Eurotrash - Lundi, 20.11.06

Lundi 20.11.06 Eurotrash

Today’s the day the foreign delegation from Finland, Germany, Poland and Northern Ireland come to join us at Chateauboeuf as we host this festival of cultures. Unfortunately it’s not just joy and joviality which marks the occasion – there is also tragedy... and following that, mayhem:

“Ladies and Gentlemen: We are very pleased to welcome you here today to Chateauboeuf 1 to celebrate this Cérémonie d’Ouverture Comenius with us. This inter-cultural European school project is now in its third year and I would like to take this opportunity to sincerely thank our own Madame Bois for her part in this initiative. Unfortunately Madame Bois is not with us today as her father-in-law passed away over the weekend. She is in our thoughts today as we remember both her benevolence and her bereavement…. ”

I like to think that was how Madame la Directrice addressed the pupils, teachers, staff, parents, important guests and local education figures that were present. Though, as she got to the podium I found myself indoors with Jossylene and Karine furtively translating more formal addresses.

Things were up-in-the-air in Dominique’s absence and people, including myself, were becoming like expandable elastic bands as they twisted through the building. I had been scooped from my early-morning dance practice, with the younger students, and unceremoniously lead to the staffroom where other staff members were busy blowing balloons, stringing garlands, photocopying programmes, fixing costumes and generally fussing about.

It didn’t seem to register with them that I had left my darling, green and gold clad dancers linked together in the far yard; I reckon that the instant I heard Dominique was not around the children simultaneously let go of their hands and their hopes of performing on the podium.

It was probably for the best that they didn’t get to dance. Apart from being otherwise occupied, translating ceremonial claptrap, none of the other teachers felt that they were able to take them under their wing and bring them up to the stage for a rehearsal. I protested to the decoding duo that even though my translations may get me a job in the European Commission it was disappointing that I had to surrender to dull, arse-licking adult texts instead of enjoying the flickering fun and heel-clicking of children.

Despite the initial drama and a rearranged programme everyone was in high festival spirits, and everybody seemed to enjoy the day and its activities. The following was the initial programme for the day:

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8h30: Accueil des invites en musique

Hymne à la joie chantée par les élèves du CM accompagnés par Mr Claude Césaire
Défilé des enfants sous les drapeaux européens
Mot de bienvenue de Mme la Directrice
Chant du CE2
«Dis moi comment tu dis bonjour» (Mme Thaly)
Mot de bienvenue des élèves
Chant : «Viens dans mon île» CM2
Mot de Mme la Rectrice et Mr le Maire
Danse traditionnelle : biguine
Allocutions de Mesdames les Inspectrices
«Je suis un homme» CE2
Danse irlandaise (CE2)
Sans transition lecture d’un extrait de «Retour au pays natal»
d’Aimée CESAIRE
Danse traditionnelle: mazurka
Présentation des costumes traditionnels par des petits du CP et du CE1
Remise et échange de cadeaux entre les délégations

Salsa (danse)

Mot de la Fin

Final : Chant «Manmay Soley»

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The programme pamphlet was a rather crude souvenir; WordArt had been over-used and poor Odile, the secretary and designer, nearly sweated out of her skin when I asked her why there was an American flag on the back page. This Comenius project is an inter-cultural venture between European schools so the only the stars should have been in the children’s eyes and the strips on their Madras costumes.

Many children were kitted-out in traditional costumes and gold jewellery with their hair more intricately knitted, knotted and adorned than on a regular school day. Some of the staff were also dressed in the traditional costume d’antan including la douillette which is worn form day to day by older ladies, la titane which is a bit more risqué as it drapes over bare shoulders and la grande robe, a brightly coloured, fine outfit for grand occasions which is topped-off with intricate, gold jewellery. Other ladies wore hats called coiffes with pointed flaps which symbolise the ladies availability; one point means that their heart is taken, two points indicates that they are taken but you can try your luck, three points adorn the coiffe of married women while a fourth point warns that if you’re looking for love you should go elsewhere. As the children assembled on stage to show off these various costumes I followed suit; muggings here had to translate the running commentary for the English speakers among us.

