The Six Week Analysis

Six weeks and beginning to loose count… I’ve been here a surprisingly substantial amount of time already. It’s hard to believe.

On the one hand, I’m feeling a little settled-in:

• I’m beginning to feel as if I know my way around, and don’t need to consult my handy “map book” nearly as often. (I even once left home without it, travelled across the city and made it back alive).

Cool sighting on one of my city explorations.

Beautiful sighting: impressive church and
new dafodills in the foreground
- both equally glorifying God I think.

• I’ve found a place to live: a beautiful apartment (inside the ugliest building on the street – but at least it looks out at all the more beautiful buildings!), with a massive balcony and a great view, in one of Brussels’ hippest neighbourhoods, a few steps from multitudinous eating, drinking and shopping options and a beautiful old church on a cobblestoned square.

The kind of building I fancied myself living in...
instead of my boring modern concrete block
(which isn't worth posting a photo of here).
I'd like a room with those tiny windows in the roof.

But the view from my future home redeems the place,
among other good features. Here's the nightime
view towards the church at the end of the street.
(More photos to come when I actually move there.)

• I’ve found a housemate to live with, a lovely Hungarian girl who was in a similar housing search predicament as I was, and seems likely to be compatible housemate material (she cooks and likes houseplants – what more can one ask for?).
• I’ve figured out grocery shopping at the supermarket for the greatest ease and similarity to North America, have visited a couple of the many “corner grocer” stores, which are great options when you need food at odd hours, and they have everything you could possibly want, plus an excellent selection of Arab, Asian or African food supplies, depending on the ethnic heritage of the merchant. And I’ve also discovered the delight of weekend street markets. Streets filled with jolly fruit & veggie sellers, the tempting nut and olive stall, the intimidating cheese stand, the cheap clothing heaps surrounded by aggressively searching mothers and the happy display of weekend flowers.

Beautiful produce at the Saturday market on the square.

A happy site at the market: it's the waffle van!
Yes, you know you live in Belgium when...

• I’ve connected with a very welcoming church community here, have made several friendly acquaintances, already joined in on an engaging book club discussion, ate pancakes together on shrove Tuesday and am planning to join a church weekend away outside of Brussels in late March.
• I’ve had a few friends come to visit from cities nearby already, and potential for family & friends from further afar to come visit, and am already making fun weekend travel plans.

Another cool sighting on city walk with visiting friends.
If I was to own a shoe store, and call it "Ken" (naturally),
and it had a garage door on it, I would definately want
these spray paint artists to paint funky people all over it.

• I kind of feel like I might know a bit what I’m doing at work now. I’m digging in to the two smaller projects that are my responsibility: one in support to an orphanage and small livelihood investment projects in rural Nepal, the other medical and material support to marginalized families and individuals in Romania, including single-parent families, the elderly, people with disabilities and the Roma community. I’ve been searching for some funding, calculating budgets, completing reports, helping to create promotional materials for fundraising, designing the modality for a new project to support graduating orphans through secondary education…. Another part of my job is delving into some bigger picture “organization development”: composing a statement regarding our approach to development, designing a website to more-easily share resources with our field programs, and researching some of the key themes we want to mainstream in all of our work, like gender issues, HIV/AIDS and climate change, and figuring out just how we do that…. And I’m also a bit of an “odd-jobs girl” again (one of my fortes in life perhaps). So I’m the “Health, Safety & Environment Officer” and am now making exit signs, mounting fire extinguishers and tidying cables that were conspiring to trip people…I do a few IT random tasks…and I do lots of English editing since it’s my first language and thus I speak it (or more importantly, write it) especially well.

Hanging out with excellent colleague on the weekend

Eating my first mussels - a quintessential Belgian dining
experience. (Note that I'm normally a little uncomfortable
about eating small slimy, rubbery, or squishy sea creatures).

My face after consuming the first creature. I'll let you
decide if that's a look of "hmm...okay, not so
bad", or "eeekh, I'm not so sure about this".

• I’ve got a bicycle on loan and I love exploring the city on two wheels propelled by my lunch. It’s such a good feeling. I don’t miss the car-culture of Alberta one bit. The uphills feel great when you make it to the top and know your legs work just fine, and the downhills feel so exhilaratingly fantastic as you cruise down with nothing in the world against you but the gentle wind, and joy bursting out from your seams. It’s the perfect pace for getting somewhere, but noting the cozy-looking café, or admiring a particularly charming balcony on the way. Last weekend I visited the King’s forest. Good chap that King, to keep such a massive tract of green space within a highly developed European city.

