It’s that Time of the year - vendredi, 08.06.07

vendredi 08.06.07 It’s that Time of the year

The cyclonic season has royally kicked off today. I battle through puddles, skirt by erratic waves and dodge overhead overflow pipes just to get to the navette. It’s brollies at the ready once we hit Fort-de-France. The raindrops pound the miserable fabric while osmosis sets in down below and I instantly regret not wearing a skirt.

The school is a rainbow of multicoloured rain jackets and umbrellas. The library is a haven of dryness – mainly because Madame Dô pops in and tells me I should avail of the computers while I can. Eh, five minutes before the bell rings isn’t exactly timely. The whole situation runs in my favour however when she later tells me she’s staying on a bit during lunch. I’ve gathered the kids’ ideas for next week’s classes. Of course songs by Beyoncé and Shakira are on the list though I’m surprised to get requests for Michael Jackson, Bob Sinclair and Geri Halliwell of all people!

Madame Caruge’s class asked for information on Irish trees. I mistook arbres for armes but one kid who has fighting, shooting and hunting on his list of hobbies is all up for it! I’m sure I can dig up some info on my Irish roots; they could even sponsor a Rowan tree! I hunt down some lyrics and get some facts on Irish forests before zipping off into town.

I spend lunchtime at Rond Point. I’ve been craving garlicky mashed potatoes lately and the large canteen is perfect for anonymous dining. I nurse a glass of goyave juice while it pours outside and I pour over a book.

I’m on the search for some presents; a CD for Nic’s birthday and Monopoly Martiniquan Edition for my family. All I find however are the price tags on the shelves.

I spy Strophe’s friend skidding about the upper level of the shopping centre. I’m supposed to meet Strophe in town but a) he doesn’t get back to confirm it b) I’m not feeling too great and c) as I’m waiting at the bus-stop juggling my bag, brolly and book my mobile slips from my hands and gets swallowed up in the drain. I plunge my hand into the murkiness without even considering what composition of the rainwater is cat/rat/human waste. The phone’s still on but about ten minutes later on the bus it starts to flicker before sending out a dying request to reinsert the SIM card. So my rendezvous with Strophe is forgotten as I make my way to the navette. I’m halfway across the bay when my phone reawakens. Nic texts to say that she’s in the cyber café with Strophe. I send my apologies.

Another cancelled appointment is the crêpe soirée Chez Bertrand. I usually have a high tolerance threshold but these Frenchies are as wispy as they come. Bertrand’s working late and Cécile doesn’t know if the evening is going on or not. All circumstances considered I decide to take the navette home where I dry off and nod off.

Mother cat is alive! I spy her across the road; though her kittens were nowhere to be seen. I engage in conversation with the one-man-and-his-dog duo that I see almost every morning at the beach and most evenings by the Rasta enclave. Apart from the usual greetings I make a comment about the weather and he starts to explain how the cyclonic season will affect us. I think last night’s rabbit food is having adverse affects on me. Nicola’s enquiries confirm my feelings. She’s going out for drinks with Majid and J.P but I decide to stay dry – and away from the closet!