls gyrate and grind. Most people shake and shudder the night away and others sway in their daydream trance while day trippin’. You can buy hash in the toilet cabin while you dry your hands. The bar is a long cabin with a wooden counter and huge fridges with a limited supply of drinks; champagne, Coke, Orangina, Porter 39, Royal, Heineken, Desperadoes and Guinness. Will and Jimmy go mad for the Guinness.
The ‘Sound System’ stays open till 5,00 but by 3,00 us blanches decide we’ve had our €6 worth of dancing dopes. It’s great to experience the club culture but even it’s not somewhere I’d make as my local. Jimmy tells me that they’ll find a boite (nightclub) to bring us too next time. On the way out the dogs are dozing – probably high on the hash dans l’air. Will and Jimmy are accosted by their mates on the way out. Later in the jeep Will starts to charm Nicola again by telling her that he has had to pass so many ladies tonight because he only has eyes for her. I make a remark about fan clubs which he doesn’t take too well. At one point he’s ranting so much that I think he’s going to stop and make us walk home. He does sound like an adult lecturing a teenager but that’s just his manner; he talks more than most women, and makes less sense. Jimmy sees the funny side of my comment and we chat among ourselves while Will goes off on another tangent. I suppose you can gauge how much your French is improving when you can manage to annoy the natives one moment and then regain your street cred in an instant. Jimmy states that he will soon leave Edith and he adds that he would like to find a girl like me. My reply is a three letter mono-syllable – non, which ends up having to be explained and simplified since the men here are programmed to be so damn persistent and prying. My reply doesn’t even concern Will but he’s off again on a rant. “Il a tenté sa chance,” shuts them up (He has tried his luck) and I end up getting an admiral address from Will who yaps away for ages praising my use of French… it must be the drink. Nicola and I are dropped off home. And we soon exchange Will’s incessant nattering for the chitter-chatter of the frogs and their flighted friends.
Madinia - Vendredi, 20.10.06
Vendredi 20.10.06 Madinia
On n’a jamais finir d’apprendre… Every day’s a school day! It’s Friday so it is indeed another school day. I have the same classes as on Tuesday though there are some minor, unexpected changes in today’s timetable:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 A – Christophe Carval
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 B – Dominique Bois
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 A – Madame Pamphile
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 D – Catherine Edragas
I’m in early so I pop into Christophe’s classroom to set-up. I’m certain I’m in the correct classroom but there’s a lady at the back, writing away. It turns out she’s a trainee teacher from the IUFM and she always sits in on these Friday classes. She took Spanish as her language so she knows Theresa, the Spanish assistante, at the IUFM. As per yesterday’s lesson plan I recap on the previous class by bringing up the map work and the phrases we learnt. We eventually progress on to new names after everyone has adequately conversed. Of course there are some students who speak more than they should but I’m amazed that the first class seems to be full of fatigued children. It’s only the first class of the day but most of them need to prop themselves up whether they are seated or standing, and others are nearly flat out on their desks. I wonder how many of these children have actually had breakfast or a good night’s sleep; my suspicions are confirmed later…
For la deuxième heure the CM2 classes are all off to Madinia Cinema in Schoelcher. I don’t feel so cheated that I can’t go too because since its La Semaine de Science (Science Week) they’re actually going to see an exposition not a film. So instead of taking Dominique’s class I have a meeting with Jossylene, my responsable. She obviously knew that an outing was organised and that we’d have this time to talk. Not that it really makes much difference whether I was told in advance that I wouldn’t have a class but it would still be nice to be notified. My wish is granted. Jossylene informs me of a rèunion I have next Wednesday at the CAFOC in Didier for my «Allocation Logement». Apart from imparting administrative information Jossylene also gives me some helpful advice and resources for my classes. She also listens to my ideas and answers the various questions that I’ve amassed regarding school life and daily life in Martinique. She also sits in on my next class. She says that it went very well for my first time and advises me to use more songs and rhymes to get the children to remember what we’ve learnt.
I spot Christophe in the library later on and I think to myself that it’s odd he’s back so soon with the CM2 class. He tells me that one of the children collapsed and had to be taken to hospital. The child had not had any breakfast. The whole class were now back with their trip cut short and Christophe left to fill out multiple insurance forms!
Before I came to Chateauboeuf I was told that the school was situated in one of the less advantageous quartiers. Even though there are some attractive residential areas it’s the contrasting communities and a lack of local amenities which contribute to this categorisation. Most of the teachers do not live nearby; and it shows. They are all well dressed and well presented, and even by Irish standards most of them have flash cars. The majority of school kids are friendly and well mannered (despite the fatigue) and they seem to all wear Nike or Puma trainers and have new schoolbags and stationary. Though underneath all the material means there is the sad fact that some of them have to leave the house hours before school starts, whether it is to get to school on time or to escape any early morning aggression that may take place at home. As a result of this they often skip breakfast with their next meal not being until 13,00. And who knows what they get when they go home? A slab of meat, or a slap?
It’s lunchtime and I get a lift into Fort-de-France with Madame Thuly, Elizabeth the Martiniquais assistante and another teacher. I tell them about my plans for the holidays and the mystery teacher tells me about a discothèque ferry with a pool, bars and music which leaves Martinique at night and arrives in Guadeloupe in the morning. We’ll have to suss that out! While we’re stopped at the lights two men approach the car with their wares: pineapples and piments (chilli peppers). Elizabeth looks for money for some peppers. She doesn’t find it by the time the lights change but even though we’re about 300 metres down the road the vendor comes running after us with his multi-coloured peppers. Catherine drops us off at La Savane. We pass on our regards for the weekend, “bon weekend” and go our separate ways. Nicola and I have planned to meet for lunch. En route to our rendezvous I follow a Rasta with hair down to his ankles. He’s quite a tall man so his dreadlocks seem extra chunky. He has too much hair to keep under his hat so instead they are neatly tied back with two side strands. It would have made such a great picture but at the time I thought it would be slightly invasive and a bit risky to take out my camera in the middle of Fort-de-France.
I save my pictures instead for the view from our lunchtime location: La Croisière, 98 Rue Ernest Deproge. It’s looks over the TaxiCo rank, with Fort Royal beyond that and the sea in the background. It’s not exceptionally stunning but it’s possibly the safest way to take pictures of the bay. Nicola has to get back to school so she just has time for the Poulet Colombo. I get the lunchtime menu with accras de morrue to start, le râgout boeuf et cous-cous for mains and flan coco for sweets. I stay for a while longer to take my time eating, to take in the view and to take snaps.
Just as I’m setting off the heavens open and I find myself under a canopy with about 30 other people. I’ve been between two minds all day whether to get a TaxiCo to Rachel and Sara’s house in Diamant though the clammy, drizzly weather and my weary body tell me otherwise. Plus, the fact that I was in Diamant last weekend, and the reassurance that there will be plenty of other parties, helps me make up my mind. I arrive home about 16,00 and fall into bed a while later for what becomes a night of splendid slumber and absorbing dreams.
On n’a jamais finir d’apprendre… Every day’s a school day! It’s Friday so it is indeed another school day. I have the same classes as on Tuesday though there are some minor, unexpected changes in today’s timetable:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 A – Christophe Carval
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 B – Dominique Bois
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 A – Madame Pamphile
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 D – Catherine Edragas
I’m in early so I pop into Christophe’s classroom to set-up. I’m certain I’m in the correct classroom but there’s a lady at the back, writing away. It turns out she’s a trainee teacher from the IUFM and she always sits in on these Friday classes. She took Spanish as her language so she knows Theresa, the Spanish assistante, at the IUFM. As per yesterday’s lesson plan I recap on the previous class by bringing up the map work and the phrases we learnt. We eventually progress on to new names after everyone has adequately conversed. Of course there are some students who speak more than they should but I’m amazed that the first class seems to be full of fatigued children. It’s only the first class of the day but most of them need to prop themselves up whether they are seated or standing, and others are nearly flat out on their desks. I wonder how many of these children have actually had breakfast or a good night’s sleep; my suspicions are confirmed later…
For la deuxième heure the CM2 classes are all off to Madinia Cinema in Schoelcher. I don’t feel so cheated that I can’t go too because since its La Semaine de Science (Science Week) they’re actually going to see an exposition not a film. So instead of taking Dominique’s class I have a meeting with Jossylene, my responsable. She obviously knew that an outing was organised and that we’d have this time to talk. Not that it really makes much difference whether I was told in advance that I wouldn’t have a class but it would still be nice to be notified. My wish is granted. Jossylene informs me of a rèunion I have next Wednesday at the CAFOC in Didier for my «Allocation Logement». Apart from imparting administrative information Jossylene also gives me some helpful advice and resources for my classes. She also listens to my ideas and answers the various questions that I’ve amassed regarding school life and daily life in Martinique. She also sits in on my next class. She says that it went very well for my first time and advises me to use more songs and rhymes to get the children to remember what we’ve learnt.
I spot Christophe in the library later on and I think to myself that it’s odd he’s back so soon with the CM2 class. He tells me that one of the children collapsed and had to be taken to hospital. The child had not had any breakfast. The whole class were now back with their trip cut short and Christophe left to fill out multiple insurance forms!
Before I came to Chateauboeuf I was told that the school was situated in one of the less advantageous quartiers. Even though there are some attractive residential areas it’s the contrasting communities and a lack of local amenities which contribute to this categorisation. Most of the teachers do not live nearby; and it shows. They are all well dressed and well presented, and even by Irish standards most of them have flash cars. The majority of school kids are friendly and well mannered (despite the fatigue) and they seem to all wear Nike or Puma trainers and have new schoolbags and stationary. Though underneath all the material means there is the sad fact that some of them have to leave the house hours before school starts, whether it is to get to school on time or to escape any early morning aggression that may take place at home. As a result of this they often skip breakfast with their next meal not being until 13,00. And who knows what they get when they go home? A slab of meat, or a slap?
