HAIL CESAIRE - Jeudi 23.11.06

Jeudi 23.11.06 HAIL CESAIRE

What a racket. It’s the one day I should get a lie-in but the constant shuffling about, rattling of plastic bags, banging of doors and turning of taps leaves me very much awake. Dene’s headache from last night seems to have lifted with the morning fog but I soon begin to think my own head will explode from all the hurried commotion. James scurries after the girls as they hurry to make the 6,20 bus.

There’s no end to the downpour this morning either. The sky erupts. Only when the giant taps in the sky begin to trickle do I decide to venture to the bus stop. Such dismal weather hinders the traffic flow more than usual so when a TaxiCo stops up the road I don’t think twice about taking a lift. I’ve never seen a TaxiCo on our road before but the driver, Gerard, is on his way to Point Simone to start work. He takes a shortcut across from Post-Colon to Tivoli and the mini-van then lurches up a side-road until we find ourselves at the Sacré Coeur de Balata. The road is deserted and we climb higher up the road until he shoots down another route where we find ourselves stuck in line for 20 minutes as we nudge our way back on to the main road. His roundabout route probably shaved 20 minutes off our queuing but the erratic driving and breakneck bends nearly shaved 20 years off my life. We drop a lady and her child off at Didier and pick up another couple further along the way. The driver doesn’t charge anyone and I don’t offer anything. I’m dropped off in town at 7,50 – only half an hour after being picked-up. The town is already bustling. It’s as noisy as a plastic bag full of flies feasting on Denny rashers pickled in St. James rhum…

I go for hot-chocolate in Linas Café. The service is slow, the hot-chocolate is terrible, and terribly expensive - €3.60 for a cup of brown crap. I soon meet up with the tourist troupe at the waterfront. Jossylene rings me to say the kids and teachers are a bit en retard. Today we’re having a rallye around Fort-de-France with two of the CM2 classes. Madame Caruge, Madame Bois and a parent, Carol, soon arrive with the forty-odd kids as I’ve just started taking group photos for the foreigners – little do we know that there’ll be plenty of time to flash and grin later on…

I had an inside track on the rallye clues but I’m pitched into a team with Carol, Ciara, from Ireland, and five kids. We start at 9,00 and have to be at clue No. 8 by 10,00. It’s more rewarding that I had initially thought. And even though I know the locations I still learn a lot from Carol’s commentary and our wayward wandering often proves fruitful:

A la découverte de Fort-de-France, ville capitale


1.) Située en face de la place Monsigneur Romero je suis le monument le plus imposant de la ville (40m de haut). Je suis célèbre pour ses orgues. Saint-Louis veille sur moi.

Relève ma date de construction.

Situated overlooking Place Monsigneur Romero I am the most striking monument; not only because I stand 40 metres tall but also because inside you will find the magnificent Saint-Louis organ which is sure to awaken all your senses.

In what year was I constructed?

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2.) Y’ai été construite en 1925 à la mémoire des foyalais victimes de la guerre 1914-1918, puis des guerres 1938-45, d’Indochine 1946-54 et d’Algérie 1954-62 et d’ai-je suis je peux admirer la plus belle baie de Caraïbes.

I was erected in 1925 in memory of the Foyalais victims of WWI (1914-1918). I also commemorate those lost in WWII (1938-45), the war in Indochina (1946-54) and the Algerian War (1954-1962). And, from where I stand I take in the wonderful view of the most beautiful bay in the Caribbean.

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3.) Je suis le plus ancien monument de Fort-de-France, construit en roches volcaniques de la Montagne Pelée. Je suis une construction où des hommes vêtus de blanc cohabitent avec les reptiles tout de vert vêtus.

I am the oldest monument in Fort-de-France. I am constructed from volcanic rock from Mount Pelée. My unique situation means that men dressed in white live in harmony with reptiles decked out in green.

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4.) Dessinée par un contemporain de Gustave Eiffel, mon dôme intérieur ainsi que mes murs extérieurs sont décores de 52 noms d’auteurs, de philosophes et de figures politiques des XVIII et XIXième siècle. Je porte le nom d’un célèbre défenseur de la liberté.

