Don’t dare call me Jade - Jeudi 16.11.06

Jeudi 16.11.06 Don’t dare call me Jade – it’s for your own good

It’s 5,45. We’re in Arlette and Charles’ home signing the CAF documents. I’m relieved to see the correct forms have been purchased and presented – that must have set Arlette back by at least €30. She goes off on a ramble about why she wrote a particular clause at the back – I presume it’s to save our backs as well as hers. We ask if we can stay until the end of April without paying an additional week’s rent and of course she’s alls nods and smiles without actually saying the words we want to hear. We may not stay here past then as the summer months may be better spent au bord de la mer - we’ll see how things pan out.

I was set to tell Arlette how unreasonable her request is for visitors to fork out, but I let it pass as I’ve to get the bus. Plus, I’ve decided to run it past her gigolo first – it was William, our Belgium neighbour, who contacted us on Arlette’s behalf while we were still in Ireland. Nicola and I are convinced he told us it was fine to have friends over. My argument is that this extra cost was not indicated initially. And despite it being probable that we may have to fork out for extra people, we feel that €150 a week is an extortionate amount especially when we already rent the place. It seems greed is the only motivation behind this request. It was Arlette herself who told us that she is “not a business”; but her manner is certainly money-orientated. And she calls herself a Christian. Pah! I quizzed her as to what the €150 covered: bed, lighting and water. Water is the only rate I could see reason with. The lights will be on no matter if two or twenty people are present and paying for the bed when we already rent the place is just ridiculous. On the contract it says that this apartment is only suitable for two people, so would it not be Nik and I who suffer if people stay? The damn place isn’t even air-conditioned, and there’s no fan supplied. I know rightly that another body, or two, makes for a restless night’s sleep. If two people stayed for the week it’d be best to rent out the place next door as it’s advertised on the internet at €300 per week (though that’s another story…)! If anybody out there has any advice or comments please feel free to pass them on before we get bamboozled!

Nik and I have a right old rant about this as she walks me up to the bus stop. She’s still in her PJs and she ambles back to bed as I head to school. I photocopy our precious documents; sacrificing time that I had planned on preparing for class.

Madame la Directrice asks me how the children are getting on with their foreign phrases. I tell her I’m not prone to Finnish pronunciation even though she advises I guess it. I add that I know someone who could help me and she lets me use the phone as I try to phone my Finnish friend Jarno. At first however, she protests by saying that her card is used up and the phone doesn’t work. I produce a call card and she sends another teacher into the office to help me use it. I voice my disbelief that she’s actually making me pay for the call when I’m doing it on her behalf. The teacher empathises with a knowing look. I haven’t much good to say about some Martiniquans at the moment; the words conniving and con come to mind.

Money is however, the catchphrase for the day. Today, with my older students, I’m introducing currencies and we’re going to play shop with some priced items I brought in. I wanted to borrow an apron from one of the responsables but it’s no time until the bell rings for class.

The kids seem to grasp numbers pretty quickly and we cover, and concentrate on, numbers 1-30 in preparation for our BINGO game. I explain how simple it is to count in English when you know the stems and we soon touched on numbers 40-100. 50 Cent helps some of the kids remember the midway mark although 100 is often mistaken as being tenty! Mr Duval doesn’t partake in the BINGO game. For once he’s occupied with correcting copies. After two exciting games I introduce more gaming vocab: winner, runner-up, runners-up and their corresponding positioning of 1st, 2nd and 3rd are also highlighted, and we clap as I announce each triumphant gamer.

Madame Caruge decides to be a sport and joins in on a round. Her class have some difficulties with thirteen and thirty but she explains to them that this is the reason we play games such as this – to listen, recognise and understand spoken English.

We work on different currencies and prices using numbers 1-30 for the second part of the class (which actually only occupies the last ten minutes since everyone went bonkers for BINGO). I have some currency signs but they’re too small and lose their stickiness so I just use different coloured chalk to show the €, £ and $ signs. They know about the € and $ but £ is foreign to them; I enlighten them as to where it is used. They can not pronounce the word euro to save their lives. Uro. Eoro. Auro. I write the words euro(s), dollar(s) and pound(s) on the board and moving swiftly on I illustrate some prices, hand out labelled items and ask them to find the price.

How much is it? I ask.
They reply: It costs €7. It costs $30. It costs £3.50.

We run through the names of these items:
a book, a toothbrush, a top, a ticket, Blutack, a receipt, an umbrella.
I then get them to repeat: It is a book. It is a top. It is a ticket.

I then ask: How much is the book? How much is the top? How much is the ticket?
To which they reply: It is $3. It is €7. It is £3.50.

It’s soon time to close shop. I scurry off to the library to gather my musical accompaniments for Irish dancing with the younger classes. I spy Jossylene in the yard and she’s over to me in a flash with requests for translations. The older kids are creating projects on the craft industry in Martinique which will be displayed next week at the cultural exchange. I weave my way through texts about wickerwork and basket making only to find another teacher, Christophe, waiting for me to help out with a jungle of rainforest and topography terms. I’m glad to be of service, though if I were a shrewd Martiniquan Madame I’d probably spring a fee on them ASAP!

There’s a practise assembly for next week’s festivities so I only have half an hour with each of my younger classes. It suffices because between the heat and all the movement they start to wane, and whine. Madame Acina’s class are a frail bunch. They squirm and flail about with or without the accompanying music. It is my first proper dance class with Madame Thaly’s group as she was out on Monday. She seems concerned that they are not ready but in fairness I don’t think they ever would be; let’s just hope their toothy grins and cute ways win over the crowds.