My faithful 2-wheeled companion in the forest.
It'll be a lot prettier when the green times come.

Happy girl in the forest.

Reflecting upon trees reflecting upon water.

What do you think the sign at the bottom indicates?
I pondered it for a long time...a bow & arrow of some sort?
A ploughing implement? A T-bar ski-lift? Eventually,
I figured out it's a horse. It has no ears and a really
straight face. And no legs. So...no riding
deaf legless horses (obviously).

On the other hand…. (and yes, there is another hand), I’m feeling rather un-settled as of yet. In fact, I’ve decided that a good name for people like me might be EDPs (like an IDP). It stands for: Eternally Displaced Person. Okay, okay, so I’m not actually homeless, I have plenty of people who love me and will take me in in many parts of the world, I’ve never had to flee my home and I’ve never been persecuted. But…I do have a restlessness disorder, an addiction to change, a passion for living in an especially small world, a love for things new & different, and a lack of attachment to geography. And thus, I find myself on some occasions at the height of joy & wonder at the privilege of international adventure…and at other times, suffering from weary hobo-like feelings, wondering why on earth I keep wandering… So, why do I feel unsettled?

• I've been unable to move into my new apartment until March 1. In the meantime, I was living in the room above the office for 3 ½ weeks, and then I relocated to the apartment of my colleague who is away in Nepal. Both have been fine spots to rest one’s head, but I haven't bothered to unpack my bags knowing that they’re both temporary, and I just have this sudden longing to put my socks in a drawer.
• I don’t speak French. I’m a lousy Canadian. And I’m shy to even try. (That said, I’ve been having very good results lately with “Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas Français ”, at which point people happily start speaking in English to me.)
• I keep wondering why I’m here…if it’s just an “interim thing” for me to learn from this new job, and carry on with new wisdom to other places, if it’s going to be my new home and I’ll decide I want cobbled-streets and good cheese forever, if I might meet my soul mate and permanent travel buddy here, if it’s just another opportunity for an excellent experience to add to the overflowing adventure trunk?
• I miss Sudan. A lot. I miss my colleagues, I miss my neighbours, I miss my friends, I miss my lifestyle there. All lousy aspects have been forgotten (I have an excellent selective memory that way). I worry about the country, about the work I left behind, about my colleagues and their burdens. I miss the spontaneous and rich fun I had in my community there.
• I’m yearning for community. I had such an amazing sense of community in Sudan. Such an odd bunch of people thrown together in terribly odd circumstances, and what do you get? – beautiful community! And I have something of community in Canada too – an amazing family who has ridiculous fun together, a supportive church community, 2 grandmas’ ever-welcoming kitchens… I know community takes time to build, and I’ll probably find it here too. But I miss it.

So…it’s good, it’s bad…and it’s all the rich mess in the middle. C’est la vie. And that’s a French phrase I can say with gusto, fully feeling the meaning.

10 Peculiar Things about Belgium

I’ve been collecting discoveries of random things I’ve found odd about living in Belgium.

Ok, now that I've added this photo, it's 11 random things. What can I say?
The photo speaks for itself: 2 giant orange bunnies in the middle of the street
(and that's me between them). So, here's my hypothesis: lent begins this week,
which is the build-up towards Easter. At Easter, as we all know it, magic
rabbits lay eggs. These 2 rabbits (orange, because they must be Flemmish,
and thus have Dutch connections - and because they're magical, obviously)
are clearly kissing because they're in love...and we all know what kissing
leads to...so a few weeks from now, I think there will be giant choclate
eggs around the city, and given that this is Belgium, naturally,
these will be delicious, exquisite Belgian Chocolate Eggs!

1. Smelly cheese – while I must condone the Europeans for their superior taste in cheese and prolific selection (no orange-dyed cheddar here), there are far too many smelly cheeses. Okay, so I’m no cheese connoisseur, I’m still slightly scarred from a long road trip through France when I was 9, involving one-too-many stops at cheese factories, and I’m sure it’s an acquired…umm…smell, but it can be downright offensive at times. I recently cleaned out the fridge of the apartment I’m house-sitting at, as the owner had been away for some weeks, and there were some rather odious voluntary science experiments taking place in his fridge. I had to carefully judge each specimen to determine if, A) this was a respectable piece of fine cheese, for the enjoyment of only those with the most exquisite of tastes, or B) a terribly rotten morsel formerly known as dairy, now more accurately belonging to the micro-bacterial or fungal categories of life, and sporting shockingly blue hair.