Relève le nom de 3 auteurs.

Designed by a contemporary of Gustave Eiffel, the inside of my dome, as well as my external walls, are decorated with the names of 52 authors, philosophers and political figures from the 18th and 19th century. I am named after a famous defender of freedom.

Name three authors whose names are found on my walls.


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5.) Construite au début du XXième siècle pour remplacer le «palais du gouverneur», mes façades sont inspirées du «petit Trianon de Versailles». Je suis un bâtiment en béton tout blanc. On ne peut me visiter. Je suis la propriété de l’Etat.

This building was built at the start of the 20th century to replace the previous wooden building of the «palais du gouverneur». The façade is inspired by that of the «Petit Trianon de Versailles». I am a white concrete building. Unfortunately, tourists are not allowed to visit me. I am state property.

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6.) Construite par le fondateur de l’usine sucrière du galion, à la fin du XIXième siècle. Je suis un bijou architectural et suis aujourd’hui la maison de l’Internet. La police n’a qu’un pas à faire vers moi.

Built by the founder of the Galion sugar factory in Trinité at the end of the 19th century I am an architectural jewel. Today I house the departmental multimedia-cyber space. The police headquarters are only a stone’s throw away!

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7.) Dans ma cour se dresse la statue de Victor Schoelcher accompagné d’un enfant sur le chemin de l’Education. Je suis ferme au public mais à l’époque j’attirais beaucoup de curieuse même venaient assister aux audiences.

Relève la phrase célèbre inscrite au bas de cette statue.

In my courtyard there stands a statue of Victor Schoelcher, accompanied by a child on his journey into education. I am closed to the public but there was a time when I attracted numerous, curious visitors.

What is the famous phrase that is engraved at the base of this statue?

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By the time we reach Victor Schoelcher and his protégé we all realise why we will soon be assembling at the Ancien Théâtre. We have a morning matinée with Aimée Cesaire; the famous Martiniquan poet, humanist and former deputy mayor of Fort-de-France.

8.) Théâtre ouvert en 19ième. Je suis au milieu d’un parterre fleuri agrémente de jets d’eau. La sobriété de la décoration intérieure, sa salle à l’italienne et son espace d’exposition ajoutent au raffinement.

This theatre was opened in the 19th century. You will find me in the middle of a pretty flower-lined lawn, surrounded by fountains. My fine decoration, Italian-styled interior and classy exhibition space add a touch of refinement.

Mr Cesaire is a remarkable man of significant national and worldwide standing. It is a doubly memorable occasion as it was announced today that Aéroport Lamentin will be know known as Aéroport Aimée Cesaire – this will officially come into effect on January 16th.

At 93 years of age Aimée Cesaire is still able to hold court and face the crowds. He tells us that despite putting pen and paper aside his hunger for a clearer insight and understanding of civilization has not disappeared. He initially asks what has brought this foreign delegation to Martinique but he soon moves on to a more profound line of enquiry. He calls Martinique the “little lost rock in the middle of the ocean”. He poses many questions about identity, and asks whether today’s generation, in Martinique and elsewhere, are conscious of their real heritage or whether history is been speedily covered up by a pressing need to create a new identity, however superficial. Are these school children aware of the painful past, the damning history and the true roots of their culture and this civilisation?

Muggins here is seated on Mr Cesaire’s left-hand side. Jossylene is on the right and between us we translate his words of wisdom. Mr Cesaire often talks for minutes on end before we get a word in edgeways but there’s really no need to hurry him along: we’re in the presence of greatness and his intriguing, insightful ramblings nearly need no translation; everyone is wrapped in awe and his words seem to evoke an implicit, yet universal, understanding.

As his thoughts become more profound Jossylene’s eyes become wider; it is I who endeavour to interpret and breakdown his earnest expressions. It’s not at a daunting or foreboding experience. In fact as I sit in my wicker chair unravelling these reflections I revel in the numerous intense stares and pondering gazes of those who reap my words. From time to time he looks at me as he speaks, as if personally addressing me, and he often openly places his left hand on my folded hands. It’s a demonstrative human touch, a simple human contact which speaks fathoms to me; when he grasps my hand I feel like I grasp the essence of what he is saying.