It’s lunchtime and I get a lift into Fort-de-France with Madame Thuly, Elizabeth the Martiniquais assistante and another teacher. I tell them about my plans for the holidays and the mystery teacher tells me about a discothèque ferry with a pool, bars and music which leaves Martinique at night and arrives in Guadeloupe in the morning. We’ll have to suss that out! While we’re stopped at the lights two men approach the car with their wares: pineapples and piments (chilli peppers). Elizabeth looks for money for some peppers. She doesn’t find it by the time the lights change but even though we’re about 300 metres down the road the vendor comes running after us with his multi-coloured peppers. Catherine drops us off at La Savane. We pass on our regards for the weekend, “bon weekend” and go our separate ways. Nicola and I have planned to meet for lunch. En route to our rendezvous I follow a Rasta with hair down to his ankles. He’s quite a tall man so his dreadlocks seem extra chunky. He has too much hair to keep under his hat so instead they are neatly tied back with two side strands. It would have made such a great picture but at the time I thought it would be slightly invasive and a bit risky to take out my camera in the middle of Fort-de-France.
I save my pictures instead for the view from our lunchtime location: La Croisière, 98 Rue Ernest Deproge. It’s looks over the TaxiCo rank, with Fort Royal beyond that and the sea in the background. It’s not exceptionally stunning but it’s possibly the safest way to take pictures of the bay. Nicola has to get back to school so she just has time for the Poulet Colombo. I get the lunchtime menu with accras de morrue to start, le râgout boeuf et cous-cous for mains and flan coco for sweets. I stay for a while longer to take my time eating, to take in the view and to take snaps.
Just as I’m setting off the heavens open and I find myself under a canopy with about 30 other people. I’ve been between two minds all day whether to get a TaxiCo to Rachel and Sara’s house in Diamant though the clammy, drizzly weather and my weary body tell me otherwise. Plus, the fact that I was in Diamant last weekend, and the reassurance that there will be plenty of other parties, helps me make up my mind. I arrive home about 16,00 and fall into bed a while later for what becomes a night of splendid slumber and absorbing dreams.
On n’a jamais finir d’apprendre… Every day’s a school day! It’s Friday so it is indeed another school day. I have the same classes as on Tuesday though there are some minor, unexpected changes in today’s timetable:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 A – Christophe Carval
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 B – Dominique Bois
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 A – Madame Pamphile
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 D – Catherine Edragas
I’m in early so I pop into Christophe’s classroom to set-up. I’m certain I’m in the correct classroom but there’s a lady at the back, writing away. It turns out she’s a trainee teacher from the IUFM and she always sits in on these Friday classes. She took Spanish as her language so she knows Theresa, the Spanish assistante, at the IUFM. As per yesterday’s lesson plan I recap on the previous class by bringing up the map work and the phrases we learnt. We eventually progress on to new names after everyone has adequately conversed. Of course there are some students who speak more than they should but I’m amazed that the first class seems to be full of fatigued children. It’s only the first class of the day but most of them need to prop themselves up whether they are seated or standing, and others are nearly flat out on their desks. I wonder how many of these children have actually had breakfast or a good night’s sleep; my suspicions are confirmed later…
For la deuxième heure the CM2 classes are all off to Madinia Cinema in Schoelcher. I don’t feel so cheated that I can’t go too because since its La Semaine de Science (Science Week) they’re actually going to see an exposition not a film. So instead of taking Dominique’s class I have a meeting with Jossylene, my responsable. She obviously knew that an outing was organised and that we’d have this time to talk. Not that it really makes much difference whether I was told in advance that I wouldn’t have a class but it would still be nice to be notified. My wish is granted. Jossylene informs me of a rèunion I have next Wednesday at the CAFOC in Didier for my «Allocation Logement». Apart from imparting administrative information Jossylene also gives me some helpful advice and resources for my classes. She also listens to my ideas and answers the various questions that I’ve amassed regarding school life and daily life in Martinique. She also sits in on my next class. She says that it went very well for my first time and advises me to use more songs and rhymes to get the children to remember what we’ve learnt.
I spot Christophe in the library later on and I think to myself that it’s odd he’s back so soon with the CM2 class. He tells me that one of the children collapsed and had to be taken to hospital. The child had not had any breakfast. The whole class were now back with their trip cut short and Christophe left to fill out multiple insurance forms!
Before I came to Chateauboeuf I was told that the school was situated in one of the less advantageous quartiers. Even though there are some attractive residential areas it’s the contrasting communities and a lack of local amenities which contribute to this categorisation. Most of the teachers do not live nearby; and it shows. They are all well dressed and well presented, and even by Irish standards most of them have flash cars. The majority of school kids are friendly and well mannered (despite the fatigue) and they seem to all wear Nike or Puma trainers and have new schoolbags and stationary. Though underneath all the material means there is the sad fact that some of them have to leave the house hours before school starts, whether it is to get to school on time or to escape any early morning aggression that may take place at home. As a result of this they often skip breakfast with their next meal not being until 13,00. And who knows what they get when they go home? A slab of meat, or a slap?
It’s lunchtime and I get a lift into Fort-de-France with Madame Thuly, Elizabeth the Martiniquais assistante and another teacher. I tell them about my plans for the holidays and the mystery teacher tells me about a discothèque ferry with a pool, bars and music which leaves Martinique at night and arrives in Guadeloupe in the morning. We’ll have to suss that out! While we’re stopped at the lights two men approach the car with their wares: pineapples and piments (chilli peppers). Elizabeth looks for money for some peppers. She doesn’t find it by the time the lights change but even though we’re about 300 metres down the road the vendor comes running after us with his multi-coloured peppers. Catherine drops us off at La Savane. We pass on our regards for the weekend, “bon weekend” and go our separate ways. Nicola and I have planned to meet for lunch. En route to our rendezvous I follow a Rasta with hair down to his ankles. He’s quite a tall man so his dreadlocks seem extra chunky. He has too much hair to keep under his hat so instead they are neatly tied back with two side strands. It would have made such a great picture but at the time I thought it would be slightly invasive and a bit risky to take out my camera in the middle of Fort-de-France.
I save my pictures instead for the view from our lunchtime location: La Croisière, 98 Rue Ernest Deproge. It’s looks over the TaxiCo rank, with Fort Royal beyond that and the sea in the background. It’s not exceptionally stunning but it’s possibly the safest way to take pictures of the bay. Nicola has to get back to school so she just has time for the Poulet Colombo. I get the lunchtime menu with accras de morrue to start, le râgout boeuf et cous-cous for mains and flan coco for sweets. I stay for a while longer to take my time eating, to take in the view and to take snaps.
Just as I’m setting off the heavens open and I find myself under a canopy with about 30 other people. I’ve been between two minds all day whether to get a TaxiCo to Rachel and Sara’s house in Diamant though the clammy, drizzly weather and my weary body tell me otherwise. Plus, the fact that I was in Diamant last weekend, and the reassurance that there will be plenty of other parties, helps me make up my mind. I arrive home about 16,00 and fall into bed a while later for what becomes a night of splendid slumber and absorbing dreams.
On n’a jamais finir d’apprendre… Every day’s a school day! It’s Friday so it is indeed another school day. I have the same classes as on Tuesday though there are some minor, unexpected changes in today’s timetable:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 A – Christophe Carval
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 B – Dominique Bois
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 A – Madame Pamphile
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 D – Catherine Edragas
I’m in early so I pop into Christophe’s classroom to set-up. I’m certain I’m in the correct classroom but there’s a lady at the back, writing away. It turns out she’s a trainee teacher from the IUFM and she always sits in on these Friday classes. She took Spanish as her language so she knows Theresa, the Spanish assistante, at the IUFM. As per yesterday’s lesson plan I recap on the previous class by bringing up the map work and the phrases we learnt. We eventually progress on to new names after everyone has adequately conversed. Of course there are some students who speak more than they should but I’m amazed that the first class seems to be full of fatigued children. It’s only the first class of the day but most of them need to prop themselves up whether they are seated or standing, and others are nearly flat out on their desks. I wonder how many of these children have actually had breakfast or a good night’s sleep; my suspicions are confirmed later…
For la deuxième heure the CM2 classes are all off to Madinia Cinema in Schoelcher. I don’t feel so cheated that I can’t go too because since its La Semaine de Science (Science Week) they’re actually going to see an exposition not a film. So instead of taking Dominique’s class I have a meeting with Jossylene, my responsable. She obviously knew that an outing was organised and that we’d have this time to talk. Not that it really makes much difference whether I was told in advance that I wouldn’t have a class but it would still be nice to be notified. My wish is granted. Jossylene informs me of a rèunion I have next Wednesday at the CAFOC in Didier for my «Allocation Logement». Apart from imparting administrative information Jossylene also gives me some helpful advice and resources for my classes. She also listens to my ideas and answers the various questions that I’ve amassed regarding school life and daily life in Martinique. She also sits in on my next class. She says that it went very well for my first time and advises me to use more songs and rhymes to get the children to remember what we’ve learnt.
I spot Christophe in the library later on and I think to myself that it’s odd he’s back so soon with the CM2 class. He tells me that one of the children collapsed and had to be taken to hospital. The child had not had any breakfast. The whole class were now back with their trip cut short and Christophe left to fill out multiple insurance forms!
Before I came to Chateauboeuf I was told that the school was situated in one of the less advantageous quartiers. Even though there are some attractive residential areas it’s the contrasting communities and a lack of local amenities which contribute to this categorisation. Most of the teachers do not live nearby; and it shows. They are all well dressed and well presented, and even by Irish standards most of them have flash cars. The majority of school kids are friendly and well mannered (despite the fatigue) and they seem to all wear Nike or Puma trainers and have new schoolbags and stationary. Though underneath all the material means there is the sad fact that some of them have to leave the house hours before school starts, whether it is to get to school on time or to escape any early morning aggression that may take place at home. As a result of this they often skip breakfast with their next meal not being until 13,00. And who knows what they get when they go home? A slab of meat, or a slap?
It’s lunchtime and I get a lift into Fort-de-France with Madame Thuly, Elizabeth the Martiniquais assistante and another teacher. I tell them about my plans for the holidays and the mystery teacher tells me about a discothèque ferry with a pool, bars and music which leaves Martinique at night and arrives in Guadeloupe in the morning. We’ll have to suss that out! While we’re stopped at the lights two men approach the car with their wares: pineapples and piments (chilli peppers). Elizabeth looks for money for some peppers. She doesn’t find it by the time the lights change but even though we’re about 300 metres down the road the vendor comes running after us with his multi-coloured peppers. Catherine drops us off at La Savane. We pass on our regards for the weekend, “bon weekend” and go our separate ways. Nicola and I have planned to meet for lunch. En route to our rendezvous I follow a Rasta with hair down to his ankles. He’s quite a tall man so his dreadlocks seem extra chunky. He has too much hair to keep under his hat so instead they are neatly tied back with two side strands. It would have made such a great picture but at the time I thought it would be slightly invasive and a bit risky to take out my camera in the middle of Fort-de-France.
