Au retour - lundi, 26.02.07

Lundi 26.02.07 au retour

Back to school today. That means I’m up at the crack of dawn again and on the first bus out of the hills. The ticket machine doesn’t work. Mr. Grump the bus driver doesn’t pass any remarks and lets us all on for a free ride. Of course not many people would actually pay for such a ride because you usually end up slipping off your seat or bracing yourself and your breakfast due to either the breakneck speed of the drivers or the never-ending stomach-churning turns. At least after such a blender of a bus journey I can stand still in the shade reading my book for half an hour until my next bus comes.

I kill more time by wandering off to buy more bloodcurdling bus tickets and by scanning for today’s French-Antilles blurb as I go. A pedestrian who was killed while walking along the motorway has still not been identified. In other news an 18-year old driver killed a policeman and an ambulance member who were assisting another roadside incident. Softer hitting stories include a recently signed agreement to re-habitat manatees in Lamentin. Pollution from factories over the years killed these river-living creatures after which the town is named. Odile, the school secretary, later tells me how they have erected a huge statue of a manatee outside the town hall in accordance with this order. She contorts her body, flaps her hands and fills her cheeks with air to illustrate just how strange is it to have a two tonne metal figure not unlike a bloated dolphin in the middle of the town.

Everyone’s in high spirits after the holidays. Even Madame Dau de la Directrice is all smiles. However, Madame Acina is out and Madame Bois is not yet back in action. One teacher inquires about English lessons. When I tell Odile about her she pulls more faces to further demonstrate how bizarre she finds this particular teacher. The kids are all cheerful and sweet as pie once again. I take things pretty easy with them as we brain-storm about Ireland, take down some information on Ireland’s physical features and tap away to more Irish dances. I start by asking about Carnaval and if they adhered to the daily colour codes. This brings us into colours and I bring out the tricolour and start class. To bring them round to the geography element I tell them about my trip to Mont Pelée and I ask them how high it is.

Capital - Dublin
Population - 4.5 million +

Total Surface Area - 84, 421 km²
Counties - 32 counties (of which 6 make up Northern Ireland with
is part of the United Kingdom)

Highest Summit - Carrantoohill (1041m)
Longest River - Shannon (340km)
Biggest Lake - Lough Neagh (396 km²)
Highest Waterfall - Powerscourt (122m)

These kids, or more so their teachers, love facts like these. I get the pupils to draw little illustrations beside each fact so that they remain relevant and not worthless notes and numbers. With Patrick’s Day just around the corner I ask them to think about topics for a class project. I plan to direct the younger children more towards shamrocks, green milkshakes and leprechauns and let the older pupils concentrate on St. Patrick’s Day celebrations and the man himself.

I wait for Nicola in town before heading to the Soup Bar for delicious chicken broth. Nicola’s not roasted even though she’s wearing a high-necked top but I feel like I’m sweating soup. Nic has only the one class this afternoon so she hops off up the hill to Lycée Technique while I foot the bill and hot-foot it to the bus stop.

The weirdos who wear other people’s clothes are flirting with one another. It’s sweet but disgusting at the same time. One of the loopy ladies comes up to me and asks if I’ll read to her. I tell her the books in English and she just grins back at me. Porky Pig is bringing us home this afternoon. He asks me where I go out in Martinique. “Everywhere,” I respond somewhat dazed and put-off by his questioning and the fact that I can’t see his eyes for his large, diamond encrusted sun-glasses. He beeps the horn at me at I descend. I give him a wry smile and wave my book back at him before heading down Chemin de l’Acajou Pays. It’ll soon be AcaPOOH Pays again as there’s another dead rat on the road. This one’s not starting off as intact as the last one as he’s right on the tire track.

I hear John, our good neighbour, tooting away on his saxophone. It inspires me to get out the tin whistle so I do and I retreat to the hammocks with my music, shades and book. I drift off for a while. The wind picks up and I’m rocked about for ages before I start to get restless. I can hear the jingle-jangle of Scrabble counters. Arlette and Richard have taken to played board games lately. I actually feel like playing but who am I to go intruding, inviting myself to a game.

The evening passes by quickly as I finally get down to some stitching and channel switching. Nicola pops next door to see Fred. I swear I’m turning into an old maid. I should never have worn that ti maman’w outfit for Carnaval; somehow the sultry pattern has seeped into my mind leaving me kind but contrary. I think I just need sleep so sleep I will; with the fish and the manatees of Lamentin.