The floor is soon open. Not many questions follow. People slowly awake from the rapture. There are many comments about what an honour it is to be in Martinique, to savour this culture, to meet Mr Cesaire and to be future ambassadors of this tiny island. In a quiet moment that follows a parting word from Mr Cesaire about humanity being universal yet individuals, everyone starts clapping in unison. Each foreign group then approaches Mr Cesaire to give him their thanks and their presents. I think he’s most pleased with the cup from Cologne; its practical simplicity brings a smile to his face whereas the fussy German recipe book, the glossy Finnish hardback, the shiny plaque from Newry and the unusual paperweights from Poland only cause confusion. It once again becomes apparent that he’s an old man – not delicate but elderly, unused to this particular fluttering.

His aide, Joelle, is a matron-like woman and she has a harder approach. She tries to bundle Mr Cesaire off to his back office and failing that she shoos the children and nattering natives out of the room while Mr Cesaire launches into book-signing. The foreigners have brought their Cahier d’un retour au pays natal with them. During the rallye I nipped off and bought three of his works. Including his previously mentioned first masterpiece I also got a theatrical work titled La tragédie du roi Christophe and a collection of poems, Moi, laminaire… Two out of three are signed and it’s only when Joelle notices that they differ from the Cahiers that she puts an end to his frantic scribblings. He protests. He declares that he must add Fort-de-France, 23 novembre 2006. He doesn’t have time to add any profound penning but his black sprawl is a lasting symbol of la génération de la Négritude - though his inscriptions are almost as hard to decipher as his works themselves.

As Mr Cesaire scribbles away flashes flicker, zooms whoosh, mechanisms whirr and buttons click-click-click-click incessantly. Mr Ceasaire is never once asked to pose but Madame Do, Madame Marianne and the adjoint marie, Raymond Saint-Louis Agustin make up it for it. Mr Agustin is the deputy Mayor. Serge Letchimy is the mayor. Mr Letchimy may not be sharing this occasion with us today but we will share page 6 of tomorrow’s edition of France-Antilles with him. This evening’s 7pm news on both RTO and Tempo show footage of our meeting with Mr Cesaire. Another channel, KMT has a weekly round-up Ils ont dit, elles ont dit… with a broadcast of Monday’s festival and Madame Do providing the running commentary. I’m there too in all my pasty glory with the kids parading on stage in their various costumes.

Our exploration of Fort-de-France would not be complete without a march to the market:

9.) Il ne faut rater sous aucun prétexte les dédales sous mon grand toit pour sentir vivre la ville. Vous en garderez un merveilleux souvenir et vous aurez l’avantage de faire provision de couleurs, de senteurs et de fruits exotiques, en plus d’épices, de fleurs et gourmandises locales.

In order to get a real taste of life here make sure not to miss out on a visit to the maze of merchandise which lies beneath my roof. Here you will take in the wonderful colours, smells and exotic fruits as well as many different spices, flowers and local products.


The director of the market and Francis, a stall owner, show us around the stands before we spread out to do our own thing. Some of the visitors are delighted to pick up spices, vegetables and other nick-nacks. We’re brought upstairs where a spread of cakes, fruit and drinks have been laid out for us.

Paula from Finland notes that they should have brought their reindeer meat here for a cultural market exchange. But before we tear into the food like starving bulls and bears we have to endure a lengthy homily about the Martiniquan economy. We’re told how although they may not have many worthy wares they gladly offer these gifts to us “from their heart”. What’s that? Another gif, eh?! The violins should be whining at this stage but the rumbles of our stomachs would drown them out. After having my fill of pudding, cake, buns and biscuits I go for the coconut punch. Larhy, from Finland, and André, from Poland, join me in finishing the bottle and we nearly miss out on more gift giving; we’re each given a gift from the market. For the most part they’re tacky, dust-collectors and other strange ornaments that haven’t managed to sell in the past decade but we’re grateful nonetheless.

That’s us done for the day. Some of the visitors head to La Galleria for a more cosmopolitan shopping experience but I say my thankyous and farewells before heading home to catch up on lost sleep.