I save my pictures instead for the view from our lunchtime location: La Croisière, 98 Rue Ernest Deproge. It’s looks over the TaxiCo rank, with Fort Royal beyond that and the sea in the background. It’s not exceptionally stunning but it’s possibly the safest way to take pictures of the bay. Nicola has to get back to school so she just has time for the Poulet Colombo. I get the lunchtime menu with accras de morrue to start, le râgout boeuf et cous-cous for mains and flan coco for sweets. I stay for a while longer to take my time eating, to take in the view and to take snaps.
Just as I’m setting off the heavens open and I find myself under a canopy with about 30 other people. I’ve been between two minds all day whether to get a TaxiCo to Rachel and Sara’s house in Diamant though the clammy, drizzly weather and my weary body tell me otherwise. Plus, the fact that I was in Diamant last weekend, and the reassurance that there will be plenty of other parties, helps me make up my mind. I arrive home about 16,00 and fall into bed a while later for what becomes a night of splendid slumber and absorbing dreams.
Post Man - Jeudi, 19.10.06
Jeudi 19.10.06 Post Man
In the semi-darkness I clamber around the bedroom gathering my gear for the day. I don’t think either of my guests stirred; probably due to tiredness more so than my stealth-like tip-toeing. We told Kyla and James to stay on and snooze as they don’t have to be up at this unnatural hour.
Part two of my weekly lesson plan is put into action today. I have the same four classes that I had on Monday, though the first two are changed around:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 C – Claude Duval
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 D – Regine Caruge
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 C – Isabelle Acina
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 B – Catherine Thaly
To start I get the kids to recap on what we learnt in the previous class. Some classes are on the ball and tell me all about the map work and the four sentences I taught them: Hello. What is your name? My name is _______. Nice to meet you. Others really wrack their brains trying to find the words, though I eventually tease them out. We repeat, and repeat and repeat the phrases until I’m satisfied they’re getting closer to the correct pronunciation, or rather until I feel I’m loosing my voice! Some children are so softly spoken that I have to strain myself to hear them. I split the class in two and draw two big desert islands with a figure on each. I then add speech bubbles with Hello! written inside and tell the class (in English or French depending on their ability) that they have to pretend they are on a deserted island when they are asking one another the questions; in other words they have to speak loudly.
For the remainder of the class I have prepared some cards with Anglophone names on them: Blue for boys. Pink for girls. I tell them that while I’ve been here I’ve heard so many new names, and the same goes in the countries where English is spoken. I also tell them that even though a name, like David for example, is spelt the same way in Francophone countries, it is pronounced differently. I say the name first before showing them the cards. In this way I aim to make them listen first, become familiar with the sound and then when they see it they will hopefully recognise the different pronunciations and spellings. I have an assortment of names such as: Wendy, Harry, Holly, Frank, Emma, Brian, Janet, Chris… The kids then take a card each and present themselves using their new name. They seem to really enjoy this exercise and the teachers join in too. To wind down I then present some traditional Irish names: Sinéad, Eoin, Gráinne, Cathal, Siobhán, Lorcan. On the whole the day went well. There’s good feedback from both pupils and teachers so I’m glad that my work is being appreciated.
Another person who seems to be warming to me is la directrice, Madame Doh. She beckons me into her office, shows me a seat and asks how I’m getting on. She also gives me a code for the photocopier and paper. Our rendezvous doesn’t last long however, as some bold boys are ushered into the office. It turns out that when they were changing after P.E somebody thought it would be funny to throw someone’s runners into the bin. The culprit had a good aim and decided to add another pair to the pile… Boys will be boys.
As I get off the bus near my house I spot our neighbour, John and a friend driving towards me; with the car packed with the saxophone, drumkit and a keyboard it’s clear they’re heading to a music session. At least I know the neighbourhood with be noise free for the afternoon so I hit the hay for a midday siesta. When I awake I find two pink envelopes on the terrace table. They’re addressed to me and they both contain letters and birthday cards ;-) So after reading my post it’s time to wile away the evening by catching up on some other posts; those for my Journal de Route (Blog), or Journal de Ruth as it is often more fittingly and affectionately nick-named.
In the semi-darkness I clamber around the bedroom gathering my gear for the day. I don’t think either of my guests stirred; probably due to tiredness more so than my stealth-like tip-toeing. We told Kyla and James to stay on and snooze as they don’t have to be up at this unnatural hour.
Part two of my weekly lesson plan is put into action today. I have the same four classes that I had on Monday, though the first two are changed around:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 C – Claude Duval
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 D – Regine Caruge
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 C – Isabelle Acina
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 B – Catherine Thaly
To start I get the kids to recap on what we learnt in the previous class. Some classes are on the ball and tell me all about the map work and the four sentences I taught them: Hello. What is your name? My name is _______. Nice to meet you. Others really wrack their brains trying to find the words, though I eventually tease them out. We repeat, and repeat and repeat the phrases until I’m satisfied they’re getting closer to the correct pronunciation, or rather until I feel I’m loosing my voice! Some children are so softly spoken that I have to strain myself to hear them. I split the class in two and draw two big desert islands with a figure on each. I then add speech bubbles with Hello! written inside and tell the class (in English or French depending on their ability) that they have to pretend they are on a deserted island when they are asking one another the questions; in other words they have to speak loudly.
For the remainder of the class I have prepared some cards with Anglophone names on them: Blue for boys. Pink for girls. I tell them that while I’ve been here I’ve heard so many new names, and the same goes in the countries where English is spoken. I also tell them that even though a name, like David for example, is spelt the same way in Francophone countries, it is pronounced differently. I say the name first before showing them the cards. In this way I aim to make them listen first, become familiar with the sound and then when they see it they will hopefully recognise the different pronunciations and spellings. I have an assortment of names such as: Wendy, Harry, Holly, Frank, Emma, Brian, Janet, Chris… The kids then take a card each and present themselves using their new name. They seem to really enjoy this exercise and the teachers join in too. To wind down I then present some traditional Irish names: Sinéad, Eoin, Gráinne, Cathal, Siobhán, Lorcan. On the whole the day went well. There’s good feedback from both pupils and teachers so I’m glad that my work is being appreciated.
Another person who seems to be warming to me is la directrice, Madame Doh. She beckons me into her office, shows me a seat and asks how I’m getting on. She also gives me a code for the photocopier and paper. Our rendezvous doesn’t last long however, as some bold boys are ushered into the office. It turns out that when they were changing after P.E somebody thought it would be funny to throw someone’s runners into the bin. The culprit had a good aim and decided to add another pair to the pile… Boys will be boys.
As I get off the bus near my house I spot our neighbour, John and a friend driving towards me; with the car packed with the saxophone, drumkit and a keyboard it’s clear they’re heading to a music session. At least I know the neighbourhood with be noise free for the afternoon so I hit the hay for a midday siesta. When I awake I find two pink envelopes on the terrace table. They’re addressed to me and they both contain letters and birthday cards ;-) So after reading my post it’s time to wile away the evening by catching up on some other posts; those for my Journal de Route (Blog), or Journal de Ruth as it is often more fittingly and affectionately nick-named.
Loosing your Marbles, James? - Mercredi, 18.10.06
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Get on board the assistantship - Mardi, 17.10.06
Mardi 17.10.06 Get on board the assistantship
It’s back to school again for me. Today I have my other four classes, consisting of the two remaining senior classes – CM2 A and CM2 B, and my other two junior classes – CE2 A and CE2 D. My timetable is as follows:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 B – Dominique Bois
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 A – Christophe Carval
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 A – Madame Pamphile
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 D – Catherine Edragas
I’m extremely lucky to be just assigned to one school. I have been placed here, in Chateauboeuf A, as an assistante de langue vivante for the 2006/2007 academic year. I am not an assistant in the ordinary sense. My main role as an assistante de langue is to teach English. My duties as an assistante however, go beyond ensuring language acquisition and linguistic competence. A language must be taught and learnt in tandem with cultural relevance and cultural insights. This allows children to experience different traditions and customs, and another way of life, thus deepening their understanding of the language. So with each different lesson I incorporate a relevant element of Irish life.
It’s a good job Ireland has such a rich heritage and history, a wealth of folklore and mythological wonder and an evidently different way of life to those of Francophone countries. Throughout the year it is up to me to provide my classes with enriching, tangible cultural experiences and activities which enable them to not only learn by listening and verbalising but also to learn by doing. At the end of November our school, Chateauboeuf A, will hold a cultural exchange with teachers from Poland and Finland coming over to demonstrate aspects of their own culture. Last year two primary teachers from Newry, Co. Down were over with hurleys, sliotars and tricolours. So since some of the children here are already a bit familiar with Ireland and since I’m here for this next cultural exchange, I have been asked to teach our children some Irish dances to show our guests. I already have Ballaí na Luimnigh and Shéanínn in the pipeline.
I have all four CM2 classes (aged 10-11) and all four CE2 classes (aged 8-9). The CM1 classes (aged 9-10) are being taught English by the language teacher they had last year. She is Martiniquais and not on the assistantship programme. I’m fortunate to see my classes regularly. Some assistants may take a class and never have them again (this is more common in secondary schools). In secondary schools assistants tend to be more class aides; helping the teacher with the class, taking groups aside for grammar or oral work and sometimes just sitting in on the class to answer questions. Of course they sometimes have a more active role and actually take the class.
This assistantship programme is organised and run by the Irish Department of Education and Science, the Irish Higher Education Authority, the Centre International d’Études Pédagogiques and the French Embassy. On application there are four teaching options and an additional study option. You put down your top three teaching options and your top three locations and the above organisations do the maths. If you don’t care where you go or who you teach you can always write down no preference in both cases. Here is an outline of the different teaching options:
PREFERRED TYPE OF CONTRACT
Candidates may request the age group that they would prefer to work with. The French authorities will try to take into consideration these wishes but CANNOT guarantee that preferences will be satisfied.
