how's that thought for you?

The school year has come to an end!

The conseil was this past Tuesday and it lasted an achingly long five hours. But I made it through, and now I have 47 days between now and Remus and Jane's Excellent Adventure!

This year I was a Professor Principal for one of the ten classes at my school, which meant that I was in charge of calculating this particular class's overall averages. I then made a list of students who passed, students who failed but are allowed to retake the class the next year, and students who failed and are not allowed to return. Dun dun dun. So final. Even my handmade form (Yes, we made our own forms and I've gotten quite adept at using a straightedge) looked official with "Exclu" written in red next to the names of those who can no longer attend the C.E.G. of Bouroum-Bouroum. I even had a kid who would've been able to retake the class next year, but instead I had to fail him because he had one too many absences. The limit was 17 absences and he had 18. Not 18 days, but 18 hours. That amounts to only about three days. I thought it was harsh and I argued for him, but the director was adamant. And so poor Edouard has to go to another village next year if he wants to continue his education.

During the conseil we also spent an hour talking about the shortcomings of our soon-to-be former secretary. I have no idea why this issue was discussed because the teachers have no business in the matter. It just felt like everyone wanted to lay their grievances with her on the table. Yes, she was not the best secretary. She was actually pretty bad, but that didn't call for an hour long desultory whining session. Let her go and move on to the next. Oh no, it's not that simple. We then struggled over how to choose a good secretary for next year, one who doesn't hide her "vrai visage" behind giggling and a cute face. Goodness me, can't the school just contact her references?

This discussion reminded me of a completely unrelated conversation I had a couple of months ago about how to tell if a girl is pregnant. I was at cpl, the place in village where I eat rice for lunch every day, and I was chatting with the owner Alice. I like Alice. She's fiery and though she's Muslim, she drinks beer and wears pants and (unfortunately) she's picked up some English curse words I reserve for the population of creepers. Alice and I were talking about how many young girls drop out of school each year due to pregnancy, and all of a sudden she called over one of her helpers at cpl. This "helper" is a 16-year-old girl, very petite. She stops in front of Alice and Alice looks her over, places one of her hands on the side of the girl's neck, looks at her palms and declares, "Elle est enceinte." She's pregnant it appears, according to this odd but apparently accurate examination. I saw this 16-year-old petite girl last week and she now sports a visible baby bump. But what about an actual pregnancy test or a trip to our local health clinic just to be certain? And back to the point of the secretary: Can't we just check the prospective secretary's references rather than gaze creepily into her face, hoping we don't see laziness and an inability to type behind them purty brown eyes?
I suppose there are some things I'll never understand, but it sure can be entertaining trying to figure it out.

Oh, speaking of baby bumps. There was a girl in my English class who almost passed, but not quite, and since she's already redoubled the class I initially put her down as "Exclue." But she was never absent, she always participated in class, she worked hard, and she just missed the passing grade. I also observed that she was pregnant. I advocated for her passage to the next grade and the director agreed with me! When I told this student the good news I also mentioned her pregnancy and I asked her what her plan was (she's already married with twins, who adore me by the way). I figured she'd give birth right about the time the school year begins again in October, and I hoped her family would be around to help out. But when I mentioned this she exclaimed that she wasn't pregnant but that she's sick with something that gives her the impression of looking like she's pregnant, and advancing at the appropriate speed. Curious. I wonder if she thought my knowledge of her pregnancy would impact my decision to recommend her to the next grade level. I hope not. Most girls drop out of school, but she wants to forge ahead. More power to her! I do wonder if her "illness" will pass by October. Of course I won't be here to verify. I'll be rockin' it in Nouveau Mexique!

Have you ever been running, sweating like a pig, singing some Clint Black, when you come across a herd of cows in your path? I have, and it was a little scary. At first I thought that I'd just keep on chugging along at the same pace, but then I noticed that all the cows turned their faces toward me. Some of them were shuffling their feet and some were making weird throaty noises. Alert! I slowed to a walk and the cows immediately became bored with me. I then zig-zagged between them, avoiding the one one that was relieving his bladder. Once I was past them I started jogging again, and all was sunshine and daisies again. But yeah, never run at cows, even if "A Good Run of Bad Luck" just makes you want to. Lesson learned. Ooh, that's something I can put in my volunteer report form.

Check out pictures below! I'm the pale one, and the others are some of my favorite people in village, the Sidibe's, and Bruce the Cow.