Les enfants terribles - Vendredi, 10.11.06

Vendredi 10.11.06 Les enfants terribles

It’s one of those days. It’s Friday and everyone’s looking forward to the weekend; and by the end of the morning nobody is relishing their Friday freedom more so than I am. My first class is with Mr. Carval’s CM2 kids. As per usual the trainee teacher, Aurore, from the IUFM is there instead of Christophe. This morning however, Mr. Nazer is looking in on the class. I recognise him as the Indian guy who we had at the Stage. I present myself to him and tell him I remember him. He’s not there to scrutinise me but by the end of the class I wish he had paid more attention to my class, or rather to their rowdy behaviour.

I continue with numbers and the corresponding words like I did the day before with the other CM2 classes. The desks have been rearranged in such a way that the brats are up the front. The only time they silence themselves is when they’re asked to make up team names; a group of three girls and seven boys are unwittingly called Bad Girls and the others make up Brazil. At least nobody gets injured but by the end of the class I just feel fed up of this lazy bunch and their talkative ways.

The Messers constantly get up to look out the window and I make two of them stand there for the remainder of the class. A lone runner glides up to the board and I place it in the bin. I also confiscate a pair of scissors and a diary and I place them in front of Aurore as the class ends, saying: “…des petits cadeaux”. She looks at me puzzled, unaware of the disturbances I’ve had during the class as Mr. Nazer and her were flirting/chatting down the back. She suddenly goes to the window asking the two boys to sit down. They don’t move and I explain that I put them there. Now I’ve got everyone’s attention I end with 1. 2. Put on my shoe. I’m surprised I muster up enough resolve to stand there in front of those loons, but I do. I get the class to repeat it and as class is over I gather my things and head to the toilets for a good cry… only joking, I go to the principal’s office. No I don’t go there either. I just sit in the sun, count to 10 (or it could have been 12), and gather myself before heading to Dominique’s class.

Dominique goes out mid-way during the class. Of course we’ve only started the listen and touch game and as the Foxes and the Pumas battle it out the noise increases. They’re just kids and only being competitive but the charming Mr. Claude Duval pops around the corner and they soon settle. After that I begin to deduct points for undue noise and I then try a silent version of the game where I hold up my hands instead of calling out the numbers.

The CE2 classes are angels. Even though some of them don’t have their images or copies I don’t mind scuttling around drawing stick men. We eventually get around to the Irish dancing and I tell them to practice, practice, and practice some more in the yard.

Elizabeth and I get a lift with Dominique into town and she tells us about the agenda for the following week as we have the foreign teachers to entertain. On the bus home I settle at the back of the bus. A group of lads sit down near me and the guy who goes to sit beside me checks me and waits for me to check him back before sitting down; check is when you salute someone by knocking knuckles. It’s odd but it puts an amused smile on my face.

I chat to another neighbour at our bus stop. It turns out it’s his birthday and I wish him well. It’s Kyla’s tomorrow too but it sounds like we could have some logistical problems as it’s a public holiday. I talk to Arlette and Charles, telling them about our trip and I ask about the CAF documents that Arlette is to supply. Charles said that he came down to invite me to soirée but I must have been asleep. I thank them and add that I’ll soon show them some of our travel pictures. Arlette says she’ll have the documents for Monday and later comes down to measure the flat - she averages it at 90m² not the 70m² Nicola and I had measured! She frowns at Nicola’s postcards stuck on the door and gasps at the assortment of photos and posters stuck on the wall – she’s concerned about the blutack leaving marks. Oh, pleeeeeze. The colourful collection of beer bottles and the absence of the sticky couch cover also send her into a flutter. I assure her that the washed bottles do not attract mosquitoes and add that the couch cover was uncomfortable.

I later lounge on the coverless couch with chocolate and the remote; Friday night TV consists of a nail-biting episode of Prison Break and a Star Academy showdown. I’ll be up early tomorrow for a day out of Fort-de-France so I soon slip into bed and shut down for the night.