Metropolitan Wilderness

By Kene Ugo

It was a predicament like nothing Uzoagu had ever been through. While seeking to circumvent a condition he was required to fulfil before he could receive funding from an NGO to run his late parents’ project, he found himself in a big and terrible mess that stretched his patience very thin. Now he had to find a way to help himself out of his woe to ensure his very survival. Ordinarily, rough times and situations didn’t shake the tough guy inside Uzoagu’s great athletic build, but this problem was not in the neighbourhood of anything he was accustomed to. In the urban complexity of the Brussels-Capital Region of Belgium, far away from his rugged Nigerian roots, Uzoagu met language barrier, ruthless bias, and mind-wreaking exploitation. And it was clear to him he needed all the resolve he could muster to keep from capitulating to the pressures he faced and getting steered from the path of his passionate goal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kene Ugo
• Release date: Nov 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370617210

Kene Ugo

Kene Ugo is a writer of inspirational fiction. He draws from the wild roaming of his imagination to portray life’s intricate and blunt realities. Growing up in Kaduna, Northern Nigeria, he developed a zeal for reading and finds it an especial delight writing his own stories today. Through the craft of word modelling, he seeks to provoke positive thought and promote genuine passion for purpose and truth. He is an advocate of nature and conservation and loves to relax with wildlife television. He is a great fan of writer Nicky Cruz and singer Bob Fitts.

Book preview

Part 1

YOOZEE

I dropped my butt to the bare pavement at some point out of exhaustion and looked at my wristwatch after every few minutes to see what remained of the darkness of the night. Bodily and mental fatigue from a difficult chain of previous hours proved inadequate to compel me to rest. I was beyond concern. I wanted nothing but an immediate dawn in order to pursue the urgency I felt within to push out of the despair of my present confines.

One

The immigration officer at the Passport Control of the Brussels International Airport handed back my travel documents and letter of acceptance into FSR University and waved me in the direction of the reclaim area of the airport. I nodded my thanks and headed in that direction for my luggage. It wasn’t an awful lot — my luggage, I mean. It was just a travelling case I could barely squeeze three days of clothing into. But then, I didn’t anticipate I was going to stay in Belgium even for that long.

Luggage collected from the conveyor belts shortly later and promptly cleared at the customs hall, I proceeded to the arrivals lounge and looked across a sea of faces of every conceivable nationality for my host.

He stepped forward from a couch in a V-neck fleece top and chino trousers, his hand outstretched. I had seen enough of his photographs in my late parents’ album to recognize him instantly. He was a sixty-something-year old native Belgian with blond hair, light brown eyes and a sturdy profile. I shook his hand and replied his French salute in English, which was what I could manage adequately. A pleasure to be here, I told him — but only for courtesy. The truth was, my mind was back at my homeland, back at the project I so eagerly wanted to get started there. I judged that one full year of an MBA programme at FSR University in Woluwe-Saint-Lambert, Brussels-Capital Region, would be a distraction and a bloody waste of my precious time.

In the company of my host Philippe Evrard was a young lady in a dark blue tunic and cream trousers that outlined an elegant slim figure. She would be anything between one to two years my junior. Even without having seen her picture also among my late parents’ collection, the striking resemblance between Philippe Evrard and her would have left me with no need to make any guesses at who she was.

I said, Hello Anique.

She offered me a hand like her dad had done, accompanying her gesture with a sensational flutter of beautiful eyelashes and full show of spotless white teeth. Hello, Yoozee.

I wondered how she got that bit. Uzoagu was the identity I had used in all my email exchanges with her. Yoozee was the pronunciation of Uzoagu abbreviated, UZ, and I was only called that by people who were close to me.

Seeing my expression, Anique said, "Your cousin Chinedu phoned earlier today to say your flight had taken off as scheduled and you were due here at this time. He referred to you as Yoozee."

Oh…

My cousin Chinedu had handled all my travel arrangements. He had said he would call the Evrards the moment my flight took off from Nigeria to be doubly sure they kept to their promise to pick me up at the Brussels International Airport. I appreciated this because I hadn’t been to Belgium before and didn’t care to risk getting lost.

Anique and her dad led me out of the arrivals lounge of the airport to a Chevrolet minivan in the parking area of the air transport facility. Philippe held the door of the vehicle open and gestured to me. I nodded my thanks and gently climbed in. In the seat beside me moments later, Philippe reeled out a string of French that left me blinking. Anique turned in the minivan’s driver’s seat and gave me a look. She had noticed my silence in response to her dad’s words. Her expression told me she was surprised I couldn’t communicate in French. I offered her no explanation and she shrugged and gave me an interpretation of her dad’s words. Philippe had said he’d considered the minivan for this airport pickup because he’d thought I would have plenty of luggage.

I looked at my travelling case. No one could argue it contained enough of anything that would serve me for a full year in Belgium. But then, it was extreme for anyone to anticipate a whole minivan was needed to pick the luggage I’d bring to Belgium — and I told Philippe so, speaking in English and looking Anique’s way for help. Anique interpreted my words to her dad as she sent the Chevrolet rolling out of its parking slot.

