After finally getting my certificate translated, that left only the Carte de Séjour. I summoned up the energy to have another crack at it. It is a very draining process, and one has to be psyched up for it. I arrived outside at 6.30am and camped out [...]]]> Previous Chapter: It’s not what you know, you know.

After finally getting my certificate translated, that left only the Carte de Séjour. I summoned up the energy to have another crack at it. It is a very draining process, and one has to be psyched up for it. I arrived outside at 6.30am and camped out on the steps until the office opened at 7, reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. By the time I got to the desk, it transpired that they had the whole dossier on me, and just needed at transfer of my file from Haute-Savoie. I left my number with the woman. I know things will speed up now, since Mme Lutin knows someone who works at the Sous-Préfecture.

A couple of days later (after speaking to Mme Lutin), I went to the Aliens Office for the last time. They handed me the document I needed. It was so easy. I still have it to this very day, and if I ever move back to France, will be able to go through the whole process again. Fun!

To say I was ecstatic about getting my resident permit would be taking it a little too far. However, I was feeling the sweet victory at having taken on French bureaucracy, and finally having my efforts pay off. I had taken on the system and won. Actually what I really did, with this and the translation, was what French people do: I used the Système D, which means that eventually you emerge victorious either by sheer dent of willpower or knowing the right person. In France, and especially a small place like Guadeloupe, it’s a people thing.

I had a class after that, so I took the bus up to Baimbridge, wearing my triumph like a crown. I got off on the corner by the mango trees, and there was Leila staggering towards me.

“Oh Kate, I’m so pleased to see you!” she breathed. Pleased to see me? Who’d have thought it? She did look rather desperate to tell the truth. She seemed dizzy and her left arm was cut and bleeding.

“I had a car accident…” she trailed off. The traffic lights were changing so she had stopped and the person behind ran straight into the back of her.

I took her into school so she could get some first aid and get out of the heat. Then it suddenly occurred to me that there was no sign of any car.

“Where’s the car?”

Apparently the police had towed it away as it was blocking the intersection. Since Leila was babbling away incoherently, and I was still feeling like I could take on the world, I called the car hire company and did five rounds with them. As it turned out, the car had been delivered back to them and they had been charged by the police for the use of the camion-grue which had brought it back. They wanted to pass this charge on to Leila, but I managed to talk them out of this, pointing out that she had taken out collision damage waiver, and that they would be insured. I really laid it on thick about how poorly Leila was feeling and how far away from her family she was.

“Do you have children monsieur? Would you not like to think that people would be compassionate to them in the same situation?”

They let her off the charge. That’s the Système D for you. I don’t know why I bothered, after all I owed Leila less than nothing, I guess I was still high after taking on the system and winning once that day, I thought I’d have another go. Besides a deposit in the bank of Good Karma never goes amiss, a lesson the Leilas of this world would do well to learn.

My role at the Lycée was somewhat fluid at best and took me most of the first month to figure out what I was actually doing there. For a start, at no point was I ever given a timetable. I eventually figured that as long as I put in a cameo appearance in the [...]]]> Previous chapter

My role at the Lycée was somewhat fluid at best and took me most of the first month to figure out what I was actually doing there. For a start, at no point was I ever given a timetable. I eventually figured that as long as I put in a cameo appearance in the staff room now and again, and turned up regularly to the lessons of teachers who wanted me, that would be fine. At one point I probably could have taken a two-week holiday in the middle of term and no one would have noticed.

I would have questioned my own sanity if it were not for the fact that there was another assistant in the school, a Zimbabwean lady called Abigail. She was married to a chap from Martinique who worked at the University. She had two children and had lived in Guadeloupe for ten years. If I ever thought that my problems settling in were due to being white, Abigail soon set me straight on this. At one point she had got so fed up with Guadeloupe that she took the children back to Zimbabwe for the best part of a year and Jean, her husband, had to move heaven and earth to get her to come back. No big deal, he’d already done that to get her in the first place, but that is a story for another day.

