"École Tètè" and other misunderstandings

So all the children here at Kay Grace are out of school for the summer.  This is lovely for them, but could be potentially cray for us, and one of the goals of the project is to help them make up for lost time by giving them some formal structure and education even when not in school.  So Barb has asked us, the two volunteers, to do a kind of small summer camp with them: art projects, organized games both in- and outdoors, and maybe some one-on-one time to work intensively with each child on areas of weakness. We wanted to indicate to the kids that this was something different, and more fun, than regular school - but that it still retained a formality of structure.  That they need to attend, need to listen to us and be prepared to live within rules while there.  So we called it "summer school" or, in my serviceable but not always correct French "L'École d'Été."

Unfortunately, one of the children is called Tètè, and the combination of the indefinite French article and the word for summer slur together in the children's pronunciations so that Summer School becomes Tètè's School: L'École Tètè.  Not a genuine excuse not to come to school, but nonetheless another excuse for them to try on.

While the children delight in teaching us Creole, when they fell like it, and I have come to recently realize that they consistently modify their Creole for us, they also seem to deeply enjoy mocking our language skills.  One of the older boys has a long running joke with me - well it's a joke for him anyway, and after about the millionth repetition I've given in and decided it's a joke for me, too.  He'll wait until I call something bizarre, a not uncommon occurrence given my limited vocabulary of French adjectives.  The i in the French form is long, like pizza rather than like business.  Or rather, like "visa."  So the game goes like this.  I say "C'est bizarre" and he says "Se pa visa, se passport."  If I dare to continue to insist that in fact I said bizarre, with a b, he'll continue to insist that in fact he meant passport.

Just a couple of the small day-to-day challenges dealing with a house full of six children who don't happen to speak your language.  At least they understand me - mostly.