Lundi 04.12.06 Deck the Hall
I eventually get up at 5,30. Nicola is just out the door to catch the 5,50 bus. My bus does arrive this morning. I’m in school in good time; ready for a new working week. Madame la Directrice is in a conference today so Madame Caruge is not present in my first class as she’s acting deputy principal and has to run the show. To get everyone motivated we get up and sing Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. We then recap on the different ways to introduce ourselves using our name and age, and now our country of origin.
I come from Ireland. I come from Martinique.
You come from Martinique. You come from Ireland.
Where do you come from?
I’m nearly at pains to explain that this phrase refers to a country and not a nationality but it eventually hits home. Some of the older kids have obviously previously learnt – I’m from Martinique, and they stick in I’m come from Martinique. From also takes many forms – flum, frulum, froam, and it takes some repetition to iron out that mispronunciation. Some of the students are good at prompting one another and so that helps. And some kids use their initiative and use their own place of origin such as Haiti, Saint Lucia and Washington.
In groups of three or four I get them to introduce themselves to one another using their name and the newest acquired question and answer. Claude is very good at helping out but in Madame Caruge’s class they resort to chatting in French when I’ve moved on. It’s to be expected so I pounce between tables and quiz them.
Since I was previously shocked that some of the kids could not locate Martinique or even America on the map I’ve decided to incorporate this into the lesson. I’ve made tickets with the names of different countries; America. Australia. Britain. Martinique. Dominica. Ireland. France. Spain. Jamaica. I give one out to each kid and get them to come up individually and introduce themselves using their new country of origin. I ask each child: Where is America? Where is Dominica? Where is Ireland? They have to locate the country by pointing to it and repeating: This is America. This is Dominica. This is Ireland. They also use various tickets in their dialogue groups and swap them among themselves.
As each child now has three tickets I get them to pair off and guess where the other comes from; Do you come from America? Do you come from Dominica? They reply using Yes. I come from America or No. I come from Dominica, as it applies to their tickets. I only try this with Madame Caruge’s class as I realise it’s too much too soon. Not only that but at the same time another teacher appears at the door with four young children; their teacher is out today and for insurance reasons they have to be placed in a classroom. I explain that I shouldn’t even be teaching on my own and that I’m not prepared to baby-sit… though I don’t need to worry about that because about five of Madame Caruge’s pupils start to fuss over the young ones. There’s too much noise, it’s too much of a distraction and not enough concentration so I stand there with my hands on my hips until they calm down. They do but not for long as another student gets up and starts to talk to the young kids. I tell the babies to take out something to read and I tell the wayward student to sit down. He doesn’t despite his classmates protests. I won’t put up with that so I tell everyone to fold their arms and sleep - as if I was babysitting them. Go to sleep: I write on the board. It works. Silence. Some grumbles are heard though they stay like that for the last ten minutes of class until I’ve to go.
Madame Caruge is nowhere to be seen so I head to the secretary, Odile, to tell her that someone has to supervise the class. She locks up the office and I tell her about their distractive behaviour. I’m setting up for my next class with Claude when Odile reappears. She tells me that Madame Caruge wants to see me. By the time I’ve crossed the yard I’ll be late but Claude’s class are only returning from P.E so I’ve some time. Man, now I need to pee. Madame Caruge is spitting fire. Her class are definitely getting an earful. I feel sorry for her. Her class is usually so good, so attentive but they were attentive to the wrong people. “This is the first and the last time that this will happen,” she hisses at them and threatens them with sanctions. I don’t get a class apology but I’ve no time to linger. I excuse myself adding that I’ll now be late for my next class. As I head off I can still hear her nipping at their minds like a vicious dog.
Claude’s class are a dream. The unruly chap, Greg, is not there so maybe that’s all they need – no nonchalant nonsense. I eventually get to spend the last 15 minutes doing a sondage on métiers. I stick up a picture of a nurse, builder, farmer, dancer, singer, policeman and footballer with the relevant words. Each child gets a chance to come up and tell the class what they want to be:
I ask: What do you want to be when you grown up?
They reply: I want to be a ______________.
I put a mark beside each job and we tot them up at the end. Some have compiled a whole list of occupations. I ask them to choose one. There’s the usual selection of footballers, hairdressers and singers. There’s also a variety of future teachers; geography, French, maths and history. One girl wants to be a journalist and one guy wants to be a Formula 1 driver.
Alwin’s class are a bit more chatty than usual. One little guy is asked to stand up for a few minutes as he seems to like hopping out of his chair so much. I only choose five different tickets to simplify the lesson for these younger kids. They also don’t pair up for dialogues as it would involve too much movement – there’s over thirty of them. As for the professions they stick pretty much to the seven flashcards I stick on the board. One or two want to know what a vétérinaire (vet) or a chauffeur de bus (bus driver) is so I add them to the list. One little girl picks one job from her list of six. She aspires to be a canteen-lady. You can’t turn your nose up at their choices and I nod my head reassuringly at each of them.
Madame Thaly is in today. There is one ambulance driver, one singer, two policemen, two non-specified teachers, two farmers, three hairdressers, four nurses, four footballers and four wannabe cowboys in her class.
Nicola has been having a similar discussion with her pupils about role reversal nowadays. One of her classes is appalled at the thought of a man being a house-husband. It’s unheard of; they declare they’ve never heard of it and totally denounce it as a role. Only this morning I saw a man on the bus with a baby strapped to his front. He also had a shopping bag, a baby bag and a bum bag. He managed to unhook the baby carrier and lay the baby girl on her back across his knees for the duration of his journey, and before he got off he managed to get assembled again. Such tenderness, such ease and such dexterity; and such a contradiction to the pigeonholed views of those Lycée students. Never mind that the baby seemed to be a caramel colour and he was as black as coal. Perhaps he was the babysitter.
I meet with Nicola and Chloe in town for lunch. Chloe said her boyfriend, eh, husband actually, was not happy with her going out on Saturday so she stayed in. Whipped. She’s from the Metropole and her man, Pilly, is Martiniquan. She does observation studies in Lycée Schoelcher where Nicola teaches. We bring her to the all-you-can-eat canteen restaurant. Pilly rings her halfway through the meal and she tells him who she’s with, where she is, what she’s eating, what she’s thinking and when she’ll be back with the car. “You’re under-the-thumb my French friend,” I think to myself. I only thought that happened to guys - another role reversal of sorts I suppose.
Nicola and I have more car rental inquiries to make so we wave goodbye and leave her wavering at Pointe Simone (she’s even scared to be in that area with us and earlier with Nicola she insisted on driving to the multi-storey car park instead of just walking down the hill into town!). With more car info under our wings we decide to stock up on Christmas decorations. We blow €12 on some garlands, tinsel and inflatable Santa’s. Back at home I have a field day putting them up. We nicknamed the Santa’s as Nic (after Nicola and St. Nick) and Roo (after Rupe and Rudolph). They’re a bit full of hot air and so are we after a few bevvies on the terrace. Nic has bought some herbal teas but we stick to the beer blends instead.
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