I must admit its hard getting back into the early morning school routine. However, the sight of many people on the bus and the bustling about town at such a wicked hour make the ritualistic rise more acceptable. The traffic is bumper to bumper again this morning so once we’re dropped off in town I only have time to walk with Nicola to Pointe Simone before returning for my own bus. I spot the old pervert hobbling towards me down the street on my return from the waterside. He’s in a bright white suit. Perhaps he has purged all his sins and changed his ways during the Caranval days.
School passes more quickly and carefreely than I could have wished. Mr Castor’s class are enthused by the Irish dancing and some of Mr Carval’s pupils are inspired by the thought of doing a project on potatoes and snakes in Ireland. Madame Acina is out once again so the classrooms with the younger years are packed out with pupils.
Madame Pamphile is as nonchalant as ever but just before the bell for class goes at the end of break her brood are approached and reproached by Madame Dau for being unruly. Madame Pamphile has been nattering across the yard as per usual and has left her class waiting for her. She’s not exactly a nasty piece of work she just seems so dispassionate and offhand about her job. Even her response, or defence, to Madame Dau seems like a slow, blasé excuse about the kids being wound up after Carnaval. I would love to interject adding that her kids are permanently wild and wired; but while they’re all waiting in the wings I’m hanging up my maps and things for class.
Madame Edragas is a bit strung out today. She’s the kindest and most helpful teacher but obviously she too is wrung out from time to time. One of the little girls is in a foul mood; her grandmother died over the weekend. One moment she’s sulking the next she’s being disruptive. Halfway through the class she breaks down totally and curls up into quivering, crying ball before nodding off due to her exhaustive behaviour. Crying is as contagious as the common cold because by the end of the class another two have broken down. They’re left to simmer a while before Catherine takes them for some fresh air; when she returns so does normality.
I meet Elizabeth at the bus-stop. She’s still full of the joys of Carnaval and we relate tales and experiences while be bake in the midday heat. The heat is stifling – and it’s due to get worse as the dry season kicks in. I doubt I’ll be getting many Easter eggs this spring if that’s the case.
I’m meeting Nicola at Rond Point for lunch; we’ve both been looking forward to garlic infused pureed potatoes since 6,00 this morning! I usually walk from the town centre to Pointe Simone for the connecting bus but the heat and a hunger for some alternative exploration leads me to take the No.13 Texaco bus. The route is not the most desirable but it should drop me off near the IUFM, right beside Rond Point. It does and twenty minutes later I’ve picked Nic’s pastel print neck out from the pall of smoke near the centre’s entrance. Her face matches the pink of her flowery top. She’s just found out that a substantial amount of money was debited from her credit card and she’s at pains to remember what it was for as she doesn’t remember ever using this card in Martinique. Although our grocery shopping sprees usually top the scales neither of us remembers splashing out €400.26 on potatoes and Coco Pops. Perhaps it was the car rental caution. All those business boyos are bound to be cowboys. We’ll soon find out who the culprit was.
Lunch is tasty but disruptive as Nicola’s newest annoyance calls her. He’s a young chap called Fred who is at her to organise tours around Dublin businesses for his upcoming school trip. Head-wrecker. Hyper U is calling us so we decide to pop in for some provisions. Ten minutes later we’ve accumulated fifteen items totalling €41.20. We’re hardly aghast at the cost of a few toiletries and groceries but it’s more than the €30 both of us had estimated.
Nicola heads home while I prolong my shopping spree. I’m planting shamrocks with my pupils for St. Patrick’s Day so I’m in need of soil and pots. Weldon and Baobab are two huge gardening and household stores and I potter around picking up some terracotta pots (0,60€) and terre vegetal (3,20€) to nurture both shamrock seedlings and delicate pupils’ psyches. Gardening is the way to go here. With not even €10 spent my pocket is not much lighter although the bag of soil adds some excessive weight. I plod over to the beauty salon and leave my 10kg of dirt at the door as I prepare to get striped and nipped. Once I’m well pruned and polished the time comes for me to take up my load once again as I waddle into town. I love to walk and even with my 10kg bag of brown stuff I take to the road instead of lightening my load with a bus ride. The afternoon is cooling rapidly and since not many people opt for this windy route I have my thoughts to myself for a while.
Back at home Nicola has taken to her bed for a siesta. I hang about in the hammocks until the lack of sunshine hinders my reading and the loopy lizards retreat to my bathroom.
The mosquitoes are back in force again tonight and their bites are as vicious as ever. Nic and I get a bit giddy over tea. We retire inside to avoid annoying our neighbours and also to avoid contracting Dengue or whatever else they the night life offers us. Our neighbour Fred texts offering us some evening refreshments but we’re already snug on the sofa watching Alfie so we have our fix for the night.
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