Business is pleasure - Vendredi, 08.12.06

Vendredi 08.12.06 Business is pleasure

It’s one of those days again. I get the bus at 6,25. It’s late and subsequently I’m late. I’m in Fort-de-France by 7,35 and had a bus come instantly I would have just been in on time for school, but no, there’s no bus until 7,55. Imagine, I could get the No.2, the No.11 or the No.29 but there’s no sign of any bus business. It’s 7,45 and I call the school to let them know I’ll be late. I get that screeching internet-connection tone three times before I try to call. No joy. I call two teachers and get their voicemail. I even call Jossylene and Karine. Pah! I’m now on the bus. My ticket is only 7 minutes out-of-date and the bata of a bus driver makes me buy a new one but not before he has interrupted a returned phone call from one of the teachers I called.

I’m in at 8,20. Just about. Eduardo is locking up. Any later and I would have had to ring the office. I mistakenly go into my second class, Dominique’s, instead of my first with Christophe. No harm done. The heat must be getting to everyone as Christophe seems to have forgotten that we had English first thing. I like to think that he did that to cover for my tardiness but I apologise and slip in the door. I spy Madame Dau in the yard but she has her back to me.

The kids are genuinely dismayed that our class is so short. I’m shocked. This is the class that are usually dull, disinterested and knackered. They have turned a corner this week and I hope it sticks… Dominique’s class is next. Madame Bois and Dominique are having a chin-way outside the door and the kids are on their best behaviour – even the wannabe dole earner. There’s one kid, Kenny, who always struggles to stand. He usually walks with a limp. His limbs are as shaky as a newborn lamb’s. During one of the exercises I get the kids to stand up. Kenny is beside the window and Dominique gets him to stand even though she usually lets him sit it out. It’s all Madame Dau’s doing. She needs some educating - 37ºC and liquid limbs do not go hand-in-hand.

The younger classes, with Madame Pamphile and Madame Edragas, are a bit restless. Madame Edragas’ are always a pleasure to teach. She’s a sweetheart. I believe that a teacher’s personality affects the children and thankfully most of them here have more positive than negative qualities.

On top of the ongoing electricity strike there’s a canteen strike. My last class is cut short as the parent’s are already here to collect their children. Most will probably not return after lunch. I ask Odile if the Recorat rang for me. No! Really! If you want anything done… I call la secretaire and get a slot for 14,00.

I’m beginning to think there’s a bus strike too as it takes a good half an hour for one to pass by. By that stage there are a lot of bodies at the bus-stop and we all jostle to get on. Guess who’s driving this bus: the narky bata from this morning. I’m as nice as pie but he’s still looks like he has been sucking lemons. Elizabeth, the other English teacher, is on the bus – as is one of her pupils. Nine-year old, Maleka, or Amanda as she has chosen for her English name, is one her way home – alone. I’m going to Pointe Simone and I escort her down the street to the bus depot. She’s a chatty, curious child: asking me where I live; who I live with; why I’m not going home for Christmas; why I’m going to Pointe Simone… I tell her I’m meeting a friend for lunch. She squeezes my arm and asks what colour my friend is. Pink. Rose. Like me, I answer. We meet Nicola and she introduces herself. I think Maleka’s taken aback by the fact that Nicola is a girl as she clams up a bit – here the name Nicola is pronounced like Nicolas. We see her across the street and saunter down the street to the canteen café for lunch. Maybe the staff here were on strike earlier: the food is lukewarm. It’s edible but not as enjoyable as usual. The electricity strike is widespread. I presume the ban marie isn’t doing it’s job. The dinner lady wouldn’t even add a spoonful of gratin to my plate – in all fairness there’s not much room for it but if the food’s cold it’s the least she could have done.

This damn EDF strike leaves a lot of people in the lurch. There’s no internet, no photocopying and no point in Nicola staying around town. Off to the bus with her. I trek up the hill to the Rectorat in the stifling heat. It would be typical that the one day there’s no point in going to work Madame l’Inspectrice is in her office but I’m glad to get a minute-meeting with her. She’s the pensive sort – in other words she lets me do all the talking. It’s fine by me. There’s trivial talk about Christmas, festivities and all that jazz and then it’s down to business about lessons, pupils, teachers and the whole school shebang. She’s pleasant though she never lets any forthcoming friendly air in – it’s more like a professional prevailing wind which cools her office.

Back at home things are heating up. The SemiFinal of Star Academy is on; Cyril and Cynthia are battling it out with James Morrison and John Legend helping them out. The Telethon is on too. I wonder how much money they’ll donate. Faisons gagner Cyril! That’s what the headlines were screaming all day. He does win this round. Martinique goes wild. Martinique grows wild. Martinquains are wide. Wide Sargasso Sea. Now that’s a book that’ll give you an insight into the mindset of these people. It has undertones of a modern, sunnier Shakespeare piece full of madness, moonlight, mystery.

Later in the evening, by the waning moonlight, Nicola and I talk on the terrace between sips of Panaché and Lorraine. We’ve got a road trip to plan. Arlette has lent us a map and the Golden Pages so we’re full of information. And as Gethin and David are coming along for the ride we’ve got a full car too.