mardi 28.11.06 gone awol or gone fishing?
Umm. Something’s definitely up with the buses this week. The drivers tend to change from week to week so this one is either lost, late, lazy or just loathes his job. My knight comes along in shining silver armour. It’s Charles in his Daewoo. He’s off fishing for the day. There are clear skies ahead and no doubt he could do with a clear head after all Arlette’s mad mutterings of late. I have to tell her later that I’ve a friend staying over. But that can wait… There’s a dog trying to get on the bus in front of us. It’s rear-end is barely visible but a foot suddenly appears and whooshes it back on to the path.
I’m in just after 6,30 and decide to head to the wooden shelters along the waterfront to read my filthy book in peace. Lots of people will be milling about on the other jetties as they come off the navette from Trois-Ilets so the place will be nicely animated though I’ll pick a jetty shelter nearby but not so close as to be disturbed by the noisy navettes. Nicola got the 5,50 bus this morning as her class starts at 7,30 and last week the traffic was so bad that it was hardly worth her while going in. As I approach the jetty I spy a familiar white shirted, blonde-haired figure; it’s Nicola. We chat away and it’s no time until we have to make a move. We arrange to meet for lunch and continue on our separate ways.
Monique, the teacher I acquainted yesterday, is on the same bus as me and we chat on the way in. I start the day with Madame Bois’ CM2 class, followed by Mr Carval’s. Since both these teacher’s had an active part in last weeks foreign festivities I help their pupil’s translate the posters which the Finnish delegation brought over. I only go through one poster with each class as I’ve my own class work to get on with. Plus, by the time each student has read out a line and I’ve translated it into French the time has rolled on. I ask the children to think of what they would like to write on their own class poster for the next time we work on it and continue with Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.
Next up are Madame Pamphile’s and Madame Edragas’ CE2 classes. The children in Madame Pamphile’s class shake my hand as they file in after break saying, “Nice to meet you”. One little girl asks if she can greet me with a kiss as they do here. If she does they all will follow suit. It’s time consuming enough with the teachers and it may not be the wisest habit to pickup in a school with 400 students so I tell her it’s not my custom to do so. There’s a little deaf boy in Madame Edragas’ class and when it comes to naming parts of the face he’s the only one to know what ears are in English. He leaps up and down so much before I get him to answer that I think he’s going to unhinge his hearing-aides.
I may be finished teaching but my work for the day is not done. Madame Do informed me this morning that Dominique Bois still requests my assistance with correspondence with our foreign friends. In order to get the grant money from the big boys in the E.U for the Comeinus project each visiting school has to send off an assessment form. I translate the short but official text and make a point of telling Madame Do that I’ve done it; that should cancel out my tardiness and her wrist-tapping.
Nicola and I venture to the marché for lunch. There’s a cock-a-doodledoo tied to the railings near the café quartier but that doesn’t deter us from choosing ‘chicken’ for mains. Nicola’s still feeling out-of-sorts so she gets a chicken salad. I opt for the meal deal with ti-punch, accras and poulet grillé. I get ice-cream with my lunch and Nicola decides to indulge too. We both go for coconut but it’s that marzipan-mix which doesn’t seem have a trace of coconut. We’re served by a scrawny, hunched old lady with no teeth; it could have been her who sucked out the coconut flavour, along with her teeth. We waddle down to the Post Office and I sit in the cool, conditioned salle as Nicola inquires about a postal order to pay her HDip candidate fee.
Christmas is just around the corner. Literally. The shops are brimming with tinsel, tacky twinkling lights, spray snow and novelty neon Santa Claus figures. The most gigantic baubles I’ve ever seen are here in Martinique; if that dropped off the Christmas tree and hit you you’d have more than a dent in your pocket over the festive season. Without touching the decorations though I reckon Christmas will still leave a big enough dent in everyone’s pockets; though it’ll be worth it. My boyfriend, Fergal, Nicola’s sister, Pamela, and Pamela’s boyfriend Dan are coming over on December 28th. Pam and Dan are staying until January 8th while Fergal is staying until the 14th. We’re back to school on January 8th so I hope Fergal survives living under Madman Arlette’s roof for a week! On verra…
We’ll have to rent a car while our guests are here as we plan to get out of Fort-de-France for the time they’re over. I’m sure the odd Taxi-Co would be out to make a killing but we need wheels not wheelers and dealers. We call up to the place at Point Simone but it’s closed till 15,00. We spot a sign for location de voitures over the bridge and decide to check it out. It’s an old sign and there’s no sign of any rental place so we turn back just as a policeman advises us not to go up the road. We thank him for his information even though it’s the damn road that Nicola treks up every morning on her way to school. We then head to Europcar. Nicola drives a Seat Cordova in Ireland so she’s jumping for joy to the world when we get a quote for that. The caution is €700 and the rental is a hundred less. It starts to sound like we should have bought a car but hey, it’s Christmas, time for splurging, and the rental will be spilt five ways anyway. The guy at the desk wants us to learn Créole so if we come back with a few choice phrases maybe he’ll drop the price!?
Nicola and I go back up the dodgy road. I’m off for a close shave at the beauticians and Nic’s back to wax lyrical about Michael Jackon to her students. There are three young ladies on a stage in the salon and things are noticeably slower than usual. I was due to meet Heather back in town at 16,00 but its 17,30 by the time I’m in. I’m already late so before I catch Heather I pop into the rental place near Point Simone as it’s now open. Suzie is the lovely lady behind the counter. She’s down-to-earth and knows what I’m on about when I ask about striking a price deal as we indeed to rent the car a few times during the year. There’s a Peugeot 206, with a caution of €500, going for €460. It’s cheaper than the Seat though the seat and boot space in the Peugeot could be a problem as we’ll have five people with big bags travelling around in this car for 11 days. I take in the information, thank Suzie and scurry off to meet Heather.
Back at the ranch we feast on pizza and natter away. We eventually settle down to watch Ed TV. It’s barely watchable; it’s the beer, tiredness and company which grounds me to my seat. At least I’m content. Arlette didn’t throw a mikey-fit over Heather staying for the night, though she’d be a right spazwit if she did. If anything I think we made our peace as she talked about seeing me in the paper with Aimée Cesaire…blah-blah-blah. I tell her how three assistants have already left Martinique and how one has had a burglary, another experienced a near-kidnapping and another looked out her window to see a gloved hand going for the latch. I tell old hawk-eyes that it’s a good job she keeps an eye on the gate. I’m not cheeky. It’s just the usual banter with the oul bat. Maybe she morphs into one come midnight, and flits down to the eaves to eavesdrop on our conversation. Halloween is dead and gone…yada-yada. Well with Christmas coming maybe a turkey will be her next reincarnation.
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