Primary School – 7 Months
A seven-month contract (01/10/2006 – 30/04/2007)
A 12-hour schedule that can be spread across three schools
Working with children aged 8/11
The candidate will be organising oral activities on his own with small groups of pupils or working alongside the teacher with the whole class present
Good level of French required
Primary School – 9 Months
A nine-month contract (01/10/2006 – 30/06/2007)
A 12-hour schedule that can be spread across three schools
Teaching children aged 8/11
The candidate will be expected to take the whole class on his own and to follow the national curriculum
Ideal for candidates with, or aspiring to acquire, elementary and language teaching experience
Good level of French required
Secondary School
A seven-month contract (01/10/2006 – 30/04/2007)
Working with pupils aged 11/18
The candidate will be organising oral activities on his own with small groups of pupils or working alongside the teacher with the whole class present
No prior teaching experience required
IUFM (Institut universitaire de formation des maîtres)
A six-month contract (01/10/2006 – 31/03/2007)
A 12-hour schedule that can be spread across three schools
Working with teacher trainees (aged over 21)
The candidate will have to improve students’ language skills and communicate on his culture
Prior teaching experience required
No Preference
Studying in France
Language assistants can only register as auditors in French universities. This means the assistant is not allowed to take exams. The French universities can only issue a «certificate of attendance» which may be validated by the assistant’s home university.
********************************************************************
I have been given the second teaching option: Primary School – 9 Months. On application this was my second choice with Secondary School as my first and No Preference as my third. In hindsight I think that I’m more suited to this primary setting. My previous involvement with Cub Scouts was probably a key factor in my primary placement. Plus, teenagers would probably not appreciate my quirky sketches and strange songs as much as the children seem to.
Since I only have two class levels (CM2 and C1E), and since I see each group twice a week I only have to prepare two different lesson sessions each week. It’s good that I have my days split up in this way so if I notice something really does not work, or vice-versa, I can choose to either change it or kick it for the next day. For the younger students (CE2), who are only beginning to learn English, I just have to simplify my CM2 lesson plans. I adapt each lesson plan according to the class’s level. I find that even among each class level there are varying degrees of ability.
This morning I used the same lesson plan as I did with yesterday’s classes: locating English speaking countries on the world map, emphasising the importance of learning English and learning to introduce ourselves while noticing different cultural greetings. The word nice posed some problems so I used a serpent’s hiss to illustrate this. At this stage the children have not yet seen the words written down. It’s too early. The initial concern is correct pronunciation. If they saw the word nice written down they would automatically pronounce is like the French city, Nice.
All my classes are in the morning, which is a real coo. I just got lucky with the school timetable. It leaves the afternoon free to sunbathe and travel… or realistically to sleep and watch TV. The fact that I’m up at 5,00 each morning means that by the time 11,30 comes around I feel like I’ve been up half the day – I have in fact! The combination of the heat, travelling, traffic jams and the amount of energy I use up in each class all contribute to the imminent midday fatigue. Previous assistants have stated that they didn’t fully adjust until after Christmas. If you go by that I’m left with two months, three weeks and 1 day until my body clock readjusts. Knowing my luck my timetable will be changed for that new term!
As well as felling fatigued Fort-de-France is not exactly the nicest city to wander around. Sure it has its historical buildings to take in and the waterfront to stroll along but it is hot, dirty, busy, rundown and a bit sketchy. I usually look beyond the dilapidated facades and the dirty drains, and by now I’m somewhat immune to the fishy pong and sewage stink. I also just look past the guys who are on corners, on scooters and on drugs, but it’s the heat and the bustling streets that you usually can’t ignore. Today, despite the heat I’m in a shopping mood. I decide to traipse around town as I want to suss out where to buy art supplies and other bits and bobs. After an hour or so (that’s not at all long by shopaholic standards) I’ve bought some contact, coloured paper and two umbrellas. Yes, two umbrellas. It doesn’t rain here. It pours. So with my team of umbrellas I’ll beat those teeming downpours.
Us primary assistants had our Stage last week so this tomorrow it’s everyone else’s turn. They only have it for three hours one day. C’est pas juste! Gethin lives in Ducos just outside Fort-de-France and even though it’s not too far away he’s asked if he can stay with us to save him trekking in much earlier. By 17,00 there’s still no sight of Gethin. Nicola had tried to call him before returning home but he didn’t reply. A while later he rings explaining all. In short, Edith had taken a notion to actively ensure that Gethin got his injured arm checked out by her specialist friend. She landed on Gethin’s doorstep. In Gethin’s presence she then rang the specialist to get make an appointment. Next she drove Gethin around trying to persuade him to see the specialist. Gethin listened to her but told her that he was content with the rugby club doctor’s analysis. We were told that Edith was still persistent. Gethin asked her to stop at a petrol station so he could buy a drink. She did, and he did, but he didn’t return to the car. Instead he proceeded to walk back to Ducos. Gethin said he didn’t have any credit to contact us earlier and he wanted to cool off at home instead of bitching with us. I think Gethin was actually too scarred to come over to ours in case Edith popped by!
Nicola and I were having a good ‘oul rant when Edith rings. Her account of the story differs only in that she said Gethin used some choice phrases to tell her he wasn’t interested. She sounded upset and seemed put out that Gethin had not availed of her kind concern. Nicola told her that she had done all she could. But Edith still raged on about Gethin and his lack of appreciation. Aside from that she mentioned that some pupils were looking for extra tuition, but she was too tired to give the number. She added that Will worked near Nicola’s schools and that he would give it to her if, an when, they met up! For someone who seemed so upset and misunderstood she still had enough mischievousness to start playing games with us too. Nicola and I came to the conclusion that since she had argued with Gethin and since we are his friends she now thought she could get back at him by toying with us!!
We let bygones be bygones and decided to pass on an indefinite investigation of the fracas and instead focused on our forthcoming holiday plans for Guadeloupe and Dominica. James had still not got back to us but we had an interesting itinerary to entice him with. Later that night I dreamt about boiling lakes, fruit-bats and witches on broomsticks…
It’s back to school again for me. Today I have my other four classes, consisting of the two remaining senior classes – CM2 A and CM2 B, and my other two junior classes – CE2 A and CE2 D. My timetable is as follows:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 B – Dominique Bois
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 A – Christophe Carval
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 A – Madame Pamphile
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 D – Catherine Edragas
I’m extremely lucky to be just assigned to one school. I have been placed here, in Chateauboeuf A, as an assistante de langue vivante for the 2006/2007 academic year. I am not an assistant in the ordinary sense. My main role as an assistante de langue is to teach English. My duties as an assistante however, go beyond ensuring language acquisition and linguistic competence. A language must be taught and learnt in tandem with cultural relevance and cultural insights. This allows children to experience different traditions and customs, and another way of life, thus deepening their understanding of the language. So with each different lesson I incorporate a relevant element of Irish life.
It’s a good job Ireland has such a rich heritage and history, a wealth of folklore and mythological wonder and an evidently different way of life to those of Francophone countries. Throughout the year it is up to me to provide my classes with enriching, tangible cultural experiences and activities which enable them to not only learn by listening and verbalising but also to learn by doing. At the end of November our school, Chateauboeuf A, will hold a cultural exchange with teachers from Poland and Finland coming over to demonstrate aspects of their own culture. Last year two primary teachers from Newry, Co. Down were over with hurleys, sliotars and tricolours. So since some of the children here are already a bit familiar with Ireland and since I’m here for this next cultural exchange, I have been asked to teach our children some Irish dances to show our guests. I already have Ballaí na Luimnigh and Shéanínn in the pipeline.
I have all four CM2 classes (aged 10-11) and all four CE2 classes (aged 8-9). The CM1 classes (aged 9-10) are being taught English by the language teacher they had last year. She is Martiniquais and not on the assistantship programme. I’m fortunate to see my classes regularly. Some assistants may take a class and never have them again (this is more common in secondary schools). In secondary schools assistants tend to be more class aides; helping the teacher with the class, taking groups aside for grammar or oral work and sometimes just sitting in on the class to answer questions. Of course they sometimes have a more active role and actually take the class.
This assistantship programme is organised and run by the Irish Department of Education and Science, the Irish Higher Education Authority, the Centre International d’Études Pédagogiques and the French Embassy. On application there are four teaching options and an additional study option. You put down your top three teaching options and your top three locations and the above organisations do the maths. If you don’t care where you go or who you teach you can always write down no preference in both cases. Here is an outline of the different teaching options:
PREFERRED TYPE OF CONTRACT
Candidates may request the age group that they would prefer to work with. The French authorities will try to take into consideration these wishes but CANNOT guarantee that preferences will be satisfied.
Primary School – 7 Months
A seven-month contract (01/10/2006 – 30/04/2007)
A 12-hour schedule that can be spread across three schools
Working with children aged 8/11
The candidate will be organising oral activities on his own with small groups of pupils or working alongside the teacher with the whole class present
Good level of French required
Primary School – 9 Months
A nine-month contract (01/10/2006 – 30/06/2007)
A 12-hour schedule that can be spread across three schools
Teaching children aged 8/11
The candidate will be expected to take the whole class on his own and to follow the national curriculum
Ideal for candidates with, or aspiring to acquire, elementary and language teaching experience
Good level of French required
Secondary School
A seven-month contract (01/10/2006 – 30/04/2007)
Working with pupils aged 11/18
The candidate will be organising oral activities on his own with small groups of pupils or working alongside the teacher with the whole class present
No prior teaching experience required
IUFM (Institut universitaire de formation des maîtres)
A six-month contract (01/10/2006 – 31/03/2007)
A 12-hour schedule that can be spread across three schools
Working with teacher trainees (aged over 21)
The candidate will have to improve students’ language skills and communicate on his culture
Prior teaching experience required
No Preference
Studying in France
Language assistants can only register as auditors in French universities. This means the assistant is not allowed to take exams. The French universities can only issue a «certificate of attendance» which may be validated by the assistant’s home university.
********************************************************************
I have been given the second teaching option: Primary School – 9 Months. On application this was my second choice with Secondary School as my first and No Preference as my third. In hindsight I think that I’m more suited to this primary setting. My previous involvement with Cub Scouts was probably a key factor in my primary placement. Plus, teenagers would probably not appreciate my quirky sketches and strange songs as much as the children seem to.
Since I only have two class levels (CM2 and C1E), and since I see each group twice a week I only have to prepare two different lesson sessions each week. It’s good that I have my days split up in this way so if I notice something really does not work, or vice-versa, I can choose to either change it or kick it for the next day. For the younger students (CE2), who are only beginning to learn English, I just have to simplify my CM2 lesson plans. I adapt each lesson plan according to the class’s level. I find that even among each class level there are varying degrees of ability.
