Blanc, bleu, rouge : Morning in Martinique
I arrive to school today to find that I have only one class. The teachers have my number so they could have let me know… However, it would only be a matter of principal not a lookout for a lie-in because I have to endure the morning grid-lock irregardless of what time I start. It’s the national day for water appreciation or something like that and Dominique and Claude’s classes are off to a river exhibition in François. Also Madame de l’Inspectrice is doing her rounds today and so I don’t have Madame Thaly’s brood as she’s under inspection.
Madame Acina’s group get to grips with fast food as I make them play the time-old listen and touch game using hamburger, pizza, spaghetti, fish, cheese, banana, chocolate, and milkshake and juice flashcards. The class starts off with Who’s the King of the Jungle – as this is a possible song for language week. We brainstorm to think of what other animals are in the jungle until someone brings up monkeys – and I in turn bring up bananas.
Monkeys like bananas.
I like bananas too.
You little monkey.
I also tell the class that if they are bold I will tell them they are little monkeys; they are and I can get away with saying it. I bring out a mouse and do the same stunt with cheese. My camera is produced and I tell them that they must say cheese so that they are smiling for my photo.
Mice like cheese.
I like cheese too.
Say ‘cheese’.
I also have two faces unto which I attach facial expressions indicating hunger and thirst.
I am hungry.
I like chocolate.
I am thirsty.
I like juice.
When I call out the phrases the kids have to touch the corresponding face and flashcard. Similarly when I change the expressions to specify I like and I don’t like they copy the above exercise.
I like pizza.
I don’t like fish.
Three of Madame Acina’s pupils won the junior round of last week’s St. Patrick’s Day Treasure Hunt and so at the end of the class I produce their prizes; three beautifully illustrated English books about Irish legends – The Children of Lír, The Salmon of Knowledge and Tír na nOg.
For the rest of my time in school I’m content to just sit in the library all morning reading and chatting to the teachers beside the photocopier and the punished pupils in the corner. Madame Dau beckons me into her office to talk about our language week preparations. It gives me an opportunity to rant about how more communication among staff and control among students wouldn’t go amiss. She knows what teachers are hopeless at communication and who are ineffective when it comes to controlling their classes. Her head bobs up and down so much in accordance with my observations that I think her neck may snap off and become nestled in the piles of files she has stacked up on her desk.
Vert, Blanc, Orange : Lunch at La Croisière
The beach is on the cards this afternoon but by the time I’ve had my boeuf bourguignon and flan coco in La Croisière I’m feeling too full to endure what looks like a bumpy ride across the bay, and besides the rain seals my solitary sand-less trip home. Before taking the bus home I let my meal breakdown under the effects of my daily coca-cola intake. Nicola has invited a student, called Priscilla, who is going to Ireland on Friday, to join us for lunch and a chat about all things Irish. In the usual Martiniquan manner she arrives as we’re beginning to twiddle our thumbs. Her mother and a family friend also appear and I can’t help but think that they are going to kidnap Nic and make her do their last-minute preparations as she fears is their intention. The two older ladies leave but Priscilla remains until she’s had her fill of juice and tourism talk.
Red alert : Twilight in The Terminal
Its due time I sent some news home as over the past month I’ve neither had the time nor tendency to post my blog. I’m only home a while before I decide to make another trip into town to indulge on the internet. As per usual I don’t get half the things done; the connection isn’t great, the place is noisy and I’ve unwittingly picked a window seat which leaves me exposed to all the window-tapping weirdoes who fancy flicking their fingers and flashing gormless grins my way.
The Terminal Café is our chosen spot to unwind tonight. I finally get to meet resolute Rosamonde who wants to everything about Ireland for her son’s trip tomorrow. Our information becomes so in-depth that we’re soon talking about packing spare rolls of toilet-paper; it’d be a bonus if they stay in a hostel and a necessity if they visit Cavan. This precious information comes at a price as Rosamonde buys us beers for enlightening her.
The guys have returned from the beach and Lionel and Nicolas join Nic, Jean-Pierre and I for some over-priced beverages; I think Jean-Pierre has forgotten just how much business us Irish have brought him over the past fortnight. Plus we’ll be helping him out next weekend too. We? Yes, it seems that Jean-Pierre likes the ides of having hostesses for next Saturday night. I initially thought it was Nicola who was helping out at the bar so this is news to me and I’m not too taken by the idea of being a hostess for some poxy roller-blading champion’s soirée when our Irish friends will be here and we’re due to fly out to St. Martin the next morning. I was never asked directly to help out and I suspect that Nic is just elevating me to hostess status to appease the fact that we’ll be dragging our mates along too. When I ask Jean-Pierre about the event he goes all doe-eyed over this Ludovic Mary-Fairy star and hands me a brochure outlining the roller boy’s credentials. It better be a good show. It’s a pity my bandy ankle will probably prevent me from being a wheeled-waitress that night.
Jean-Pierre is fierce proud of his Breton heritage. As he hands out savoury pastries and fish pies he also passes around a book on Brittany. It’s kind of like that special edition photo-memoir book that did the rounds in Ireland during the 1990’s where one day was chosen to take pictures of different people and places around the island. Jean-Pierre passionately explains what the text says while Lionel and I feign an interest in his jolly gibberish about druids and donkeys. Thankfully some more of our Celtic chums arrive to share a beer and lend an ear as Jean-Pierre seizes the cultural corner once again. I’ve remembered I still have the Scottish hat belonging to Fix and I’m just about to send him a message when he and Dorian appear. David and his female friend Dorian also appear a while later after a twilight promenade along the pier; they protest that it’s purely professional but as she’s his pupil I think that either way their leisurely stroll is more playful than profound.
David is leaving in a fortnight. Canyonning and a McNugget binge are on the cards before his departure. He’s not partial to military mania so there’s no point inviting him to the army base over the weekend for the Portes Ouvertes – Open Day. Fix, Nicolas, Benoit and Sebastian will be manning stalls. Although they don’t seem enthused at the thought of camouflage, cannons and civilians I do and I arrange to take a trip to Fort Desaix. Before I can get hyped about the military we have to encounter the cops. Nicolas drives Nic and I home but not before out-smarting the boys in blue. For starters I’m in the boot and secondly Nicolas is tipping both the speed and probably the alcohol limit. We’re not stopped but if we were we’d probably spend more time amongst the armed forces than I could care to think about…
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