Nous sommes ici

Adapted from The Guadeloupe Diaries, 2000-2001

I woke up properly around seven the following morning. Marie was going over to see her mother over at Prise d’Eau, so I spent the day alone in the flat. During the first week, I spent most of my time getting settled and finding my way around. I discovered the lime green town buses which went down to La Pointe and up towards Baimbridge, where the college was where I would be working. The bus emanated its own atmosphere of a white knuckle ride combined with the obligatory zouk music blasting out of the stereo. The vehicle screeched to a halt outside Lycée Caraïbes where I got off and was ID checked and issued with a visitors badge and given directions to the Principal’s office. As the secretary was not there I could not do the necessary paperwork, but I was shown around the school and introduced to some of the administrative staff. I wouldn’t remember who was who, but something told me that they would remember me all right.

I also started to explore the town a bit. Since none of the other assistants had arrived yet, and Mari was working at the ANPE (French version of the Job Centre), I boldly went into town on my own. Actually, that is not strictly true, as I had plenty of company, most of it unsolicited from the local men. On a fifteen minute walk from Bainbridge to the centre of Pointe-à-Pitre, I was leered at, hissed at (this seemed to be a favourite with the local men), told the best places to go and sunbathe and offered a joint. I am making light of this of course, but as a young woman a long way from home, it was became quite distressing at times. I just ignored it for the most part, but it still pissed me off at times. I must admit it did get a bit scary when this guy started following me for about five minutes, pestering me non-stop, although he did eventually take the hint.

I had been in Guadeloupe for nearly a week, when the phone rang one afternoon. It was a certain Leila Deremede, who had contacted me several times before leaving home.

“We’re all at the school now,” she said, somewhat impatiently, I thought.

So I put my shoes on and schlepped my way up to Lycée Jardin d’Essai, Leila’s school. When I got to the school, there was no one around. I hung around for a bit, and was just about to get the next bus home, when a rather nice young man came up to me. This was Pete. We went to look for the others, found them, and this was when it all started to go pear-shaped. In fact, I wondered why Leila had bothered to ring me at all. In addition to Leila and Pete, there was a slightly scared-looking girl called Jenny.

It transpired that there was no American girl; the other girl Marie had been expecting was Leila herself. Leila had, however, decided that she wanted to live near the sea.

“It’s always been my dream to live near the sea,” she drawled. I was starting to dislike her more and more by the second.

I impressed upon Leila that even if she had no intention of taking the room, she should still come and have a look and speak to Marie, who in all innocence, was expecting her to be moving in. Basic manners seemed an alien concept to this girl, but reluctantly she agreed. I was a little annoyed, as she had dragged me out to Bainbridge and didn’t even want to give me a lift home.

“Let’s give her a lift,” said Pete. It was starting to go dark by now.

After piling into the hire car, we arrived back at Grand-Camp so Leila could have a look at the flat. The group all marched up to inspect the premises. Leila whipped out a pocket calculator when Marie said how much the rent would be, to compare it with a four way house share over in Gosier. At this point my eyebrows shot through the roof, since on one of our phone conversations back in England, she had poo-pooed the idea of sharing a house with other English speakers.

The point when I really became furious was when she turned to me and said, in English, “I think I’ll leave it. Two-fifty a month for a villa’s nothing really.” It was obvious that she’d never tried living on a language assistant’s wages before.

Leila took my number before breezing out of the apartment, but did not leave her own since the wonderful villa in Gosier did not have a phone. I had a suspicion that she would not be using it any time soon, or for that matter, having anything to do with me. Unless she wanted something, of course.

Marie and I bonded that night over a good bitch about Leila. She really was a rude little madam, one of those people who seemed to think the world owed her a living. Marie suddenly had a brainwave, and rang Madame Fleurival, the mentor from Leila’s school. Apparently, there had been no news whatsoever from Leila, no letter, phone call, email, nothing. Until the previous day when Leila had announced her arrival, “Je suis ici!”

“I’m here!” What sort of an introduction is that, Marie wanted to know. Apparently her mentor had been waiting to hear from her all week, but Leila had not bothered to contact her and just went ahead and arranged her own accommodation without saying anything.

If there’s one thing you need to know about spending an extended time in Guadeloupe it’s that you shouldn’t piss people off. They all know each other, word gets round and you can find yourself in for a rough time.

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