This morning I used the same lesson plan as I did with yesterday’s classes: locating English speaking countries on the world map, emphasising the importance of learning English and learning to introduce ourselves while noticing different cultural greetings. The word nice posed some problems so I used a serpent’s hiss to illustrate this. At this stage the children have not yet seen the words written down. It’s too early. The initial concern is correct pronunciation. If they saw the word nice written down they would automatically pronounce is like the French city, Nice.
All my classes are in the morning, which is a real coo. I just got lucky with the school timetable. It leaves the afternoon free to sunbathe and travel… or realistically to sleep and watch TV. The fact that I’m up at 5,00 each morning means that by the time 11,30 comes around I feel like I’ve been up half the day – I have in fact! The combination of the heat, travelling, traffic jams and the amount of energy I use up in each class all contribute to the imminent midday fatigue. Previous assistants have stated that they didn’t fully adjust until after Christmas. If you go by that I’m left with two months, three weeks and 1 day until my body clock readjusts. Knowing my luck my timetable will be changed for that new term!
As well as felling fatigued Fort-de-France is not exactly the nicest city to wander around. Sure it has its historical buildings to take in and the waterfront to stroll along but it is hot, dirty, busy, rundown and a bit sketchy. I usually look beyond the dilapidated facades and the dirty drains, and by now I’m somewhat immune to the fishy pong and sewage stink. I also just look past the guys who are on corners, on scooters and on drugs, but it’s the heat and the bustling streets that you usually can’t ignore. Today, despite the heat I’m in a shopping mood. I decide to traipse around town as I want to suss out where to buy art supplies and other bits and bobs. After an hour or so (that’s not at all long by shopaholic standards) I’ve bought some contact, coloured paper and two umbrellas. Yes, two umbrellas. It doesn’t rain here. It pours. So with my team of umbrellas I’ll beat those teeming downpours.
Us primary assistants had our Stage last week so this tomorrow it’s everyone else’s turn. They only have it for three hours one day. C’est pas juste! Gethin lives in Ducos just outside Fort-de-France and even though it’s not too far away he’s asked if he can stay with us to save him trekking in much earlier. By 17,00 there’s still no sight of Gethin. Nicola had tried to call him before returning home but he didn’t reply. A while later he rings explaining all. In short, Edith had taken a notion to actively ensure that Gethin got his injured arm checked out by her specialist friend. She landed on Gethin’s doorstep. In Gethin’s presence she then rang the specialist to get make an appointment. Next she drove Gethin around trying to persuade him to see the specialist. Gethin listened to her but told her that he was content with the rugby club doctor’s analysis. We were told that Edith was still persistent. Gethin asked her to stop at a petrol station so he could buy a drink. She did, and he did, but he didn’t return to the car. Instead he proceeded to walk back to Ducos. Gethin said he didn’t have any credit to contact us earlier and he wanted to cool off at home instead of bitching with us. I think Gethin was actually too scarred to come over to ours in case Edith popped by!
Nicola and I were having a good ‘oul rant when Edith rings. Her account of the story differs only in that she said Gethin used some choice phrases to tell her he wasn’t interested. She sounded upset and seemed put out that Gethin had not availed of her kind concern. Nicola told her that she had done all she could. But Edith still raged on about Gethin and his lack of appreciation. Aside from that she mentioned that some pupils were looking for extra tuition, but she was too tired to give the number. She added that Will worked near Nicola’s schools and that he would give it to her if, an when, they met up! For someone who seemed so upset and misunderstood she still had enough mischievousness to start playing games with us too. Nicola and I came to the conclusion that since she had argued with Gethin and since we are his friends she now thought she could get back at him by toying with us!!
We let bygones be bygones and decided to pass on an indefinite investigation of the fracas and instead focused on our forthcoming holiday plans for Guadeloupe and Dominica. James had still not got back to us but we had an interesting itinerary to entice him with. Later that night I dreamt about boiling lakes, fruit-bats and witches on broomsticks…
Back to school - Lundi, 16.10.06
Lundi 16.10.06 Back to school
Nicola may not still have saltwater in her eyes but she does have an annoying bird outside her window. I can hear it too but it’s not caw-cawing next to my ear every night. It actually sounds more like a mini machine gun. Nicola would gladly let it hear a real machine gun. Nicola is clearly not her cheery self this morning as she had to listen to bird-brain’s chit-chat all night.
It’s my first real day teaching at Chateauboeuf so I’m on the 6,20 bus from Tivoli into town. Today (like every school day), I have four classes in a row; the first two are senior classes – CM2, and the last two are juniors – CE2. I’ve got two 15 minute breaks but it flies; by the time you’ve packed up, crossed the yard and gone to the toilet it’s time to move on.
Monday’s Timetable is as follows:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 D – Regine Caruge
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 C – Claude Duval
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 C – Isabelle Acina
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 B – Catherine Thaly
All in all the day goes well. I’ve prepared sufficiently and adapt the activities and the content to suit the class and their level. The kids are generally interested and participate well. I use the word ‘generally’ because by 10,00 I notice some kids are starting to wane and others even need to prop themselves up - whether they are seated or standing. I know not to expect too much from them but I am pleasantly pleased by a few bright-sparks.
I start each class by presenting myself again and telling them, in French, what we will cover in the class. I’ve decided to start off by showing them where in the world English is mainly spoken. I use the school’s Map of the World. I place my people cut-outs on the relevant countries and match them up with a speech bubble which has the word English written inside each one. We go through the names of the countries and to recap I ask pupils to come up and match my mini-signposts with the country I call out. It’s easy to think that these kids know that English is spoken in Dominica and Jamaica, which are just on their doorstep, but no, some kids are even clueless as to the location of these countries let alone to the fact that English is spoken there. There are also a few wildcards who ask if English is the main language in Russia and China. The teachers often roll their eyes or snap at their silliness though I can’t help think that most are genuinely clueless. To end that part I stress how important it is for them to learn English; for travel, for work, to visit friends and to communicate on a worldwide scale. With 30% unemployment in Martinique and only 10% of the population speaking basic English it’s not hard to see how so many could fall into a bleak rut which eventually leads to drugs, drink and ruination.
The second half of the classe involves introductions. I explain how different expressions and mannerisms are used across the world to greet people. Of course you could go on all day saying: G’day mate. How’s about you. What’s up. Hey homie!, but I choose Hello as most of them can relate to that. Aside from the standard daily greeting, the most basic introduction is to say your name so that’s what we’re focused on for the week. I involve the teachers by asking them to go through an introductory dialogue with me. Some of them are a bit unsure and faltering of their own English. We use the handshake and the expression, “Nice to meet you,” to demonstrate the different cultural exchange. I get some giggles with that and again when I over-emphasis their use of the French ‘kissy-kissy’ salutation. The teachers and I go around to each student, shaking their hands and trying to get them to pronounce the word nice correctly, amid chuckles.
The rest of the class is spent repeating, “What is your name?” and “My name is _____.”. I use different activities to try to get them to speak loudly and clearly, in groups and on their own. Some of them are so quiet and timid that I nearly feel like I’m making them more self conscious by getting them to speak plus fort, but hushed tones won’t help their pronunciation.
Of course you have to respect each child as an individual while still considering the class as a whole. I find that each class’s attentiveness, participation level and obedience are usually linked to the teacher’s own responses. Some teachers are content just to let me ramble on and do my own thing but others are more interested and involved. I’ll have to make a conscious effect to make the class content engaging for everyone. Another thing I have to pay more attention to is the time. I feel that for my first day I didn’t step too far over my 45 minutes slots, but obviously each teacher continue with another subject they’ve prepared so I have to respect their time too.
With my first day over I’m just ready to head back home to bed. I get a lift into Fort-de-France with Dominique, Fanny and a CP teacher. It’s a pity I don’t take the initiative to ask them about their lunch plans but I’m tired, hot and hungry and can cater for my immediate needs at home.
Two weirdoes pass me by at the bus-stop. One, noticing my tan-lines asks me, “You like the beach?” He pronounces beach like bitch so I purposely put on a puzzled expression, let him revel for a moment and eventually correct him in English. I tell him I do like the beach but I don’t speak French and he waddles off with his heavy shopping bags. The next dude is more of a leech. “You want Lover Boy?” Yet again I play dumb. He thinks for a minute, searching for words, and comes out with, “You, me. Together.” If he had of persevered I may have fallen for his toothless grin and his lanky limbs but after another minute of silent searching he shrugs his shoulders in a blasé manner and says, “C’est pas grave.” (It doesn’t matter.), slumping down the rat-infested road.
Unbeknownst to my foreign fancy boys I recently had reason to use my guys are planks attitude with my boyfriend, Fergal. Of course I’m delighted to hear he’s coming to visit at Christmas – even if it means financial ruin and family fracas, but when he texted to say he’d be staying for two and a half weeks I sort of flipped. Firstly, he had initially said he’d seats reserved on a flight on the 28th December and another for the 10th January. Since Nicola and I go back to school on the 8th I was a bit fussy, even then, as to what he would do up in the mountains for two days while we were in work. So when he tells me he’s staying till the 14th I really lost it. I was put out not only for myself (as I’d made plans for the rest of the week), but also for him because as nice as Tivoli is, there’s really nothing to do. The five TV channels are fuzzy and in French (German won’t get you by here!), and the buses to Fort-de-France are infrequent.
Fort-de-France is definitely not the ‘Paris of the Caribbean’ it’s made out to be… Madames, mad men, markets and mendigots… les hommes qui font la manche (hobos) are possibly all they have in common. You wouldn’t stay in Fort-de-France past 18,00. As the shutters come down the prostitutes and the bad boys come out. I had to laugh when Fergal said he could always go to a hostel if we got sick of him. There’s one hostel on the island and it ain’t in Fort-de-France. Plus any hotel you’d find is a business hotel (in the legal money making sense), so you’ll pay big bucks for that. By taking a later flight to save money I reckon those salvaged funds would nonetheless find their way into the Martiniquais economy. To top it all off he’ll probably go back to Ireland in a bin-bag after over two weeks at such close proximity! Firing range. Then I’d have to pay the heavy-baggage handing fee. Goddammit.
Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out, have a fabulous time together and won’t have you out of house or pocket (well, not by much anyway!). It’s Monday. It’s hot. I’m tired, hungry and now have a sore stomach. Damn ulcer. So let me be a nark and take my narcotics.
