6 min. read
Whilst a number of my friends will be overseas or otherwise indisposed during the festive period, sis and I do manage to pay a visit to heavily-pregnant Karin and family. My sis’ natural gift with children comes in handy and she swiftly wins over the affections of Karin’s brood. She teaches older boy, Amos, some Afrobeats and House moves. His little sister, Evita pleads with us not to leave when it’s finally time to go home. Even their dad, Felix is quietly won over by sis’ charm.
The next evening we meet up with newer acquaintance Jens, after much fuss on my part getting him to confirm the details.
Sis is eager to try some authentic Belgian Beef Stew. A number of establishments are either closed, over-subscribed or plain inhospitable. The last option on our list, Falstaff, miraculously has a table for three on a Friday night. If the food is good, the service is bizarre, to say the least. Our waiter behaves like an emotionally-abusive lover. He showers us with attention and convivial conversation one moment; is curt and withholding the next. It’s not the most economic choice of restaurant, either. Whilst she enjoys the food, sis feels cheated having to pay that much for a shabby service.
After taking advantage of some of the special festive events in town – including the light show at Grande Place - Jens suggests we head to Flagey for a DJ set at Café Belga.
The venue is full to bursting. Sis is temporarily dissuaded by the heaving crowd. We persevere nevertheless and are immediately rewarded with some choice selections on the decks. I lose it when the DJ drops, Go Deep, by Janet Jackson.
As is his custom, Jens disappears for a portion of the evening. Sis suddenly wants to go home. As she leans into tell me, a white-adjacent female strokes sis’ hair extensions. I kick into defensive older sibling mode, immediately remonstrating her for daring to touch a black woman’s hair without being invited. As if Solange had not put this on record for all the world to know.
Sis is slightly bewildered, not having clocked what the young woman has done. I try to fill in the gaps on the ride back home, once Jens has finally reappeared. Sis also explains why, after initially having a good time, she quickly lost appetite for the event. She recounts how one of the other revellers took inordinate offence at me dropping my earring whilst dancing (it went nowhere near her). Sis intervened, polite but firm. From a distance, I assumed they were simply making friendly conversation.
Jens drops us off home. Before disembarking, we play a parting game of Name that Tune and Head’s Up. Jens' musical knowledge reveals itself to be broad but not deep. I’m unreasonably peeved by this, as if I've been duped somehow.
More worrying is his lack of socio-political awareness. Not for the first time, I challenge him on being culturally insensitive. He’s surprisingly dismissive about why I took issue with my sister’s hair being stroked by a stranger. It's as if he's ignored all the conversations in recent years, revived in the mainstream, around the interplay between structural racism and micro-aggressions. I'm shocked by his absence of humility and white-splaining. I recall a similarly frustrating exchange around gender-related issues.
Despite his obvious privileges - and me teasing him for being a luxury car-driving bourgeoisie - I hadn’t pegged Jens as a middle-class-European-male cliché. I realise this is not coming from a place of bad faith. He is not a poser; he’s too sincere for all of that. He comes across at first as cosmopolitan, open-minded and quite down-to-earth. He’s dated black women in the past (of course, interracial dating does not automatically equate to enlightened views). Jens' lack of empathy and cultural curiosity thus disappoints me profoundly. That likely has more to do with my own (unfair? premature?) expectations than him wilfully misleading me.
I get counter-productively worked up trying to make Jens understand. Moreover, sis doesn’t wholly take my side, much to my annoyance. She’s more conciliatory about Jens' reaction. He has made a positive impression. She commends him for being easygoing, as well as holding his own in a heated discussion without becoming truculent. Still, the evening will leave me rattled for a while to come.
Not enough to immediately hamper the rest of mine, mum and sis’ festive plans. I continue to show them the luminous charms of Brussels bathed in Christmas lights. There’s not much else going on otherwise.
On New Year’s Eve, we eschew the fireworks at Parc Royal to pray into 2023 in the comfort and warmth of my flat. In the morning, we head to Fresh Wine Ministries for a shorter special New Year’s Day service. Pastor Mike admits to being laid low by 2022, as were many. The previous year has been intense; like a microcosm of everything that has frustrated me so far about adult life. Even if things are yet to materially change for me, I feel momentarily lighter just being able to draw a line psychologically under 2022. Pastor Mike is optimistic about 2023. Over the coming days, I’ll hear these sentiments echoed elsewhere. I, on the other hand, remain reserved about the coming 12 months. A chaque jour suffit sa peine.
I introduce mum and sis to Pastor Mike and other members of the Fresh Wine Ministries family after the service.
Later, I'll assume most of the cooking duties, having begun my preparations the day before. Mum and sis make very encouraging noises about my culinary efforts; a simple but apparently effective menu of game, red meat pie, mixed potato mash, vegetables and home-made gravy. We gather around Disney+ to watch the first instalment of the Die Hard franchise, unfamiliar to us all. Sis and I find it raucously entertaining, even if we’re sceptical about its gun-toting, patriotic, rugged-individualist messaging. I come down firmly on the side of the debate that this Bruce Willis vehicle can be classified as a Christmas movie.
It’s the last full day of our cross-Channel festive break.
I accompany mum and sis to Gare du Midi station the following afternoon, savouring the last few moments before we go our separate ways. Amongst the long queue for the Eurostar, I see a familiar face, Chibugo. She once interviewed me for a job for which I was eventually unsuccessful, although received positive feedback. By some twist of fate, we’ve run into each other on a number of random occasions since.
Chibugo is also seeing her sister back off to London that afternoon. I find this encounter somewhat providential. We keep each other company after our family members disappear through the security checks. It takes some of the sting out of an emotional goodbye.
It’s not until that evening that I’ll feel mum and sis’ absence. I return from Zumba that night to a dark and empty flat once again. I can hardly bring myself to switch on my fairy lights once my relatives have left. I dismantle the decorations before Twelfth Night. I’ll wake up disorientated in the early hours, on the way to the lavatory, remembering mum and sis are no longer camped out in my living room.
The loneliness does not tarry. The next day it’s back to the demoralising job hunt. That week, I apply for a role that seems like such a step backward, I feel sullied going through with it. To prevent cabin fever - and to take advantage of the dry mild weather – I fulfil a personal goal of walking the entirety of la fameuse Chaussée de Wavre. This major thoroughfare traverses several of Brussels’ communes and has long piqued my curiosity. I take my time, making numerous stops en route. Having benefitted from being surrounded by loved ones for a few weeks, I am becoming re-accustomed to my own company.
Elsewhere, I find respite in resuming my work-out regimen and shifts at the Red Cross. It’s good to be back and of service after weeks away. The RC is a lifesaver in more ways than one, if that's not too melodramatic.
Soundtrack: Best of...2020 Part 1 & 2, Best of...2021 Part 1 & 2, Best of...2022 Part 1 & 2