Lundi 05.03.07 you say goodbye, I say hello
There’s a new fleet of buses on the No.22 route. They may be only mini-buses but they’re higher and have more seats albeit less leg-room. There’s a new bus driver this morning but later in the day Mr. Grumpy is back in the driving seat. As per usual he’s not displaying signs of delight but his grouchiness is somewhat justified today; he has to contend with shifting gears as the new buses are not automatic and moreover the stop request sign doesn’t beep as it did previously. Dozens of people on the route harangue him with urgent arrête calls as he steers past their stops unawares. The journey into town is much longer this morning too as the driver is being extra cautious along the slippery, bendy mountain highway.
I don’t have to wait long in town for my connecting bus. I’m soon safely seated in the school library sorting through my maps and tickets for today’s lesson. Since we’ll be celebrating Irishness next week I’ve decided to make a mini-treasure hunt using different Irish sites and landmarks. Today’s lesson will focus on map directions as we look at the map of Martinique and Ireland.
It should be noted that Martinique is actually divided into two parts: the North Atlantic and the South Caraïbe, so before the lesson even commences I explain that in order to simplify the exercise we will only use the five directions: NORTH. SOUTH. EAST. WEST. CENTRE.
I get the pupils to stand up, clasp their hands and copy my actions as I use my body to illustrate the position on the map; I raise my hands NORTH above my head, drop them SOUTH, point EAST and WEST and rest them under my chest in the CENTRE. We get a little chant going and any passer-by could mistake it for a dance class more so than an English lesson.
We divide into teams and the pupils have to act out the direction which I call out as they stand in front of the map. In the NORTH. In the SOUTH. In the EAST. In the WEST. In the CENTRE.
Next up I test their geographical skills - not of Ireland but of Martinique. I have made out tickets with the names of towns and communes around the island. I purposely chose well-known places so that I could help them locate the town if needed. Good job I did as some of them are really lost and display an abysmal understanding of their country. Perhaps I foresaw this or my effective preparation skills seeped through as I was planning the exercise because all the towns in the NORTH as written in blue as is the word NORTH itself above the map. The towns in the SOUTH are in green as is the ticket stuck in the SOUTH. The WEST is purple, the EAST is pink and the CENTRE is orange. I thought that the younger years would have to rely on this but in fact it’s the older ones who have the most problems.
Once they’ve located the town I ask them where it is:
Cyril, where is Macouba?
In the North. Macouba is in the North of Martinique.
Océane, where is Sainte-Anne?
In the South. Sainte-Anne is in the South of Martinique.
The last part of the lesson involves Irish map work. I hand out photocopies of my country and I ask them to find different towns and countries. Once they have found it and formed the response in the mind they can raise their hand. Some of the students are quick off the mark but I wait until at least half of the class have raised their hands before choosing someone to come up and find the location on the giant map of Ireland:
Claudia, where is Dublin?
Dublin is in the East of Ireland.
Jordan, where is Connemara?
Connemara is in the West of Ireland.
Sandrine, where is Mullingar?
Mullingar is in the centre of Ireland.
The last few minutes of the class are spent going through the steps for the Irish dance. I’m just about to do overtime with Claude’s class when Jossylene appears. I apologise to the class that I have to talk to her and they disperse into the yard as it’s now break time. Jossylene asks me about my plans for Semaine de Langue. It’s not until May but other authorities want to make sure that the ball is rolling and ideas are being generated. Madame Bois is back from her respite as she had a tragic and traumatic few months with the loss of her sister and her brother-in-law as well as undergoing serious personal surgery. Jossylene engages in conversation with Dominique so I can only guess that she is still gossiping when she doesn’t show up at any of my later classes - this has become a regular habit of hers.
Something irregular has happened with one of the potted shamrocks. Madame Thaly’s group has noticed that their pot has mould on it. I tell them that the seeds are just germinating and with the heat here this happens. Perhaps they suspected something else was shooting up. To my knowledge it’s only a plant pot. I didn’t plot to plant pot!
I take a private lesson with one of the CP teachers, Line Julvecourt. Her English is quite good and it turns out to be not so much as lesson as a chat about teaching and different education systems. Nicola also took another private pupil this morning at Stade Dillon. It may sound a bit dubious but it was a once-off with a businessman called Bruce. He had American developers arriving that evening and needed to brush up on his English. He did, however, give her the contact details for another prospective pupil which should plump her up to five clients a week - or lots of lolly in monetary terms.
David, our Scottish mate, doesn’t agree with taking money off people if they just want to converse in English; though he’s leaving here in a month and so has really no need for extra dosh. Instead he prefers to have what he likes to call a cultural exchange. The last we heard of him he was taking a cultural exchange with a mystery Metropole Mademoiselle – that was almost a week ago and we were trying to contact him all weekend as we feared something had happened him. Today, however, he makes an appearance as we regroup for lunch. Supposedly he left his mobile in Robert when he went there to visit a friend last week. He was touched to see all our missed calls and messages awaiting him. David and Nicola have already had their pumpkin soup by the time I join them at the Soup Bar for some Beef Lasagne.
While I was cultivating shamrock and Nicola was expanding her private lesson empire David was growing a beard. As his pupils are in the middle of exams he has hardly worked 10 hours in the past fortnight. This extra facial hair actually suits him and makes him look older - it also distracts the eye from his balding crown.
With our bellies laden with lovely lasagne we shuffle into Cyber Délisse for flan coco. We decide to prolong the evening by visiting a new bar; The Crew. It’s not a new establishment but it’s the first time we’ve been there. However there’s something all too continental about it and we’re about to finish up when my lasagne laden stomach turns and my heart becomes heavy laden with shock and sorrow as I find out that a friend from school has passed away.
Davina is only our age. Just before Christmas she found out she had lung cancer. It turned out to be a progressive and very aggressive form. Despite chemotherapy and respite the illness reigned and has now taken her off to reign with God. The funeral is tomorrow – no flowers, just donations to a special needs school in Delvin.
I’m in a bit of a daze for the rest of the evening; nothing like distance to make you feel impotent. I send out a few texts of support to friends at home. We leave The Crew and take a wander in the heady heat to numb the bad news. We find ourselves beside La Savanne. There’s a hotel lobby just across the way and after dodging a group of grinning Chinese businessmen we settle for a quiet drink. The reminiscing is respectful but we don’t let the sombre mood linger for long. Hyperness helps to ease the heartache and helplessness a bit. David presents me with a home-made Digicel jigsaw and some wickerwork creations and we all distract unhappy thoughts by making up silly grammatical concoctions. I love swamming. We’ll see who loves swamming!
Some dude wearing a baseball hat, shades and quiet formal clothes pops his head into our conversation and asks David if he’s a famous footballer or actor or something. “No I’m not famous,” David replies. “Why?” he then asks. “Oh,” replies Mr Cool, “I just thought that you were someone famous because your two bodyguards smell so good.” Man. That was lame even by my standards!
We eventually head for the brand new bus home. Nicola and I head to bed early – though not for sleep. We wile away the evening on my bed with chat and cards and crosswords and cocoa.
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