Once I’m home I don’t care much for sleep as I’m still in a mood and my tummy’s still at me. I watch Prison Break to kill time and I end up killing mossies too – I even get one with my bare hands! Many of our natural, flurry, flying friends call round for the evening but it’s the appearance of the supernatural (or unnatural) one’s which make me jump. Edith pops her head around the terrace, giving us a shrieking, giddy greeting. Nicola and I are just mid-dessert. Edith spies it and licks her lips. Nicola who had previously being texting Will is spooked to hear that he’s in the car. We’re in no mood to have them in so we head to the gate in our PJs. It’s sort of my fault that they called round as I left some items in their car. Since they have returned my pieces I offer Jimmy a peace offering in the form of mango ice-cream (He didn’t get his MacDo lastnight because of me!).
Gethin had called prior to our disturbed dinner telling us that his arm was now in a cast. He had paid a visit to the rugby club’s doctor and was told he would need surgery as a tiny, but important, bone was broken. Edith said that as a foreigner he was likely to get ripped off and she vowed to get him an appointment with a ‘specialist’ she knows so he can get a second opinion. Since we don’t have our social sécurité yet - to claim back up to 70% of hospital and consultation fees, Gethin will have to get the operation done later – in fact, during our planned trip to Guadeloupe and Dominica; the expense and the timing means that we are one man down so we text Marco to see if he wants to come. As it happens a lot of assistants are off to Dominica for the Créyol Festival, from 28th October to 3rd November. Marco and Avian had already made plans to travel so when James then rang we tried to get him on board...
With lightening high on the horizon, and rain beginning to fall we said bonne nuit and scurried off to our respective abodes for cold tea and another rant session.
Nicola may not still have saltwater in her eyes but she does have an annoying bird outside her window. I can hear it too but it’s not caw-cawing next to my ear every night. It actually sounds more like a mini machine gun. Nicola would gladly let it hear a real machine gun. Nicola is clearly not her cheery self this morning as she had to listen to bird-brain’s chit-chat all night.
It’s my first real day teaching at Chateauboeuf so I’m on the 6,20 bus from Tivoli into town. Today (like every school day), I have four classes in a row; the first two are senior classes – CM2, and the last two are juniors – CE2. I’ve got two 15 minute breaks but it flies; by the time you’ve packed up, crossed the yard and gone to the toilet it’s time to move on.
Monday’s Timetable is as follows:
8,00 – 8,45 CM2 D – Regine Caruge
9,00 – 9,45 CM2 C – Claude Duval
BREAK
10,00 – 10,45 CE2 C – Isabelle Acina
10,45 – 11,30 CE2 B – Catherine Thaly
All in all the day goes well. I’ve prepared sufficiently and adapt the activities and the content to suit the class and their level. The kids are generally interested and participate well. I use the word ‘generally’ because by 10,00 I notice some kids are starting to wane and others even need to prop themselves up - whether they are seated or standing. I know not to expect too much from them but I am pleasantly pleased by a few bright-sparks.
I start each class by presenting myself again and telling them, in French, what we will cover in the class. I’ve decided to start off by showing them where in the world English is mainly spoken. I use the school’s Map of the World. I place my people cut-outs on the relevant countries and match them up with a speech bubble which has the word English written inside each one. We go through the names of the countries and to recap I ask pupils to come up and match my mini-signposts with the country I call out. It’s easy to think that these kids know that English is spoken in Dominica and Jamaica, which are just on their doorstep, but no, some kids are even clueless as to the location of these countries let alone to the fact that English is spoken there. There are also a few wildcards who ask if English is the main language in Russia and China. The teachers often roll their eyes or snap at their silliness though I can’t help think that most are genuinely clueless. To end that part I stress how important it is for them to learn English; for travel, for work, to visit friends and to communicate on a worldwide scale. With 30% unemployment in Martinique and only 10% of the population speaking basic English it’s not hard to see how so many could fall into a bleak rut which eventually leads to drugs, drink and ruination.
The second half of the classe involves introductions. I explain how different expressions and mannerisms are used across the world to greet people. Of course you could go on all day saying: G’day mate. How’s about you. What’s up. Hey homie!, but I choose Hello as most of them can relate to that. Aside from the standard daily greeting, the most basic introduction is to say your name so that’s what we’re focused on for the week. I involve the teachers by asking them to go through an introductory dialogue with me. Some of them are a bit unsure and faltering of their own English. We use the handshake and the expression, “Nice to meet you,” to demonstrate the different cultural exchange. I get some giggles with that and again when I over-emphasis their use of the French ‘kissy-kissy’ salutation. The teachers and I go around to each student, shaking their hands and trying to get them to pronounce the word nice correctly, amid chuckles.
The rest of the class is spent repeating, “What is your name?” and “My name is _____.”. I use different activities to try to get them to speak loudly and clearly, in groups and on their own. Some of them are so quiet and timid that I nearly feel like I’m making them more self conscious by getting them to speak plus fort, but hushed tones won’t help their pronunciation.
Of course you have to respect each child as an individual while still considering the class as a whole. I find that each class’s attentiveness, participation level and obedience are usually linked to the teacher’s own responses. Some teachers are content just to let me ramble on and do my own thing but others are more interested and involved. I’ll have to make a conscious effect to make the class content engaging for everyone. Another thing I have to pay more attention to is the time. I feel that for my first day I didn’t step too far over my 45 minutes slots, but obviously each teacher continue with another subject they’ve prepared so I have to respect their time too.
With my first day over I’m just ready to head back home to bed. I get a lift into Fort-de-France with Dominique, Fanny and a CP teacher. It’s a pity I don’t take the initiative to ask them about their lunch plans but I’m tired, hot and hungry and can cater for my immediate needs at home.
Two weirdoes pass me by at the bus-stop. One, noticing my tan-lines asks me, “You like the beach?” He pronounces beach like bitch so I purposely put on a puzzled expression, let him revel for a moment and eventually correct him in English. I tell him I do like the beach but I don’t speak French and he waddles off with his heavy shopping bags. The next dude is more of a leech. “You want Lover Boy?” Yet again I play dumb. He thinks for a minute, searching for words, and comes out with, “You, me. Together.” If he had of persevered I may have fallen for his toothless grin and his lanky limbs but after another minute of silent searching he shrugs his shoulders in a blasé manner and says, “C’est pas grave.” (It doesn’t matter.), slumping down the rat-infested road.
Unbeknownst to my foreign fancy boys I recently had reason to use my guys are planks attitude with my boyfriend, Fergal. Of course I’m delighted to hear he’s coming to visit at Christmas – even if it means financial ruin and family fracas, but when he texted to say he’d be staying for two and a half weeks I sort of flipped. Firstly, he had initially said he’d seats reserved on a flight on the 28th December and another for the 10th January. Since Nicola and I go back to school on the 8th I was a bit fussy, even then, as to what he would do up in the mountains for two days while we were in work. So when he tells me he’s staying till the 14th I really lost it. I was put out not only for myself (as I’d made plans for the rest of the week), but also for him because as nice as Tivoli is, there’s really nothing to do. The five TV channels are fuzzy and in French (German won’t get you by here!), and the buses to Fort-de-France are infrequent.
Fort-de-France is definitely not the ‘Paris of the Caribbean’ it’s made out to be… Madames, mad men, markets and mendigots… les hommes qui font la manche (hobos) are possibly all they have in common. You wouldn’t stay in Fort-de-France past 18,00. As the shutters come down the prostitutes and the bad boys come out. I had to laugh when Fergal said he could always go to a hostel if we got sick of him. There’s one hostel on the island and it ain’t in Fort-de-France. Plus any hotel you’d find is a business hotel (in the legal money making sense), so you’ll pay big bucks for that. By taking a later flight to save money I reckon those salvaged funds would nonetheless find their way into the Martiniquais economy. To top it all off he’ll probably go back to Ireland in a bin-bag after over two weeks at such close proximity! Firing range. Then I’d have to pay the heavy-baggage handing fee. Goddammit.
Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out, have a fabulous time together and won’t have you out of house or pocket (well, not by much anyway!). It’s Monday. It’s hot. I’m tired, hungry and now have a sore stomach. Damn ulcer. So let me be a nark and take my narcotics.
Once I’m home I don’t care much for sleep as I’m still in a mood and my tummy’s still at me. I watch Prison Break to kill time and I end up killing mossies too – I even get one with my bare hands! Many of our natural, flurry, flying friends call round for the evening but it’s the appearance of the supernatural (or unnatural) one’s which make me jump. Edith pops her head around the terrace, giving us a shrieking, giddy greeting. Nicola and I are just mid-dessert. Edith spies it and licks her lips. Nicola who had previously being texting Will is spooked to hear that he’s in the car. We’re in no mood to have them in so we head to the gate in our PJs. It’s sort of my fault that they called round as I left some items in their car. Since they have returned my pieces I offer Jimmy a peace offering in the form of mango ice-cream (He didn’t get his MacDo lastnight because of me!).
Gethin had called prior to our disturbed dinner telling us that his arm was now in a cast. He had paid a visit to the rugby club’s doctor and was told he would need surgery as a tiny, but important, bone was broken. Edith said that as a foreigner he was likely to get ripped off and she vowed to get him an appointment with a ‘specialist’ she knows so he can get a second opinion. Since we don’t have our social sécurité yet - to claim back up to 70% of hospital and consultation fees, Gethin will have to get the operation done later – in fact, during our planned trip to Guadeloupe and Dominica; the expense and the timing means that we are one man down so we text Marco to see if he wants to come. As it happens a lot of assistants are off to Dominica for the Créyol Festival, from 28th October to 3rd November. Marco and Avian had already made plans to travel so when James then rang we tried to get him on board...
With lightening high on the horizon, and rain beginning to fall we said bonne nuit and scurried off to our respective abodes for cold tea and another rant session.
Medium Rare Hash Browns - Dimanche, 15.10.06
Dimanche 15.10.06 Medium Rare Hash Browns
Whenever you travel you tend to meet people (or rather characters) who make an impression on you. These impressions are not always good or bad, or even definable. Sometimes it’s purely impossible to describe the effect they had or the way you felt around them. Today was one of those days; one of those encounters.