The following Monday saw us attend a meeting for all the English language assistants. I did meet Amy, and it turned out that she worked at the other Baimbridge school and was staying in the boarding house there. She did have her tongue pierced, but not the face full of metal that Leila seemed to imply. Spookily enough she was on her year abroad from Cardiff university. It was a small world indeed. Amy had also experienced the big freeze from Leila. We swapped numbers, since it would be good to explore with someone who had an open mind.

The meeting was at the Lycée de Providence, which compared to Lycée Caraïbes was very posh. Apparently Caraïbes was awaiting a rebuild and in the meantime the old buildings were just being left to rack and ruin. It also had a reputation for being a “bad” school in the local area, something which would prepare me nicely for my future career. I could tell this by the way people winced when I told them where I was based. Providence had language labs, computer aided learning and all mod cons, whereas at Caraïbes we would gouge each other’s eyes out over a tape recorder only to find that the room in question did not even have an electrical socket.

Mme. Fleurival talked for a while about how we were all ambassadors for our countries and that our behaviour here was very important. Guadeloupe is a small island, and in any small place, people gossip about anything and everything. Being from a small town, this was not news to me.

We moved into another room, for drinks and nibbles. Pete came over and sat next to me, and we chatted for a while. He seemed quite surprised that none of the others had called on me. Leila had not given any of them my number, typical of her. Pete asked for my number, so I gave it to him. Much good may it do him, I thought.

I tore myself away from sexy Pete. I was not there to pull, I had networking to do. I had become quite good at networking, although by no means a natural, I had come to understand that my survival in Gwada depended on knowing the right people. Mme. Fleurival even gave me her personal contact details, which she told me not to give anyone else.

I managed to negotiate three hours a week at Collège Saint John-Perse. Abigail and I were also pumping Mme. Fleurival for information about the CAPES, the French teaching certificate, and there just happened to be a bloke from the training college there. I noticed Leila sticking her beak in.

“What’s the CAPES?”

“It’s the French teaching certificate. You have to have your degree, though, so I guess it wouldn’t interest you.”

Leila seemed dumbfounded by this snub, as if no-one had ever played her at her own game. Sometimes you have to speak to a bully in their own language. She faded into the background after that, although later on I heard her complaining about not getting to practise her French as much as she would like since she was living with English speakers. Go figure.

The next day, after morning lessons, Abigail and I went up to the teacher training college to find out more information about the CAPES. Somehow, thanks to our conversation with Mme. Fleurival, they were expecting us and we managed to enroll straight away. There were also exam preparation classes on a Wednesday afternoon, since that is when French schools are closed.

I had got the Education Nationale stitched up, but one thing which had been bugging me was the ongoing issue of the carte de séjour. Having done this paper chase once during my stay in Annecy, I thought it would be relatively straightforward. Famous last words. In reality, the fact that I had already been registered in France actually complicated matters.

More about that adventure next time.

Previous chapter

It was the third week into my stay in Gwada, when one Saturday night, Marie went out to some party or other and I stayed at home experimenting making myself a little treat of curried green bananas. I was quite surprised when Marie came back before ten.

“Kate, [...]]]> Based on extracts from The Guadeloupe Diaries, 2000-2001

Previous chapter

It was the third week into my stay in Gwada, when one Saturday night, Marie went out to some party or other and I stayed at home experimenting making myself a little treat of curried green bananas. I was quite surprised when Marie came back before ten.

“Kate, you’re never going to believe who’s there! Leila and the English assistants. You’ve got to come, I want to see the look on her face when you arrive!” I could not resist. I got myself glammed up and off we sped to Prise d’Eau.

Leila made little secret of her irritation that I was there, trying every trick in the book to exclude me from conversation. At one point she actually turned her back on me and practically waved a fan right in my face to obscure my view of the group.

“So Leila, how’s life in Gosier?” I inquired with forced conviviality. “Oh it’s absolutely fabulous!” she gushed. “Jenny and I are sharing a room. We’re like sisters!” Jenny, I noted, smiled weakly, but remained silent. A silence which said more than words ever could.