Since I was cooped up for the first half of the ceremony I was never actually introduced to the foreign delegation; but after drawing from my well of various salutations I eventually got the anticipated responses and introduced myself. I had been looking at the group from afar during the ceremony. In total there were 11; two German ladies, a Polish couple, three Irish ladies and four Finns, of which only one was a guy. I found that I had correctly guessed who the Germans and the Polish were but the Finnish and Irish contingents got mixed-up as they crossed the continental courtyard. On stage they were given local gifts of sweets and rum as well as works by Aimée Cesaire. In exchange the Germans presented the school with books and CDs for kids – even though German is not taught here it’s all in the spirit of creating awareness of other European cultures. The Polish couples brought traditional dolls while the Finnish talked about Lapland and presented a Christmas game which their pupils had made. My three Irish friends (it’s amazing how quickly the Irish bond!) brought an orange football, a bodhrán and a carved wooden figure “of Christ”. Madame La Rectrice translated back into French as each group made their offerings but the figure of Christ proved a problem; “I can not say exactly what this is but it looks like a traditional Irish statue.” I must say, that in hindsight she handled it well but I thought it sounded so outrageous at the time that I started sniggering in disbelief at what she had just said. Secular speeches and holy cows aside the opening ceremony was brought to a close as the band members sounded the sax, honked the accordion, battered the drums and broke into song with their fabulously dressed front lady warbling away to Manmay Soley.

It was just after midday by the time the crowd dispersed. The children went off with their responsables while the few parents helped pack up the costumes and set-up the food and craft stalls; a fine spread of coconut cake, pain aux épices, banana biscuits and various juices were laid out for the guests and teachers to feast on. That however, was only for starters as lunch soon came with rice, poulet grillé, légumes au pays and rhum to wash it down each gullet. Everyone was full and content though as the food dissolved so too did the formality. People were at their ease and almost at a loss of what to do. I asked some of the teachers what the evening agenda was but they seemed clueless. I felt sorry for our weary, warmed-up visitors who just sat in the dark, in the shade, when they probably just wanted to head to the beach.

I had just said my farewells when Jossylene and Karine pounced once again and started asking me in a roundabout way if I would help them with another translation. They seemed tentative in their approach and almost uncertain about what the workload was so I told them straight-out that if they asked me directly instead of pussyfooting about I would return after the break and help them. I didn’t have enough time to meet up with Nicola so I decided to explore the locality instead. William, our neighbour, had told us about a cool Cuban restaurant which merited a visit. A visit was all it got off me; expensive bottles of Beaujolais, a menu of Kangaroo and Cuckoo and waiters asking “How do you do” did not appeal to me at all. I went to a nearby boulangerie and got some treats after having sweated off the other calorified cakes.

Back at the school I was told that Dominique had returned from the graveyard; things would go on as planned. The older classes had prepared various projects on Carnival, rhum, forests, Yole Rondes… and so the visitors paired off with the children to look at the displays and partake in a quiz on Martinique’s heritage, hills and hobbies. I was designated to collect the completed sheets and so I spent the time under the canopy reading Pi. Eventually everyone assembled around to escape from the scorching sun.

I heard some of my students practising their English skills with their new friends. I felt so proud of them and my handiwork, even if the question, What age are you? was posed to some of the older ladies!

As Murphy’s Law would have it when Jossylene, Karine, Christophe and I went off to the computer lab to get the email to print out to translate for tomorrow for Mr Nazaire we met a brick wall. I read my book while they tampered with temperamental technology. The computers would turn on for an instant but only one out of the twenty machines cold function at once, and when the printer was turned on everything crashed. This happened about four times before the room became unbearably hot. “Jeez,” I thought to myself, “I’m the foreigner here and these people don’t know how to use their own reason or resources.” When something needs to be done I can only stick a certain amount of incompetence. I was sick of their tomfoolery and ineptitude, so I produced my USB key, saved the document, went of to Madame de la Directrice, used the key in her computer and printed it from there; piece of coconut cake. And peace at last. We only had to translate Mr Nazaire’s gibberish and email it to him. That was done during the remainder of the afternoon in the school and the rest of the evening in Karine’s home with herself, Jossylene, Chloë and Enzo.

Karine lives in one of those towering apartment blocks where old ladies sit nattering and knitting on the steps while tiny tots play among themselves on the path unaware of the constant gaze of their minders. Karine showed me around her flat-pack flat; it was bigger and more comfortable than it seemed. From the back balcony she drew my attention to the nearby bakery and hotel, and the sea in the distance. It was as if she felt she had to point out all the local amenities to defend or even excuse the appearance of this district; distracting me from the drabness, hoping its proximity to these splendid services would somehow lift it from the terror of the towering rubble. I wasn’t there to pass judgment. The rickety lifts, the shady stairways, the dimly-lit halls are more a product of decades of decay rather than a reflection of the present inhabitants - though the odd offensive sprawl or curb crawler surely speeds up community corrosion.

The intercom system picked up every sound in the corridor and it often interjected our conversations throughout the evening; it was really no different from listening to Arlette natter away all day. With our work done we got down to more leisurely activities and aperitifs though it was soon time to head home as a long day lay in wait ahead of us.

Jossylene offered to drop me home though her sense of direction was as obvious as the stars in the cloudy night sky. She hummed and hawed about the distance I had to travel every day and I played it up even more so. Eventually we reached the foot of my mountain lodge and I trekked home along the illuminated path to delight in the view from my own terrace lookout.