The night before Nicola told me that her teacher friend, Edith, her man, Jimmy and Nicola’s beau, Will, were planning to go to the beach for the day and had invited us along. I felt that my time in Saint-Pierre had seen me use up my weekly quota of beach bum fun and I was still between two minds that morning. Nicola and I had planned to go over to Trois-Ilets on the boat anyway so either way we would end up on sandy shores. However, I had also mentioned to David the previous evening that I hoped to be back for the international gospel concert in the Parc Floral later in the evening in Fort-de-France. As it happened, I ended up picking herbs not flowers, and listening to sea shells instead of cow bells…
I was up reasonably early to start planning for my first real week of work in Chateauboeuf. I had just sketched some characters to stick on the world map – to show the children where in the world English is spoken, when another character appeared. It was Edith. Nicola had expected her to ring when she was leaving Fort-de-France but instead she rang when she was outside our house! We hurriedly packed our beach bags, locked up and scurried up the hill to the car where Jimmy greeted us.
Edith was not what I imagined. Nicola had brought her up many times. Mostly it was talk about how Edith despised the other English teachers and how they saw her in a similar way. I had also been told that her 25 year-old, crack-pot daughter had run away from home some years before. From all this information I had made Edith up to be a brooding being who had lost her daughter to drugs and was wrongly judged and misunderstood due to her family situation. To a certain degree she is but she’s also a total contradiction to my initial thoughts. The way she landed unexpectedly and unplanned at our door and the way she swanned into our house showed me a different side. She spies some bottles of Guinness on the dresser and instantly says, “Oh! I just love Guinness. I have to have a Guinness. Nicola! Will you not offer me one?” She gets one and then proceeds by saying that Jimmy loves Guinness too. Nicola has gone back to packing and doesn’t hear her. I have, and I appear to distract her from my stash of stout. Her friendly, yet over-enthusiastic mannerisms border on childishness and her keenness and insistence could be mistaken for bossiness. Like everyone she’s a multi-faceted, adaptable being I guess.
It was not only her attitude and manners which I had misjudged. Her appearance also caught me unawares. For some reason I thought she was black. She’s actually from Brittany in France and has what I deem as a desirable olive complexion. She’s also older than I thought, though I put that down to her dress sense and her hair. Her hair was loosely tied on top of her head and it hung down like a drooping palm tree; I notice streaks of grey behind dyed golden strands. She’s wearing an airy, tent-like pinafore dress and a cardigan which ties under her boobs. I immediately think of an illustrated children’s book I saw in Ireland. On the cover there’s a lady who looks exactly like Edith. The similarities don’t end there. Edith tells us that she is an “international woman”…, of mystery no doubt. She states that she will explain all later. In short, she has travelled around the world and experienced many different nationalities and cultures – and cults. That’s all pretty innocuous; until she tells us she’s a medium. Do you know what that Irish children’s book was about? A witch.
From our house we journey to Cluny, a suburb of Fort-de-France, where Edith and Jimmy live. They have been going out for nearly four years. They met at a gym. And the day they first hooked-up Edith’s gym membership was replaced by Jimmy’s companionship.
We’re given a tour of their flat; it’s infused with incense, herbal teas and plants. Edith gives us all chores to do as we prepare our lunch to bring to the beach. Nicola does the salad. I sort the spuds and Jimmy gathers the cutlery and cooking utensils. Edith supervises, manages…bosses us about?! At 11,00 we’re ready to hit the road and head to the beach at Diamant. But first we go to collect Gethin in Fort-de-France. If only Gethin knew what he’s getting himself into as he slips into the back of the car with Nicola and I. The poor chap has injured his left hand in a rugby match. It’s pretty swollen and he can’t bend it back but he doesn’t complain once all day. Au contraire. He revels in recounting Saturday’s match telling us how he creamed the opposition leaving one of them out-for-the-count. I don’t think he’d think of tackling Jimmy.
Jimmy is Martiniquais. He’s a Jack of all trades. He welds, tiles and does other odd jobs. Edith is vigorously protective of him. He can not read or write and she explains that he has been ‘manipulated’ all his life. Even while we are in their house some guys appear in the back garden and start to climb a coconut tree. Jimmy says nothing but Edith tells them to bug-off as its private property. They move on and Edith explains that it is people like this who continuously ‘manipulate’ Jimmy.
At 31 Jimmy is 22 years younger than Edith. Edith’s former husband, who fathered her daughter, was 32 years her senior. He is no longer alive. I’m later told that Jimmy and Edith went to Russia for IVF treatment though it wasn’t successful. They plan to adopt a Russian baby. For the moment however, their black and white Russian-named cat, Nouska, and their grey kitty, Tétine, are Edith’s babies.
If Edith’s appearance and eccentricities can be compared to those of a witch then Jimmy could be compared to a Caribbean pirate. He is short and stout and has a huge gold hoop ear-ring in one ear. He has a wicked laugh – as in it’s a cute little chuckle. Jimmy would eat the world if he could. Throughout the day he munches away.
He also comes out with Créole expressions which crack Edith up; it’s sometimes hard to tell if she’s happy on life, happy in love or just high. On our journey we learn some Créole phrases: Fou-fou maman. Brenez Bouin-Dà. Ko-Ké Maman. Moiun, Pà-kà fumay. Of course some are too vulgar to translate, and they’re probably not spelt correctly but you can probably guess their meaning. Gethin also teaches us some Welsh curses: Dos e fuck de nine. There’s a glaring clue in the middle of that one. While we’re driving along the motorway Jimmy exclaims that the vehicle in front is sliding like a tomato… Elle glisse comme une tomate. Edith is in stitches; so much so that we have to make a pit-stop. I help Jimmy fill the tires with air while Gethin is on the point of letting off some hot air. The cashier asked him where he’s from and even though he repeats that he’s Welsh, from Wales the guy tries to pick a fight by telling him he’s English, not Welsh. We learn a few more choice Welsh phrases during the rest of the journey!
The traffic is dire as tout le monde (everyone) is off to the beach this fine day. We make the best of the slow traffic by stopping at road-side stalls to buy Poulet Boucané (smoked chicken) for our picnic and coconut ice-cream for our road trip. The ice-cream tastes closer to marzipan than coconut. We even stop at a wheat-free store – Paul’s, with the intent of buying gluten free bread for Nicola, Jimmy and Edith who all happen to be wheat intolerant. However, by the time we get their at 12,30 it’s closed.
We soon get to Diamant. Edith and Jimmy bring us to their usual spot along the Grande Anse (cove). We have a perfect view of Le Rocher du Diamant out in the ocean and the undulating hills of Petite Anse, where we can see people parachuting. The water is clear, the sand sparkles and we have plenty of shade from the sun. Jimmy overturns a big rock to reveal a bed of charred coals which he rearranges to create a cooking area. We hang up the hammocks, lay out our beach towels and start to set-up our picnic. We’re told that in Diamant there’s a small Rasta community. Edith tells us she’s a Rasta too; as well as a medium. The beach is a hub of activity. Down in the cove people are out on jet-skis; though our spot is more secluded with less water-sport activity.
However, there is other activity going on behind us. A group of crack heads are to be seen in the trees behind us. As time goes on we become less of a novelty and they start to ignore us. Edith tells us to curse them out of it if they approach us. But they don’t.
We’ve got ratatouille niçoise and a pot of crabs heating on the hot coals. The picnic rug is awash with fine food; potato salad, green salad, rice, poulet boucané and a variety of dressings and sauces. We dine well and lie about in the sun savouring the heat. It’s at this point that Edith decides to take Nicola and I aside for a heart-to-heart. She tells us about her daughter. She is living with a ‘devil man’ who fed her coke habit and formally used her for prostitution. Edith tells us that her daughter is still sleeping with this man but that she is off the drugs and the street corners. Later on, as we splash about in the sea we give Gethin the condensed version. As it happens, our beach zone is not too part away from where Edith’s daughter supposedly lives.
With the weird world aside we take in the seaside sounds and sights. We stroll, swim, splash, sunbathe and stuff ourselves with more delicious sweets and savouries. Will, who is Jimmy’s best friend and Nicola’s beau, turns up mid-afternoon. He is a tall, fit black chap. He tells me that he attended the primary school I am teaching at. The reason for his tardiness is that he was helping a friend to fell a tree. Will is a surveyor. He’s also a bit of a farmer; he owns a single cow called Sabrine. Hold on… Isn’t Sabrina a witch’s name?! Will’s sound. He’s not as eccentric as Edith or a shy a Jimmy. Though like most men he’s got a certain doggedness about him. He’s definitely a shark in the sea. He chases Nicola about in an amorous fashion; though she seems to be lapping it up too. When he’s not playing games with Nicola he’s hanging out with Jimmy by the hammocks. You can hear them chuckling together; sharing jokes and spliffs.
It’s far too late to make tracks back to Fort-de-France for the concert so I contact David to tell him I’m content here. We stay on the beach until darkness falls. I have to get home to prepare for the rest of my classes so I’m a bit anxious to get back soon. However, in true Caribbean style, by 21,00 we’ve still not moved from Diamant as we’ve decided to have drinks at ‘Cap 110’ – the restaurant where we had our dinner with the other assistants at our Induction course. There’s a Bière Lorraine promotion on so we avail of that while listening to the bongo man in the corner. About half an hour later the heavens open so we decide to head home. Nicola goes with Will while Gethin and I stick with Edith and Jimmy. Jimmy and Will have both been drinking so Gethin and I have a right ‘oul rant about drink-driving on the way home. Unfortunately it’s our only way home so we’ve other option but to sit tight.
We drop Gethin off in Ducos; near Rue du Tunnel and the Jesus Christ statue. Jimmy wants to stop at MacDo’s (MacDonald’s) before heading to Tivoli with me but Edith states that I still have work to do so Jimmy has to go hungry for another half hour. I do indeed finish off my class planning and I’m in bed by 11,30. Nicola arrives in the door a minute later. We’re tired and tanned yet we talk for a while, analysing Nicola’s choice in Martinique men. Last year an American assistante, Cheryl (USA), went out with Will. And she was friends with an Irish assistante, Margaret, who happened to teach in Edith’s school. It’s funny how things come full circle, though I’m a bit circumspect about the coincidences and similar pattern of play. I hope Nicola doesn’t have too much saltwater in her eyes…
Whenever you travel you tend to meet people (or rather characters) who make an impression on you. These impressions are not always good or bad, or even definable. Sometimes it’s purely impossible to describe the effect they had or the way you felt around them. Today was one of those days; one of those encounters.
