AFRICA ISN'T HERE OR A DAY IN OUR BRUSSELS LIFE

I wake up to the inevitable sound of Serrat singing Tu nombre me sabe a hierba, a love song which used to make me cry, and which has now become the welcome-to-yet-another-day tune. I sit up, trying not to smack my head on the ceiling. Yup, sleeping on a bunk bed can be a tricky thing, especially if you're rather tall. I climb down, sometimes smashing my right leg just below the knee - always in the same precise spot - on the little ladder. I tend to slip in a funny way, which makes me slide rather than gracefully descend. Very well then. I've reached the floor level. Yet another day of our Brussels life is about to begin.

I wash, get dressed and go downstairs, where the kitchen is already buzzing with life. Actually, I'm the one who gets up the latest (that is, around 8 am). Upon entering, I am welcomed by a loud Au revoir!, coming from Eddie, our youngest flatmate and the most cheerful two-year-old I've ever seen, who seems to think that au revoir works the same as aloha. His ten-year-old brother is usually either gone or leaving for school, and kindly bids me goodbye while I get my cereal. Jandro has been in the kitchen for the past hour (the annoying habit of getting up much earlier than myself) and all three of us have breakfast - that includes Eddie, who continuously informs us that his brother is not there and that he - or anybody else in the room, depending on the circumstances - is in fact wearing shoes. When our breakfast companion leaves for nursery, we get down to business.

For the lack of a desk in our room, we usually set up the headquarters in the kitchen. We make tea, stop talking, and look for jobs/prepare interviews. The busy time stretches out to around 1 pm, when we have lunch and take a break. We resume our search around 2:30, if no other arrangements have been made. We also tend to visit the Polish shop, where Jandro puts his knowledge into practice, by asking for chleb ze słonecznikiem (sunflower bread) or, creatively, mały chleb (small bread, which means a roll). I make a point of going there with him, because his Polish is so cute that the shop assistants might be tempted to flirt. Never too careful.

In the late afternoon it's swimming pool/gym, also known as the attempt to stay fit and sane. We have dinner accompanied by the family we live with, chatting with both kids and their parents. Sometimes we tell African stories. Sometimes we show a few pictures. The kids are impressed. We are nostalgic.

Our African life was different. But it was, not is, and I think we're doing a decent job coming to terms with this fact.

Our Brussels life is only beginning. Let's give it some time before we start evaluating it. For now, we just take it for what it is. As Eddie would put it: Africa isn't here. More Nutella, please.

The picture is of... our new life!