2. Raw meat – we often pick up sandwiches from the local butcher/sandwich shop at work. On my second day, I noticed one of the options was a roast beef sandwich and against my usual vegetarianesque leanings, I had an unusual hankering for just that. I was rather put-off, however, when my sandwich arrived and I discovered it consisted of one thin bright red piece of meat (with slightly brown edges) and no vegetable company. And apparently this was the “cooked” version of the sandwich. I did make it through, but I shudder to think how red and…juicy…the raw version might be. Oh, and never order something called “fillet americaine”. That’s raw ground beef. Why? I can see the Ethiopians getting away with it (just) with the addition of heaps and heaps of spices that cover it up…but…uggh. Yes, my vegetarian tendencies are revived!

3. A lack of nutty butter – peanut butter is not something Europeans eat very much. This is a shame. Africans generally know the folly of this error, and eat it by the spoonful. I love peanut butter. I could live relatively happily off of only peanut butter and a few decent bread choices. Peanut butter can be found in the “exotic foreign food” section of the supermarket in Brussels – in a very very small jar, with a rather large price figure. I happily discovered some in the helpful corner store, with Arabic-speaking owners, in a slightly larger jar for a slightly smaller price. And I had a great laugh when later I was eating my tasty toast and read the list of ingredients on the label: it mentioned peanuts, along with a few additives (unfortunately – not my first choice in pb), followed by the statement that it “may contain traces of nuts”! Good heavens…I should hope so. What’s next? – traces of milk in my yoghurt? Fish in my canned tuna??

4. UHT Milk – almost everyone drinks UHT milk here. For those of you lucky enough to be unacquainted with this beverage, it’s “Ultra-Heat Treated” milk, and is a rather unsatisfactory tasting presentation of real cow’s milk, which through some suspicious mystery of “ultra-heat treatment” is able to last practically forever without refrigeration. There has to be something wrong with that – taste aside! I have very unfriendly memories of it from my childhood in Pakistan. After much searching away from the vast un-refrigerated aisle of UHT milk products, I was finally able to find the spare few bottles of “fresh milk” in an elite refrigerated corner of the supermarket. That’s right, I like peanuts in my peanut butter AND real milk in my milk.

5. Minute Rice – the only rice available in the supermarket comes in wee tiny bags inside wee tiny boxes with various claims on the packaging regarding how many minutes it can be prepared in. I grew up with big sacks of rice, that one cooks by putting one part rice to two parts water into a pot and boiling it. It’s really not that complicated. And it really doesn’t take that long. 20 mins to be precise (unless it’s brown). Why on earth this needs to be “simplified” into wee tiny plastic bags that you put (bag and all!) into boiling water, I do not know. And really…any time you combine plastic, high heat and food together….yech.

6. Food Stamps – In addition to one’s monthly salary (which is heavily taxed), one gets “food stamps” (which are not taxed). Ok, to be correct they’re called “meal vouchers” or “restaurant tickets” or something. But basically, it’s a little coupon with a certain euro value that can only be used in an establishment that sells food or drinks (supermarket, grocer, restaurant). I now buy all my meals with my stamps.

7. Numberless doors – apartment doors do not have numbers on them. The outsides of houses do, so you can easily navigate your way to the right building, but once you’re inside and climbing the staircase, you must know the particular floor you’re going to or the particular door in order to find it. This is fine if you know the place, but being new here, I’ve been going to a number of homes to which I’ve naturally never been, and people often forget to mention which floor or which door. If I think to ask in advance, or when I ring the buzzer at the door, this is no problem, but many times, I’ve forgotten until I’m already in the stairway. At this point, I’ve discovered 4 potential solutions: 1) walk up the staircase until you find a door that hopefully your host has thought to leave ajar in anticipation of your arrival; 2) walk up while listening intently at each door in hopes of hearing familiar and friendly voices within; 3) guess at the door you think most resembles the person you wish to see (using clues like door mats, welcome signs and door knob styles), and when incorrect, politely greet their neighbours; and 4) go back outside to the front door, buzz again and admit your ignorance.

