Life is Full of Surprises

 

Sounds Jazz Club, Brussels
(courtesy of Visit Brussels)

7 min. read

A few hours after my plane from Italy touches down, I’m back in the gym. That same evening, I attend a French conversation social.  The longer days and warmer weather bring more opportunities to socialise. I intend to avail myself of them all.

Meanwhile, my job search is ongoing. One upside to unemployment - I don’t have to worry about being too groggy for work in the morning.

I have a tendency to commit to things in advance, sometimes only to find my diary close to overload. I am in that exact position as April draws to a close. 

I continue my discovery of what Brussels has to offer on the open mic night front (these events have been some of the last to recommence post-lockdowns). 

One of the most proactive Internations consuls organises a midweek trip to Sounds Jazz club in Ixelles. 

The venue would normally be apprised of guests’ arrival, so we can all be seated in the same area. Not this time. My enquiries are met with blank expressions from staff. A petite woman with a fabulous dusty-blonde afro wanders around looking equally lost. We realise we’re part of the same group. She introduces herself as Delia; originally from Angola now based in Gent. She’s having trouble getting hold of the organiser. Another guest shows up - Emma- overhears our conversation and signals she’s also there for the same reason. 

The venue is fast filling up. I volunteer to speak to a small party near the stage who look as if they might be in the know. My gamble pays off. I’m signposted to a group in the corner, presided over by Helena – the co-organiser. I call over Delia and Emma. There's just about enough space for everyone. 

None of us have previously met. Most are relatively new to Brussels; some only moving to Belgium weeks beforehand. I’m almost a veteran in comparison. At less than two years in the country, I’m used to being amongst the newbies. Lively Helena has maintained a strong Antipodean accent, despite having spent at least half her life based in either North America or Europe. Part-Greek and Part-Italian (speaking neither), she has more official nationalities than anyone I’ve met. Four; including New Zealand and US. I didn’t think it were possible.

Delia and I discuss natural hair care and I speak about my recent trip to Florence with a gentleman originally from the Calabria region. I strike a particular rapport with Fredricka, a Half-Ugandan, Half-German director recently moved to Belgium after a brief stint in the UK. She’s in Brussels to research her next project. We discuss cultural liminality, colonial spillover, observations about the male species in the European context and exchange perspectives on living in France (she in the South, I in the North).

You must meet my friend, Karin. I insist.

The discussion is so enjoyable, we’re all distracted from the high quality musicianship on offer. After the House Trio finish their set, young bloods (all men, as usual) line up to jam. I had seriously played with the idea of adding some vocals (for a change), but the moment passes. It’s getting late.

Sons of Abraham (Théâtre National, BXL)

We all head home at a similar time, not before numbers are swapped and friendship requests sent. I’m buoyed by the night’s proceedings. I went with an open mind and my expectations have been exceeded. 

Quelle belle surprise.

Later in the week, I head to the National Theatre in Central Brussels for a performance of new play, Sons of Abraham. Months ago, Lorenzo and I had plans to see it together.  A lot has happened in the meantime. Instead, I attend with the Internations Theatre contingent. I’m almost tempted to bow out when I discover that a concert is being held that same night at Bozar, to commemorate what would’ve been the 100^th birthday of Belgian Jazz Legend, Toots Thielemans. The event boasts illustrious names like Brazilian singer/songwriter Ivan Lins and guitarist Philippe Catherine. Conflicted, I decide to honour my theatre commitment.

It’s not at all a bad trade off. Sons of Abraham is what experimental theatre should be like when done well. Fusing music with an interactive narrative, an Iranian refugee, his Israeli creative-collaborator and a Turkish-Kurdish singer examine the brutal reality of hostile migration policy. The biblical account of half-brothers Ishmael and Isaac is the source material. Raw, self-aware, irreverent and shockingly candid, the performers roam the sparse stage, engaging every element of their being in the story-telling process. The script is updated to include the recent invasion of Ukraine and the double-standards in Western reportage. No interval, no let-up. 

After roughly 90 minutes, we’re left reeling but impressed. There’s not too much lingering after the performance. I’ve been bracing myself to bump into Lorenzo. I don’t see him. I have mixed feelings about it. Mostly relief.

I head back towards the station with a fellow theatre-goer.  De Brouckère square has been commandeered by the Balkans Traffik festival. The music carries so far and wide, and the stage so visible from street level, you don’t need to have purchased a ticket to benefit.

