Flat hunting allows me to kill two birds with one stone. As well as trying to secure accommodation, I am becoming acquainted with Brussels in all its damp and/or overcast glory. (On average, it rains more than half the year in Brussels. The climate has been true to form since my arrival. Summer? What summer?)
I have visited the Belgian capital on a number of occasions. Now having relocated here for work, as oppose to floating around as a tourist, I see it with completely different eyes. A big city girl most of my life, I'm already out of the habit having lived in a glorified-village for two-and-a half-years. Brussels isn't a mega-city like London yet feels larger and more intimidating than I recall. Furthermore, I thought I’d already mentally prepared for the sense of isolation that accompanies moving to a new city with no connections. Clearly not entirely. I'm occasionally overwhelmed at the thought of being unmoored.
As well as looking for long term shelter, I also make my enquiries regarding sustenance of another kind. On my request, a Strasbourg-based uncle (cultural, no relation) who use to live in Brussels has provided me with a helpful survival list.
The unpronounceably-Dutch Colruyt falls into the budget-shopping category. Its vast warehouse set-up does include some genuine bargains including wholemeal pasta, a wide variety of cheeses and an impressive Pic-N-Mix. However, the meat section is exorbitant as are household goods. I don’t care much for the payment system either. There is no proper check out service. One is obligated to either hold their items or leave them in a trolley whilst a sales assistant scans each by hand. Looks as if it'll be a mix-and-match job, procuring different items from various retailers to ensure the best prices.
Fortunately, in that same corner of Schaerbeek (No, I don’t know how to pronounce it either) I stumble across Aldi (far better than what I came across in France or even Germany) and a world market where I can purchase meat at a much more sensible price.
As for spiritual bread, I've made my peace with the fact that finding a church in Brussels will be a longer process than anticipated. It's much larger than Strasbourg for a start. Online services in the wake of COVID makes it simultaneously easier and harder to gauge. I'm also keenly observing how Belgian churches have responded to the social unrest following George Floyd's murder. The response on the Continent has generally been unimpressive from what I've seen or heard so far. One minister goes as far as to call the protests a work of the Devil. Good grief. There's no perfect church of course but neither should I rush the decision. To be continued...
The day before I start my new role, my future line manager, Ama, schedules an informal meet up. She is the director of the Diversity & Inclusion Department (D&I). My specific projects will revolve around gender relations in the Trade Union context as well as supporting migrants' rights. Already having great salience before the pandemic, they're thrown into stark relief all the more now.
Ama and I meet in the Bourse area which has changed beyond recognition. Ama agrees.
She treats me to a delicious virgin cocktail whilst we discuss our similar West African backgrounds, international politics, work culture and natural Afro haircare. Over the next few days it becomes apparent how much our political worldview overlaps. We lament that Jeremy Corbyn has been replaced by Keir Starmer and the latter's complacency over Afrophobia and other double standards. We swap notes on insidious forms of racism, converge on the importance of political education and paraphrase Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, Paolo Freira and Stuart Hall. It’s stimulating to say the least. I revise my initial impression of her diffidence. Ama doesn’t suffer fools gladly.
Turning to more practical matters, I ask about TTUO’s physical distancing guidelines. She explains that the usual office-based routine hasn’t resumed and colleagues are only permitted on site based on a rota. D&I has a generous WFH policy. In light of the Belgian government’s post-lockdown endorsement of teleworking, it’s all the more encouraged by the organisation.
After lunch with Ama, the afternoon is far spent. I head to my next viewing. En route I’m accosted by an attractive young Congolese fellow; full of compliments and wide-eyed, ahem, admiration. I’m flattered. He is polite, helpful and eager to meet up. I give him my business card. I would normally be on my guard but with no pre-existing networks in Belgium, I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. On the other hand, I don’t want to mislead and hope my friendliness isn’t taken for more than just that. I needn't worry. I don't hear back from him.