8. Shoes indoors – while I know this is true in many other parts of the world, it’s the first time I’ve lived long-term in a country where wearing your shoes inside people’s homes is the norm, and it grates against my moral core! One MUST take ones shoes off when entering another’s home! My mother taught me this and taught me it well. Unless their floor happens to be dirt, or they have an inner courtyard or something…it’s simply wrong to bring your dirty shoes from the outside world into someone’s home and tramp on their floors and carpets. BUT…people here do it all the time. I have to stop myself from undoing my shoelaces in the doorway because people give me strange looks and say “oh, no, no, you needn’t take off your shoes” as if I were undressing or asking to take a bath in their home. But, but…!

9. Sirens & helicopters – there are a lot of sirens around here. I don’t know if that equates to lots of crime and accidents, or lots of anxious police and emergency responders. Occasionally, helicopters will be hovering overhead. I’m told this is a good time to head home and stay within secure doors. Apparently there are 2 or 3 prisons in the area, and there are surprisingly frequent jail-breaks. The helicopters are searching… Nice. Lovely new neighbourhood this is indeed! That said, the office door was left open by accident one night this week. It was found not only unlocked, but ajar in the morning, but the set security alarm had not gone off and nothing was missing, so evidently no one walked in our open door.

10. Artistic mapping – the roads here provide a ridiculous presentation of all types of angles: obtuse, acute, quick, meandering…and ever so rarely, a good old right angle. I do miss Alberta for its predictable, if uncreative grid. I’m rarely able to go the same way twice here, and find that surprisingly, the way back often takes me half the time the way there took, as I inadvertently took a few more correct turns, cutting my “exploration time” in half. One day, feeling very certain of my way, I was suddenly surprised to notice that I had arrived at a place that looked exactly like a place I had just been 15 minutes before. And lo and behold, it was, indeed, the very same place. Funny. So Belgium does irony too, if not as much as Sudan.

Home is...

I've now been in Brussels for 1 full month. Surprising. Does that make me feel settled?....No.

(It doesn't help that I've lived in 2 different apartments and still haven't unpacked my check-in bags. Hooray for a new flat on March 1st!)

I've been suffering from feelings of displacement lately, and am still trying to figure out what exactly I'm doing here on this new spot on the globe.

As I've grappled with my nomadic angst, I’ve been trying to come up with a satisfactory definition of the idea of “home”. Unlike some individuals, for whom this is a very definitive place with a door and an unchanging postal address, I’ve grown up with a very flexible sense of home, and am all the more aware of this as I continue with my nomadic ways on my own into adulthood.

I’ve been thinking about writing a children’s story about this predicament, but that is indeed another story, and I’ll share it with you if it ever happens.

In the meantime, here are my brainstorms to the definition of home.



Home is…

...where the heart is (old & overused, but I think it does hold true)
…the place (or places) you always want to go back to
…a place you feel comfortable saying “I’m from”
…where you make yourself at home
…where your family is
…a place where you could put your socks in a drawer if you wanted to
…a place where you feel safe to lay your head and trustingly loose consciousness on a regular basis
…where you can be you
…any place you stay for more than 2 weeks
...the permanent mailing address you can always remember
…where you decide to be at home
…the place where they always have to take you in
…a place where you can comfortably wear your pyjamas
…a place where you stay, dig in and make it better
…an ecosystem that supports you and that you acknowledge and appreciate
…where love is…where you give love and get love

What’s your vote? Any good suggestions for me?

A Little Less Waffling

Ok...I'll stop with the Belgian puns soon. :)

I reached the end of week 2, crowned by a sweet moment when I was cycling down a long hill with the cool night wind in my face, and cobblestone jiggling my bicycle below, with a great big grin on my face, thinking "this is good".

My first days may have been a little hard, but it's only gotten better and better since then.

By the end of this week, I was able to say I got a bicycle (on loan), found a compatible housemate and two excellent potential apartment options, signed up for a French course, conquered the post office, grocery store and laundromat (proudly using a few words of French!), made some friends, began to feel that I had something to offer to my job, and started to feel at home. So I'm not "waffling" quite so much about whether I indeed made a wise decision to come here.

Aside from all the adventure of settling in, I've been enjoying the solitude of living on my own for a while, and have just finished a back-dated post on my trip to Egypt, which is posted chronologically down below, or click on the highlighted words.