I have missed you. I have stayed away far longer than I ever intended. Why did I go away. Well, it wasn’t you. It was me. I became far too obsessed with checking my stats, then too worried that no-one would love you but me, then too worried that people might not read you, [...]]]> Dear Blog,

I have missed you. I have stayed away far longer than I ever intended. Why did I go away. Well, it wasn’t you. It was me. I became far too obsessed with checking my stats, then too worried that no-one would love you but me, then too worried that people might not read you, and worried that they might

Lots of worry there, plain to see now I type it.

Instead of having fun, I made you into a project. Into Work. I like to work, I like to be busy, but I made you into an Obligation, and then I resented you for it. I forgot this was meant to be Fun.

Sometimes I even make Fun into Work. Like it’s a box to be ticked or something. I berate myself if I don’t feel like going out with friends, so I force myself to do it and then it’s not Fun anymore, but Hard Work.

This is a Huge Issue in my life. Relaxing and having fun just for the sake of it. Lightening up. I can be a fun and funny person if I can stop being serious long enough.

OK, enough of my Stuff for today. I’m not going to blog about my Stuff all the time, so don’t worry. Just this once. Just to say: Hello Blog, I’m back.

And lighter.

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.