You know, I actually really like France. The couple hours I spent navigating my way through the
French airport bureaucracy inherent in lost luggage claims was quite pleasant. It seems to me that everything that would be at least
semi-efficient in the U.S. takes at least twice as long in France, simply
because of all the technical loopholes one is obliged to jump through. After
living in France for five months in 2009, I was prepared for this. However,
Martinique is France on Caribbean time! That means everything is delayed by
another 40% of the time, minimum. Living in Martinique has provided me with an
incredible opportunity to bring my yoga practice into everyday life. While I
might have been frustrated and impatient in 2009, in 2011 I made the conscious
decision to breath deeply and appreciate what I could about my experience. In
fact, I gained a lot from this little incident! For one, I was able to refresh
my airport/luggage vocabulary that I hadn’t used since my bags got lost while
moving to Bordeaux. Also, the beautiful ladies who walked me through the
process were so warm and welcoming! I couldn’t help feeling like I was going to
enjoy living in this convivial French DOM (département
d’outre-mer, or overseas department). Why is it that hot weather makes
people, well, nicer? They told me I’d have my luggage in two days. Perfect.
That would be right before my orientation where I’d meet all the other language
assistants. (Six days later, the deliveryman arrived with MOST of my luggage. Precisely
as I had calculated…)
 |
| A picnic day at the beach |
Finally, Sylvie and José led me outside, where I gulped up
my first damp breaths of that blazing, blue sky. (Note to self: hair UP
immediately and henceforth – jeans absolutely prohibited.) I carted myself
through row after row of shiny cars, glinting in the sun (sweaty me, not the
cars), to the very back of the parking lot. Sylvie’s little red car was the only
run-down, beat-up car in the lot. She told me everyone in Martinique has
une jolie
voiture, a pretty car, except her. Martiniquans take their cars seriously.
And with the humidity here, everything electronic and mechanical breaks after a
couple of years, maximum. People repaint their cars every five years. Not
Sylvie! She’d rather spend the money on traveling. Now there’s a woman after my
own heart. I immediately new we’d get along JUST fine.
The drive home from the airport is as vivid in my mind as if
it had happened yesterday. José heaped himself into the back seat – ever the
gentleman – I rolled down the windows as fast as my arm could crank the handle,
and we were off! We rolled through countless rond-points if you’re French, or roundabouts if you’re British, or traffic circles if you’re
American. (English assistants: Do you like how I put your word in italics like
it’s a different language? …Because it is.) My sleepy head lolled back and
forth on the foamy headrest but my eyes were wide open, soaking in my new
country. I listened to Sylvie explaining the basics of the island, and to José
asking questions in a French I hardly understood. There was so much green! Everywhere!
Sylvie explained that the two main export crops on the island are sugar cane
and bananas. However, in Martinique, everything costs 40% more than in France.
There is no exception for these crops, which, along with everything else, are
shipped to France to be labeled and who knows what else, and then back to
Martinique to be sold. FABULOUS for the environment!
 |
| I love the silhouettes here. Just like home! ;) |
Sylvie explained that we were heading to Le François, a pretty
rural town of about 17,000 where I now live. The people who live in the
François region are called Franciscans. They have their own Franciscan party in
the Martiniquan government, and tend to be fairly conservative. Le François is
also where all the Béké tend to live. The Béké are the white Martiniquans.
(Disclaimer: Most of my information about the Béké comes from Sylvie, or other
third parties. I have never met, and have hardly ever seen a real Béké in
person!) According to Sylvie, the Béké are extremely wealthy, extraordinarily
exclusive, and rather racist (at least, the older generations are). They own
the oil industry in Martinique, and are therefore against any reasonably
developed system of public transportation. In Martinique, you MUST have a car
to get around. If not, your only real option is the
taxico, or collective taxi. The
taxicos
operate like busses but look like minivans, and they can be quite expensive if
you use them every day, especially when you’re paying in Euros! Since everyone
has a car, everyone is forced to pay the Béké for their gas. The Béké also own
most of the important businesses in Martinique, including all the huge
plantations and many of the juice companies. (Fruit juice is very popular in
Martinique, and not just for kids!) As we neared our destination, driving on narrow
winding roads past hills upon hills of banana trees and sugar cane stalks,
Sylvie began to point out the large houses hidden on fenced properties. There
are about fifteen Béké families in Martinique, and they stick to themselves. In
fact, they have inter-married so much that now they can no longer marry each
other or it would cause genetic dysfunctions in their offspring! However,
instead of intermixing with black Martiniquans, the Béké prefer to marry white
foreigners. However, since the Béké hardly ever leave their properties – they
have maids go and do the shopping for them – it’s unlikely that I will every
really meet one in person.
 |
| Schoelcher, right next to the capital, Fort-de-France |
The white French people here from the Hexagon (the European
part of France that Americans think of as France) are often referred to as
métros, short for metropolitans.
Interestingly enough, they are also referred to as
Français, French. People here refer to Martinique as their
pays, their country. France is somewhere
else. Once upon a time, children were indoctrinated in school to feel a strong
sense of patriotic love for their “mother country”. Those days are over. Now,
Martiniquans feel Martiniquan first, French second, and certainly not European.
The French people in Martinique, like French people in general, are definitely
more progressive and accepting. However, Martinique is a very transitory place
for French people. They are typically only here for one to five years on a job
contract before returning home to France. This means that not a lot of them
take the time to invest in setting roots here in Martinique, and really developing
profound friendships with Martiniquans. There are MANY exceptions to this, but
in general, it seems that French people tend to hang out a lot together. Sylvie
told me that while there are generally very fine relationships between
Martiniquans and French people, there is a bit of a tension over jobs. It is
exceedingly difficult for Martiniquans to find good jobs in Martinique, unless
they go into politics. If they go into business or medicine, or any other well
thought-of field, the jobs are controlled by the Béké and often given to
visiting French people for a few years at a time. Therefore, most Martiniquan
teenagers who want to climb the socio-economic ladder have to go to college and
get jobs in France. The rest are left behind, in a certain respect. This leads
to apathy and somehow also to rampant consumerism.
As we pulled up to my new house and started talking about my
living situation for the immediate future, I reflected on the profound
conversations Sylvie and I had already had about the underlying dynamics of
Martiniquan society. As much as I had joked that I had chosen to go to the
Caribbean to “get my tan on”, THIS is why I came here. These are the
conversations I was craving, the knowledge I was seeking. My first drive home
in Martinique encapsulates exactly what I had hoped to experience here – the
utter beauty of the vivid green landscape, the bright blue sky and turquoise
sea, and the invisible part of Martinique I came here to discover. Oh, culture!