I’ll be back at the theatre the following night. Before then, I attend an inaugural Mixed Conversation Circle, organised by a life coach - Bruno - with whom I became acquainted in late 2021. The aim is to have open discussions, irrespective of gender, about negotiating concepts of masculinity and femininity in the 21st century. Bruno is already experienced in running Masculinity circles. He credits me for the Mixed Conversation event, since it was my demand that they be open to women which gave him the spark.

(subpng)

I fall short of my good intentions and arrive a quarter hour late. Bruno isn't fussed.

By the way, you’ll be the only woman present for this first session, he warns.

That’s odd, I reply, more nervous now. It's usually harder to convince the menfolk to attend these activities.

Bruno directs me upstairs. I hear him mention Lorenzo’s name.

Bruno knows we’re acquainted and that it was I who encouraged Lorenzo to attend last year’s Masculinity Circles. However, Bruno is not aware that we’re currently estranged. We haven't seen each other for a couple of months. Bar the odd email or a perfunctory text exchange over Easter, we have hardly communicated at all.

I don’t have enough time to fix a neutral expression. With a sheepish grin, I throw a cursory glance in Lorenzo’s direction. I expect a cool reception. Instead he smiles and winks, as if he’s not as surprised at my presence as I am at his. 

There are two empty seats; one next to Bruno and the other beside Lorenzo. I choose the former. Instinctively -if unconscious - I angle my body away from Lorenzo for the majority of the meeting. In retrospect, he’s the only one with whom I never make eye-contact when he takes the floor. (It’s not something I can completely avoid. At the end of the discussion, Bruno insists that we look into each other’s eyes. A disarming request at the best of times, it’s a moment I find too excruciating for words in these circumstances.)

I still have love in my heart for my erstwhile friend but I don't feel emotionally safe around him at present. I realise we can't go back to what was. Yet, neither do I see an immediate way forward. 

For the early part of the session, I am completely thrown off. I haven't had time to mentally prepare. This is supposed to be an intimate space. I don’t know how I am going to open up with someone in the room who makes me feel very uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t help that the other attendees stress the point about me being the only woman. It’s all affirmative. In a different context, I’d appreciate the show of respect. For now, I find the attention too intense. I take deep breaths. I try to be as honest about my unease as possible without being indiscreet. (Later, I’ll explain to Bruno by text message the reason for my disorientated state). I intend to listen more than I speak.

Orphelins (Varia Theatre)

I eventually calm down enough to make some meaningful contributions. The discussion doesn’t turn specifically around gender relations, so much as our individual self-image and thought patterns. For the sake of discretion, I won’t divulge more. Suffice to say, once I'm settled, I find the session overall constructive. From the positive feedback I receive from the others, the sentiment is mutual.

Once the mortifying eye-contact ritual is over, I remain only briefly to make conversation with everyone but the person whom I once considered a best friend. He’s not exactly forthcoming himself. I make a beeline for the door, giving a gesture vaguely resembling a wave as I leave. On exiting, I hear a burst of laughter. I try to dispel any paranoia. It’s not in the spirit of the Circle to be catty.

The theatre will be solace of sorts later that evening. A macabre and sophisticated piece about adult siblings - orphaned as children - and the lengths one would go to protect the other from the consequences of a heinous act. There’s much to hold my attention; the rapid-fire dialogue, intriguing plot developments and poignant performances. And yet, my mind occasionally roams. 

The following day, 1 May, is the National Holiday for Workers. After church and a quick detour to Midi market, I head to Mont des Arts in the Gare Centrale area for the official commemoration. I'm due to meet a new comrade, Augustin. This will be my first real Worker's Day experience since moving to Belgium. I expect the gathering to be a typical political rally. It's more like a carnival. The sun is out. There's a temporary stage, where a band with a female lead vocalist and bassist (woo-hoo!) are playing infectious Afro-funk. There are food vans and bouncy castles, as well as numerous stalls set up by Leftist European political parties and CSOs. I collect various flyers en route to meeting Augustin and co. He introduces me to his wife, Molly and their children. Belgian Augustin and Congolese Molly have a rainbow tribe that resembles the cast of Different Strokes, and then some. 

It's an upbeat way to spend my post-church afternoon and beat the solo Sunday blues. That evening, Fredricka and I will reconnect again at a DJ set in Parc Royale. The following week, we’ll make it a wholesome threesome with Karin.

Soundtrack: We Are the Children of the Sun compiled by Paul Hillery. Basically Sober by Suff Daddy.