I head into town to meet Nicola for lunch. I’m early and so I head to Le Pavillon Bougenot at Rue Victor Sévère which is an annexe to Bibliothèque Schoelcher on Rue de la Liberté. Le Pavillon Bougenot is a digital public place which houses the Espace Presse et Documentation (The Press and Documentation Department), Espace Culture Multimédia (The Multimedia and Cultural Department) and Espace Déficients Visuels (Department for the Visually Impaired). I sit in the cool reading salon and pour over Time magazine and Cosmopolitan before deciding I’m getting chilblains. It’s scorchio outside and I keep to the shady side-streets as I make my way to our midday meeting spot.

I spy an interesting new place for lunch. It’s reasonably priced and as it’s set-out like a canteen you can see what you’re getting. Nic and I both go for poulet grille with lentils. As a side I opt for légumes pays (fruit de pain and banana-jaune) while Nic takes rice. At only €8 with a drink it’s the cheapest, tastiest, most filling lunch yet. Though, I’m surprised they don’t have snails on the menu as the service is that sloooow. We chance getting another coffee but it takes three people 5 minutes to get us a café and cappuccino – though taste wise they’re worth the wait. The only downside is that there are too many English speaking natives who constantly butt-in on our conversation to ask how we are, where we’re from and if we enjoyed our meal; there’s a cruise ship in the port today so they obviously think we’re tourists.

Nicola notes that our chatty meal-mates are a lot more talkative than Charles was this morning. It turns out that Nic’s bus didn’t come this morning but Charles drove by and gave her a lift. Over the past few days Madame Arlette has been cleaning out the apartment next door so Nicola asked Charles when our new neighbours are arriving. He admitted that someone was coming but he didn’t answer her question about their arrival date…On verra.

It’s almost 14,30 and we’ve a rendezvous at the CAF HQ on Rue Gabriel Peri. Madame Sangri, from the CAF workshop, is there to help us make up our portfolios. She is very pleasant and helps us through the realms of documents. I tell her of my concern for a colleague whose landlady is making outlandish, additional payment requests. She says that it is not unheard of, especially with a location saisonnière although she adds that the additional cost is quite high. Later on, as we’re waiting for an estimate of our CAF refund, we find a notice board with lodgings in Tivoli Post-Colon at €650 per person. We joke that it’s probably the apartment next door to us or more realistically the place up the road with the pool. We take an online CAF assessment which estimates a return of €130 on a monthly rent of €375; that means we could get a nice lump sum back after 7 months. The usual amount for successful CAF candidates is 40% of their monthly rent so we’re not far off. However, we won’t know if we qualify for it for another three months. There are numerous things to be considered, which determine the amount you get and most importantly whether you receive anything at all. Location, living arrangements, size of lodgings, occupation, and salary are all taken into account.

If our food expenditure were also considered I’m sure we’d be due money from the CAF. It’s time to stock up again and we head to Leader Price which seems cheaper than Hyper U. We pay €100 for two bulging baskets of goods and groceries. We have to surrender the ice-cream as we’re getting the bus home and it would end up running down the hill after us.

One cat who does look like she got the cream is Cat, an English girl who knows Angela. Nic and I are browsing through the cereals when a local guy approaches us and asks us where we’re from. He is shopping with Cat and they introduce themselves. Cat is studying French, Créole, and something similar to Anthropology, in Schoelcher and her friend says he’s studying law near Chateauboeuf. He’s quite good looking but he gazes at us as if in awe at hearing English. We exchange numbers and return to our brimming baskets at the muesli aisle.

Our bags are almost bursting and my arms are aching as we trek up the road to the bus stop. We see the bus zip by and decide to stop for refreshments as we wait for the next one. A lady stops us in the street and asks if she can help us out. We thank her saying we’re fine. Once she’s gone Nicola verbalises what I was thinking – that she’d charge for helping us. Perhaps Madame could help us from turning so cynical?!

As the bus comes I take up my box of beans and greens. Nicola mentions that my friend is on the bus. I immediately think of John, our neighbour, and when someone tugs on my hair I think it’s him being flirty. But when I turn around I see three dudes behind me. They’ve just turned around but I know it was one of them. I shout out a curse in Créole as they waltz down the road; Kookie-Mama. I hear one of them call me a jeune salope as I get on the bus. Lucky I had my load or my hands may have gone past their stringy braids and straight for their scrawny necks. We sit up the front as there’s a space there for our buys. The bus doesn’t move off for a while and this gives one of the lads enough time to come onboard and chat me up. He asks if he can come to the party (he spied the beer). I just ignore him and talk to Nicola behind me. The bus moves on leaving him behind but now it’s the bus driver’s turn to turn around and smile, chat and leer at us at every traffic light.

Back at home we still manage to add men into our conversation; I’ve to catch up on what I missed at home in Ireland and that involves a lot of in-depth gossiping about guys. Whether it’s my boyfriend Fergal, Nicola’s ex, class mates, or other chaps, they get mentioned. Another Fergal crops up. He’s a college chum and he made a DVD to commemorate the past four years of college. Nic and I settle down to watch it. We get a good few laughs though I’m aghast to find that I’ve been nominated as the person most likely to become a Big Brother contestant; I thought that was Nicola. I don’t know what way to take that but I’ll get those survey results and track down the perpetrators and give them some suggestions of my own!! I head to bed light-headed and light-hearted and soon abandon my search for hidden-cameras.