I arrive at the viewing early, as has become my habit since missing one the previous week. The agent has no key to the property. We wait for the landlord to show up.
It’s a partially converted hotel. A gentleman sleeps rough outside. I am nervous about that, to my shame and latent hypocrisy.
Two oriental men let us into the building. The agent explains one of them is the proprietor, a new client. The flat itself isn’t what I expected. Let’s just say it doesn’t live up to the promise of the dazzling photos. It’s smaller, older and less pristine than advertised. The rent is pretty attractive. Not so low that it would be suspicious but a bargain considering it includes all bills and is in one of the most respectable parts of a capital city. Alas, if something seems too good to be true it probably is. By that stage I’ve viewed enough properties to have had this recurring experience. The apartment is taken under especially flattering light and/or photo-shopped or whatever the inanimate equivalent is. It’s a frustrating first few weeks for visits. There are a number of cancellations, false starts and general disappointment.
Thankfully, it's more auspicious on the professional front. I'm up early for my first day of work after less sleep than would be advisable. My office is slap bang in central Brussels. The immediate environs are pleasant, although that changes swiftly depending on which corner you turn.
I arrive three quarters of an hour early. It’s either that or cutting it fine with an alternative route. Head of HR, Émilie is an early bird too. She gives me a cheery welcome and good French practice.
Émilie spends most of the morning and some of the afternoon taking me through the organisational structure, work protocol, perquisites and introducing me to the very few colleagues scheduled to work in the office that day. Her brother, Serge oversees office supplies. He informs me that I have my pick of two swanky face masks, courtesy of TTUO.
Having previously communicated via email, I meet the sole IT technician on duty, Stijn. It takes him the whole day to set up my work laptop. Fortunately, I have come prepared with my basic PC. Efficient Stijn has the unintended curtness of the ever-so-slightly socially-challenged. I never cease to be amazed by how much IT personnel live up to the clichés.
Émilie formally introduces me to all colleagues via email. One of the Comms team, Kimberley, recognises my name from an unrelated webinar earlier on in the year. She had looked me up and wanted to approach me to write for a TTUO-related publication. Now, here I am. God is in the details.
I practise some Portuguese with Brazilian colleague Sandro. Bob, one of the assistant directors, introduces me to the main boss and fellow South African, Lauren. Her manner is at once salt-of-the-earth and somehow regal. She decides against hugging in respect of the physical distancing rules. She asks me how the flat-search is going.
Don’t settle, she advises. It’s a renter’s market. Hold out for what you really want. I find this reassuring given my experience thus far. And the fact it's TTUO currently paying for my hotel.
There’s more French practice later with the head of the West & Central African region, Rashidi.
Late that morning, I have a teleconference with the other members of the team. Ama re-introduces herself formally, as does project manager, Demetria whom I met during the interview. I’m yet to meet the others such as PA, Manuelle and project coordinator, Roos. They give me a comprehensive overview of the projects on which I’ll be working, conscious not to overwhelm me. By the end, I have a solid list of recommended reading to keep me busy until I start formal duties the following week. I discover later that, according to the roster, my physical presence is scarcely required in the office during my first month.
I have time for a brief lunch break in which I nab some winter essentials for a steal at a nearby high street.
It’s 6pm before I know it. My first few days follow a similar pattern. I'll meet and lunch with more colleagues, some of whom started working at TTUO before I was born.
A week later I’m still green and fresh, much to Ama's bemusement. It’s invigorating to attend and/or contribute to numerous teleconferences on themes such as the plight of migrant farm workers during the global pandemic or encouraging more women to take up leadership roles in Trade Unions. My heart swells when I read about the campaigns on which I'll be working. I try to temper my excitement with realism. I can but take a day at a time. For today, at least, it feels very rewarding.
Soundtrack: What Kinda Music by Tom Misch & Yusef Dayes, Canyons by Young Gun Silver Fox.
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