“Pete not with you tonight?” Stating the obvious, I knew, but I would have bet a million that there had been some kind of bust-up. I was right. “No, he’s decided to stay in his little boarding house.“ Leila barely concealed a scowl. This was obviously a sore point. She changed the subject. “Have you met the other assistant? The one with all the piercings?” “Who’s that?” “Amy or something. You’ll know her when you see her,” Leila added with a superior smile which I wanted to swat like a fly.

“She’s at the Lycée Classique,” Leila continued her character assassination of the unfortunate Amy, but I wasn’t really listening. She was boring me, to be honest. Luckily, someone appeared with more drinks and I took the opportunity to attempt to make conversation with the insipid Jenny (a totally unrewarding experience) while Leila went to find the poor gimp she’d suckered into giving her a lift.

I was rescued when they all went off to a club somewhere. I wasn’t invited, but that was just fine by me. I spent the rest of the evening drinking and smoking way too much. Ho-hum.

Previous Chapter

Mike stayed with us for about a week. Definitely no longer than that, but it seemed like a month. Mike was a man of few words. Understandable when you don’t speak much of the language, I supposed. The following day, I thought I would be friendly and [...]]]> Based on extracts from The Guadeloupe Diaries, 2000-2001

Previous Chapter

Mike stayed with us for about a week. Definitely no longer than that, but it seemed like a month. Mike was a man of few words. Understandable when you don’t speak much of the language, I supposed. The following day, I thought I would be friendly and show him around a bit.

Mike gave monosyllabic a whole new meaning. How one person could radically alter the atmosphere of our flat was truly astounding, especially as I didn’t think he was even doing it on purpose. I’d never really taken much notice of negative auras and bad vibes, but both of these unseen forces were swirling round like a pea-souper smog.

Despite this, I did try to jolly him along a bit. After all, I had already experienced a stay abroad, I knew what it was like to feel shell shocked and homesick. But as the time wore on, so did my nerves. The absolute classic had to be when I was making myself some breakfast when he appeared in the kitchen and I jumped out of my skin and practically had to be scraped off the ceiling.  He hadn’t said hello, or announced his presence in any way. He did this with irritating regularity, and after a while it was starting to piss me off big time

“Would you like some guava juice?” asked Marie as she poured the neon pink liquid from the carton.

Mike crinkled his nose, “No thanks,” he replied, and returned to reading “The Road to Calvary”. Oh no, I though, a born-again Christian to boot. Great.

“Have you tried it? It’s really nice.” Marie was doing her best to connect with Mike.

“I don’t want any.”

Deflated, Marie gave up. Later on, she said to me that if you don’t even try a drink, then you’re not going to get very far. I think that Mike had already decided that he wasn’t going to like Guadeloupe.

Later in the week, Eliane Leblanc rang up to talk with Mike and they were speaking for a good half hour. Or rather Eliane was speaking and Mike responded with the usual “uh-huh” and “sure”. Afterwards Mike said that there was a room at the boarding house of the Lycée de Providence, and he would give that a try. He admitted to me that he felt he had bitten off more than he could chew, since when he applied to do the Assistantship programme, he had expected to be going to Europe, and had not expressed any preference for area, little suspecting that they would send him Outre-Mer. I felt quite sorry for the guy, stuck in his room reading the Bible, but try as I might, I could not relate to him.

Relief was the feeling which overwhelmed me when I came home to find Mike had moved out. After he was rude to one of the teachers from my school who rang up, I found it difficult to have any patience with him at all. I was getting tired of having to apologise on his behalf. After the Mike and Leila incidents, Marie said that she was not going to bother with any more lodgers.

Later on Madame Fleurival called to see how les assistants were getting on. I informed her of her error, and she went on her way, rejoicing.

So far, the other assistants seemed to be way out west, even by my warped standards. Snotty Leila et al, Mike, and that was before I had even met crazy Amy.

Next Chapter

Previous chapter

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 [...]]]> Adapted from The Guadeloupe Diaries, 2000-2001

Previous chapter

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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