Strike - Mardi, 05.12.06

Mardi 05.12.06 Strike

Those crazy French men are at it again. There’s a strike at EDF (the French Electrical Board) and we’ve no electricity in the school. However, that doesn’t stop sparks flying; Alwin spies me in the library and comes over to do kissy-kissy. I greet Madame Caruge and she replies stating that everything’s better today.

Elizabeth the other English teacher is in but unbeknownst to her her CM1 classes have gone on an early morning jog. What? Yes. A jog at Madinia at 8,00. They don’t return until 11,30. Christophe tells me that a similar sprint is planned for my CM2 classes on Thursday. However, as with everything else here they will not know if it is to go ahead until that morning as it is giving rain for the weekend and unforeseen future. What to do, what to do? I wouldn’t mind going jogging with my classes but then I’ll be late for my other classes. And if it’s not raining in Fort-de-France it may very well be raining in Balata; that’s where Thursday’s race takes place and it’s a pity because that’s where I live. On verra… I’ve to deal with today first of all.

Madame Bois’ class is first up. Things go as well as they can though one girl is doodling all the way through the part of professions. When it’s her turn she is clueless as to what she wants to be. Dominique becomes impatient with her. “Choose something,” she shrieks. “Je veux d’être chômeuse,” she replies haughtily. The class are up in arms. Unemployed! I add it to the list on the board and draw a sad face beside it. “I do NOT want to be unemployed,” I state.

Mr Carval’s class are more attentive than usual today. Many of them have put in lots of effort regarding their occupations and they’re lethargy is replaced with enthusiasm. I surprise myself as I’ve began to recall most of their names. One girl reads off her list; animal activist, vet, animal ambassador and animal campaigner all feature. She can’t choose between them. “Everything to do with animals,” I half-state. She nods excitedly and skips off with glee.

Jossylene is in today and she plans to sit in on one of my CM1 classes. She called me last night and I told her about disciplining Madame Caruge’s brood. She didn’t seem at all phased. She doesn’t turn up to my class with Madame Pamphile’s group. It’s probably just as well as they’re so noisy today. Madame Pamphile has to rap on her table a million times to get them to pipe down. Madame Edragas’ class are as sweet as ever and the lesson works a treat. Some even come up afterwards to ask me to translate other jobs they’ve thought up of during the lesson; motorcyclist, rally driver, huntswoman, male nurse.

I feel like a Chinese today so Nicola and I head for some poulet piquent avec du riz. It’s not bad – cost or taste wise. We want to check out another car rental place but it’s closed till 15,00. We decide to go elsewhere for coffee. Nicola settles with her self-stir cappuccino and I wait for my tea. I ask for a bit of milk and the cashier goes ape telling me that that’s something else altogether. To cut the crap I pay €1,80 for the paltry half-cup of smelly tea – which turns out to be herbal pooh – I sit down beside Nicola and I tip out most of the tea unto the saucer; isn’t that what a saucer’s for anyway. I’m slightly appalled but it’s too late to cry over spilt tea. I take a sip. It’s vile. Nicola agrees. Maybe this whole Martiniquan tit-for-tat attitude is contagious but it makes me feel an ounce better.

What really cheers me up is the Leffe and Stella we have in the Mayflower. The gentle giant Michel comes over, kisses Nicola’s hand and shakes mine. I did meet the oaf before but its miles better service here than it is in café-del-smell. I go up to the bar to get in another round and the cute little waiter asks if I speak French. “I do,” I tell him in English. “You’re very beautiful,” he adds. “Merci,” I add bashfully. That’s sobering enough for me. Nic and I have a great rant about all things wise and wonderful before she has to head back to class. I head off to get more quotes for car rentals and it’s not long before I’ve found a good deal and a better dealer.

I’m feeling so drowsy on the bus. The leering young driver is on the No.22. “Do you have a mobile,” he asks. “Pas encore,” I lie as I skip back to the back of the bus without swiping my ticket! Perks of knowing a perv I guess.

I spy some school children scribbling with chalk under an awning in the school yard; such a simple, yet fulfilling way to pass the time until their parents collect them. The rain is getting heavier and heavier. My eyes are heavy with sleep. It’s only 14,30 but head straight to bed for some strange, strange dreams about canoe trips and stubborn hacks.