Mardi 16.01.07 Peg Leg
I’m in zombie mode today as tiredness transforms my body into a walking-talking mort-vivant. I should really go to bed earlier on school nights. I didn’t turn off the lights until midnight so I’m paying of my nocturnal on-goings. Thankfully today is not so taxing. After passing on two lifts into town – one from our new neighbours and another from Arlette’s friend – I finally get the 6,20 into town. They must have thought it strange that I didn’t hop in but my explanation; that I wanted to collect my thoughts, must have seemed more odd than offensive. I’m beginning to think I was mad to pass on a comfortable backseat jaunt when I find myself sandwiched between the window and an overindulgent woman who isn’t too liberal with her eau-de-toilette. That’s only the first bus. The second bus holds a smelly toddler. The sheer intensity of pained concentration on the child’s face matches the stench that follows. There may as well be a pile of pooh in the aisle. I smile apologetically at the mother beside me. It wouldn’t do for me to kick up a stink too.
Madame Thaly seeks me out like a missile the moment I set foot in the library. There’s no bad blood between us after yesterdays appeal but it becomes clear that herself and Madame Dau are not on the same side. Within two minutes I’ve reinstated myself to teach CE2 B. It’s unfair on the compliant children to cancel their class and the main perpetrators will miss out if they continue their silliness.
Today it’s the CM2 crowd who are acting up. I’m relieved to see it’s all happening before I set foot in the classroom but the level of viciousness among some of these 11-year olds is frightening to me and clearly upsetting to the teachers. On the extreme end of things we have verbal aggressiveness in the form of personal attacks on someone’s looks and actions; this happens in Dominique’s class. The perpetrator is cautioned but their backchat, Dominique tells me, is worthy of punishment; transcribing the dictionary is a start I guess.
Blood is still boiling in this class as I take to the stage. Since some of the children already say my act yesterday when they were mingled with other classes, I introduce a new exercise where they secretly choose two animals and work in pairs to find out which animals the other has. Do you have a cat? Do you have a hamster? Do you have a horse? Inter-group rivalry is evident as different pairs race oneanother to find out who is the quickest at guessing. It may sound petty, even innocently childish, but the tones, looks and whispers which follow are as menacing as they’re meant to be. The kids like a challenge and I try to break the tension with a variation of Head, shoulders, knees and toes as we omit the word head for the first few goes and eventually succeed without knobbly knees as well.
Christophe’s class seem to be giving him grief too though their inactivity is at the other end of the bad behaviour spectrum. Christophe’s usually the least flustered teacher, but not today. I hover around the door before entering while he scolds them for being lazy, sluggish and unresponsive. The charades seem to reinstall their interest as they excitedly conjure up scenarios. Some of the kids are so expressive and even a simple breakfast scene is hilarious to watch. One scenario takes place in a vet’s clinic. The girl who is the vet loves animals but I’m surprised to hear that she doesn’t actually have any pets. As well as the usual collection of cats and dogs six pupils have turtles as pets and one boy wants a boa constrictor.
The younger kids, in Madame Pamphile’s and Madame Edragas’ class are just as inventive. I’m entertained by cowboys, sheriffs and a mort-vivant (waking dead) in one scene. I’m told it corresponds to evening time as the sun is setting when the cowboys have their showdown. There is also morning-time dog-walkers, a circus matinee and an evening swim to follow. There are some real actors in Madame Edragas’ class. We’re treated to a spectacular night-time mime where the father catches his son sneaking out to a club after the father is alerted by the cat. Two breakfast scenes are also served up with one father being constantly reminded by the mother that its time to bring the kids to school. The other group have a dog who steals the show, and someone’s breakfast!
I meet Monique and Elizabeth at the bus-stop. Elizabeth seems to be having a bad day. I sympathise with her and tell her about my recent Monday morning pigheadedness. I find out from her that another assistant has left; another American. Elizabeth adds that she doesn’t know if the assistant was fired or not. I find it hard to believe that any assistant would be fired but its not improbable.
Nicola and meet up at Rond Point to dine on roasted chicken, pureed potatoes, courgette gratin and lentils followed by coffee and pastries in Deli France. Nicola tells me that she feels one of her schools doesn’t need her so much this term as they’re finding it hard to allocate her classes. However, the other school she teaches in seems to have too many slots for her.
Nicola goes off to buy ant powder for our ant infestation as we’ve been under attack from these mini menaces all during Christmas. I head off to the beauticians for a wax attack and even though I haven’t made an appointment I’m out 20 minutes after I arrive. I get the young, friendly trainee again and we chat away about Christmas and how tired you feel after a holiday. “Wait for Carnival,” she says, “That’s tiring.” Carnival preparations are already underway. The Carnival King and Queen will be chosen during elaborate competitions in the upcoming weeks. Also fireworks and bangers, drums and chanting will be in abundance throughout the forthcoming nights as groups practise for the weeklong celebrations in February. Carnival ends on Ash Wednesday and so the week before that is jam-packed with different parades and activities which become more intense and more elaborate as the end of the Carnival approaches. Violence and crime are also heightened too but that’s a given.
I may have got all my evening errands done in a jiffy but I’m waiting so long for my bus home that I would have plenty of time to get waxed, collect my necklace, buy more bus tickets and browse around the stalls at my leisure before turning up at the bus-stop for the No.22.
Another bus pulls up alongside our shelter and one of the ladies looks exactly like my Aunt Patsy. Her sallow skin, light curled hair, perched glasses, slightly hooked nose and wavering voice could convince me it was her but I’m certain she has never heard of Martinique nor does she speak French.
I witness another smelly toddler experience. I watch a cute little girl in red and white, apple print dungarees trying to flick a piece of paper off her chubby thumb. She returns to her mother and clutches the adult leg as something trickles down her own. At first I think she has spilled apple juice down her front but it’s the erratic trickling and steamy puddle which convince me otherwise. Damn dungarees are probably harbouring something else too…
The bus finally comes. Our randy, finer bus-driver friend is on board. He looks a bit bored too. And tired. I watch him yawning in the huge rear-view mirror and despite ample warning from passengers he often overshoots their stops.
I’m wrecked and lie down for a nap after ringing back the bank and putting the washing on. Arlette’s cackling wakes me some time later; her doctors appointment must have gone well but I can’t help thinking he gave her a canister of laughing gas to numb the pain. Nicola’s soon laying down ant powder to numb the little numbskulls that constantly cross our path. By the evening we’re ant free, and when some other bigger bugs land for refuelling we feed them some of the special white stuff. If that doesn’t put their lights out we resort to the ‘oul brush and pan technique. Poor critters. And our poor splattered floor.
No comments:
Post a Comment