The night before Nicola told me that her teacher friend, Edith, her man, Jimmy and Nicola’s beau, Will, were planning to go to the beach for the day and had invited us along. I felt that my time in Saint-Pierre had seen me use up my weekly quota of beach bum fun and I was still between two minds that morning. Nicola and I had planned to go over to Trois-Ilets on the boat anyway so either way we would end up on sandy shores. However, I had also mentioned to David the previous evening that I hoped to be back for the international gospel concert in the Parc Floral later in the evening in Fort-de-France. As it happened, I ended up picking herbs not flowers, and listening to sea shells instead of cow bells…
I was up reasonably early to start planning for my first real week of work in Chateauboeuf. I had just sketched some characters to stick on the world map – to show the children where in the world English is spoken, when another character appeared. It was Edith. Nicola had expected her to ring when she was leaving Fort-de-France but instead she rang when she was outside our house! We hurriedly packed our beach bags, locked up and scurried up the hill to the car where Jimmy greeted us.
Edith was not what I imagined. Nicola had brought her up many times. Mostly it was talk about how Edith despised the other English teachers and how they saw her in a similar way. I had also been told that her 25 year-old, crack-pot daughter had run away from home some years before. From all this information I had made Edith up to be a brooding being who had lost her daughter to drugs and was wrongly judged and misunderstood due to her family situation. To a certain degree she is but she’s also a total contradiction to my initial thoughts. The way she landed unexpectedly and unplanned at our door and the way she swanned into our house showed me a different side. She spies some bottles of Guinness on the dresser and instantly says, “Oh! I just love Guinness. I have to have a Guinness. Nicola! Will you not offer me one?” She gets one and then proceeds by saying that Jimmy loves Guinness too. Nicola has gone back to packing and doesn’t hear her. I have, and I appear to distract her from my stash of stout. Her friendly, yet over-enthusiastic mannerisms border on childishness and her keenness and insistence could be mistaken for bossiness. Like everyone she’s a multi-faceted, adaptable being I guess.
It was not only her attitude and manners which I had misjudged. Her appearance also caught me unawares. For some reason I thought she was black. She’s actually from Brittany in France and has what I deem as a desirable olive complexion. She’s also older than I thought, though I put that down to her dress sense and her hair. Her hair was loosely tied on top of her head and it hung down like a drooping palm tree; I notice streaks of grey behind dyed golden strands. She’s wearing an airy, tent-like pinafore dress and a cardigan which ties under her boobs. I immediately think of an illustrated children’s book I saw in Ireland. On the cover there’s a lady who looks exactly like Edith. The similarities don’t end there. Edith tells us that she is an “international woman”…, of mystery no doubt. She states that she will explain all later. In short, she has travelled around the world and experienced many different nationalities and cultures – and cults. That’s all pretty innocuous; until she tells us she’s a medium. Do you know what that Irish children’s book was about? A witch.
From our house we journey to Cluny, a suburb of Fort-de-France, where Edith and Jimmy live. They have been going out for nearly four years. They met at a gym. And the day they first hooked-up Edith’s gym membership was replaced by Jimmy’s companionship.
We’re given a tour of their flat; it’s infused with incense, herbal teas and plants. Edith gives us all chores to do as we prepare our lunch to bring to the beach. Nicola does the salad. I sort the spuds and Jimmy gathers the cutlery and cooking utensils. Edith supervises, manages…bosses us about?! At 11,00 we’re ready to hit the road and head to the beach at Diamant. But first we go to collect Gethin in Fort-de-France. If only Gethin knew what he’s getting himself into as he slips into the back of the car with Nicola and I. The poor chap has injured his left hand in a rugby match. It’s pretty swollen and he can’t bend it back but he doesn’t complain once all day. Au contraire. He revels in recounting Saturday’s match telling us how he creamed the opposition leaving one of them out-for-the-count. I don’t think he’d think of tackling Jimmy.
Jimmy is Martiniquais. He’s a Jack of all trades. He welds, tiles and does other odd jobs. Edith is vigorously protective of him. He can not read or write and she explains that he has been ‘manipulated’ all his life. Even while we are in their house some guys appear in the back garden and start to climb a coconut tree. Jimmy says nothing but Edith tells them to bug-off as its private property. They move on and Edith explains that it is people like this who continuously ‘manipulate’ Jimmy.
At 31 Jimmy is 22 years younger than Edith. Edith’s former husband, who fathered her daughter, was 32 years her senior. He is no longer alive. I’m later told that Jimmy and Edith went to Russia for IVF treatment though it wasn’t successful. They plan to adopt a Russian baby. For the moment however, their black and white Russian-named cat, Nouska, and their grey kitty, Tétine, are Edith’s babies.
If Edith’s appearance and eccentricities can be compared to those of a witch then Jimmy could be compared to a Caribbean pirate. He is short and stout and has a huge gold hoop ear-ring in one ear. He has a wicked laugh – as in it’s a cute little chuckle. Jimmy would eat the world if he could. Throughout the day he munches away.
He also comes out with Créole expressions which crack Edith up; it’s sometimes hard to tell if she’s happy on life, happy in love or just high. On our journey we learn some Créole phrases: Fou-fou maman. Brenez Bouin-Dà. Ko-Ké Maman. Moiun, Pà-kà fumay. Of course some are too vulgar to translate, and they’re probably not spelt correctly but you can probably guess their meaning. Gethin also teaches us some Welsh curses: Dos e fuck de nine. There’s a glaring clue in the middle of that one. While we’re driving along the motorway Jimmy exclaims that the vehicle in front is sliding like a tomato… Elle glisse comme une tomate. Edith is in stitches; so much so that we have to make a pit-stop. I help Jimmy fill the tires with air while Gethin is on the point of letting off some hot air. The cashier asked him where he’s from and even though he repeats that he’s Welsh, from Wales the guy tries to pick a fight by telling him he’s English, not Welsh. We learn a few more choice Welsh phrases during the rest of the journey!
The traffic is dire as tout le monde (everyone) is off to the beach this fine day. We make the best of the slow traffic by stopping at road-side stalls to buy Poulet Boucané (smoked chicken) for our picnic and coconut ice-cream for our road trip. The ice-cream tastes closer to marzipan than coconut. We even stop at a wheat-free store – Paul’s, with the intent of buying gluten free bread for Nicola, Jimmy and Edith who all happen to be wheat intolerant. However, by the time we get their at 12,30 it’s closed.
We soon get to Diamant. Edith and Jimmy bring us to their usual spot along the Grande Anse (cove). We have a perfect view of Le Rocher du Diamant out in the ocean and the undulating hills of Petite Anse, where we can see people parachuting. The water is clear, the sand sparkles and we have plenty of shade from the sun. Jimmy overturns a big rock to reveal a bed of charred coals which he rearranges to create a cooking area. We hang up the hammocks, lay out our beach towels and start to set-up our picnic. We’re told that in Diamant there’s a small Rasta community. Edith tells us she’s a Rasta too; as well as a medium. The beach is a hub of activity. Down in the cove people are out on jet-skis; though our spot is more secluded with less water-sport activity.
However, there is other activity going on behind us. A group of crack heads are to be seen in the trees behind us. As time goes on we become less of a novelty and they start to ignore us. Edith tells us to curse them out of it if they approach us. But they don’t.
We’ve got ratatouille niçoise and a pot of crabs heating on the hot coals. The picnic rug is awash with fine food; potato salad, green salad, rice, poulet boucané and a variety of dressings and sauces. We dine well and lie about in the sun savouring the heat. It’s at this point that Edith decides to take Nicola and I aside for a heart-to-heart. She tells us about her daughter. She is living with a ‘devil man’ who fed her coke habit and formally used her for prostitution. Edith tells us that her daughter is still sleeping with this man but that she is off the drugs and the street corners. Later on, as we splash about in the sea we give Gethin the condensed version. As it happens, our beach zone is not too part away from where Edith’s daughter supposedly lives.
With the weird world aside we take in the seaside sounds and sights. We stroll, swim, splash, sunbathe and stuff ourselves with more delicious sweets and savouries. Will, who is Jimmy’s best friend and Nicola’s beau, turns up mid-afternoon. He is a tall, fit black chap. He tells me that he attended the primary school I am teaching at. The reason for his tardiness is that he was helping a friend to fell a tree. Will is a surveyor. He’s also a bit of a farmer; he owns a single cow called Sabrine. Hold on… Isn’t Sabrina a witch’s name?! Will’s sound. He’s not as eccentric as Edith or a shy a Jimmy. Though like most men he’s got a certain doggedness about him. He’s definitely a shark in the sea. He chases Nicola about in an amorous fashion; though she seems to be lapping it up too. When he’s not playing games with Nicola he’s hanging out with Jimmy by the hammocks. You can hear them chuckling together; sharing jokes and spliffs.
It’s far too late to make tracks back to Fort-de-France for the concert so I contact David to tell him I’m content here. We stay on the beach until darkness falls. I have to get home to prepare for the rest of my classes so I’m a bit anxious to get back soon. However, in true Caribbean style, by 21,00 we’ve still not moved from Diamant as we’ve decided to have drinks at ‘Cap 110’ – the restaurant where we had our dinner with the other assistants at our Induction course. There’s a Bière Lorraine promotion on so we avail of that while listening to the bongo man in the corner. About half an hour later the heavens open so we decide to head home. Nicola goes with Will while Gethin and I stick with Edith and Jimmy. Jimmy and Will have both been drinking so Gethin and I have a right ‘oul rant about drink-driving on the way home. Unfortunately it’s our only way home so we’ve other option but to sit tight.
We drop Gethin off in Ducos; near Rue du Tunnel and the Jesus Christ statue. Jimmy wants to stop at MacDo’s (MacDonald’s) before heading to Tivoli with me but Edith states that I still have work to do so Jimmy has to go hungry for another half hour. I do indeed finish off my class planning and I’m in bed by 11,30. Nicola arrives in the door a minute later. We’re tired and tanned yet we talk for a while, analysing Nicola’s choice in Martinique men. Last year an American assistante, Cheryl (USA), went out with Will. And she was friends with an Irish assistante, Margaret, who happened to teach in Edith’s school. It’s funny how things come full circle, though I’m a bit circumspect about the coincidences and similar pattern of play. I hope Nicola doesn’t have too much saltwater in her eyes…
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