Philippe gave a laugh and said his anticipation had sprung from my parent’s visit to Belgium some years ago. That lovely couple, Nnamdi and Ugboaku Okekeze, had dreaded missing African food during their month-long visit to Belgium on Philippe’s invitation and had made their trip with heavy baggage filled with an assortment of African goodies. If I, Uzoagu, shared anything of their inclination to the delicacies of our country, then my arrival in Belgium for a full one-year university programme wouldn’t be accompanied by just a travelling case.

I tapped my fingers idly on my travelling case. Philippe was only partially right. While I shared my parents’ inclination to our local goodies, I didn’t plan to stay in Belgium for anything near the length of time Philippe imagined. Therefore the minivan remained unnecessary. I’d be gone from this country like a vapour in a storm before anyone realized what was happening. A few sacrificial days here was all I could afford. Important work awaited me back at my homeland.

Philippe patted my shoulder like an age-old friend, seeing I didn’t care to have plenty of luggage like my parents. Never mind, dear, he said in French which Anique interpreted while handling the steering wheel of the Chevrolet. Travelling down here light isn’t going to matter very much. You’re a guest of my family’s and we shall take care of your every need. There are African shops in Belgium where whatever goodie you care for can be bought. And you’d see there are good Belgian foods, too — excellent cuisine known all through the world. Nnamdi and Ugboaku found that out by the time they were midway through their short visit. They would have cherished another time together in Belgium if they hadn’t both passed away the year after their time here.

I sighed. I didn't like being reminded of my parents’ departures. It only made me feel like spilling tears all over again. There had been so much I’d wanted to do for them before the unexpected expiration of their times. The fact that they had both lived to be over seventy offered me zero consolation. You couldn’t ever feel good about losing your parents when they were people you loved.

The Chevrolet took us out of the municipality where the airport was located, Zaventem, to the Brussels-Capital Region southwest. Philippe pointed out famous buildings and streets to me as we rode through the metropolitan area, trying to make me feel very welcome and at home. He showed me the great diversity in the region’s architectural monuments which spanned everything from the conservativeness of the Renaissance to the audacity of contemporary hybrids featuring elements of Art Nouveau, modernism and more. He presented me an urban national capital of beautiful sights and great sounds and with a huge capacity for recreation and fun. Streets in business areas were lined with boutiques and galleries that advertised great fashion labels, precious jewellery of every sort, special gifts and souvenirs, and exquisite decorative items. I saw colourful billboards inviting prospective spenders to chocolatiers, ice-cream spots, fast food bars and restaurants that promised the best of Belgian seafood and other international cuisines. Here and there along the path of my Chevrolet minivan ride, greenery exuded splendour and calm that considerably toned down the wildness of urban sophistication. It was easy for me to understand at this point why Belgium attracted so many tourists yearly.

And there’s so much more for you to see, Anique said, interpreting for her dad who beamed like a professional travel agent confident of winning over a potential holidaymaker. You will find this a very wonderful place to pursue your master’s programme with freedom from boredom or stress.

I kept an expressionless face. Philippe had spoken quite well, but leisure wasn’t exactly on my mind. Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t a hater of recreation. On the contrary, tourism as a recreation was a special inclination of mine. Over the past years I had undertaken a number of adventurous trips with various travel groups around my country and, while I hadn’t ever travelled this far before, I’d toured the extents of Africa and was familiar with everything from the dryness of the Sahara in the north to the currents at the junction of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans far down south. And it was only a question of time before I would have looked towards Europe even without the current academic arrangement. So being a hater of recreation wasn’t really the question. I just had a personal focus at this time I didn’t care to be distracted from by the amusements available in this undeniably wonderful…and rather drizzly…country.

***~~~***

Yes, Belgium was drizzly. The windscreen wiper of the Chevrolet had been busy since we took off from the airport and the pavements on our way to Auderghem where the Evrards lived gleaned with wetness. Above, the sky was an expansive stretch of grey that masked the sun and left visibility low. Many pedestrians took cover in the overhangs of shop fronts and others released colourful umbrellas that seemed to choreograph in the rain, creating a carnival-like atmosphere that offered some extent of moderation to a weather I would otherwise have found somewhat gloomy. Coming directly from the sunny climate of my homeland, it wasn’t unnatural that I should feel I had landed in some extreme condition.

It was the fifteenth day of September. Autumn lurked at the corner. Back in Nigeria I had examined weather reports on TV over several days to determine a perfect date for this trip. I would have gone on and on without satisfaction if my voluntary travel agent, my cousin Chinedu, hadn’t assured me the weather at my destination promised nothing better this year than it gave at the moment. Belgian autumn will arrive soon, Chinedu had said, and it’s going to bring more days of rain per month, less daily hours of sunshine, and general colder temperatures. You had better go ahead with the trip immediately.

And so I was here right now. I shivered mildly with cold as I alighted from the Chevrolet minivan in front of the home of the Evrards. The light short-sleeve cotton top I had on left me exposed to the frostiness of the air. I could do at the moment with a thick blanket and some hot tea. That was what coming straight to these parts from tropical Africa did to you.

The home of the Evrards was a white, multi-storeyed villa in a posh neighbourhood in Auderghem — a municipality of the Brussels-capital Region southeast of the centre of the City of Brussels. Philippe led me to the porch of the villa and presented me to a woman of about his age at the front door. The woman smiled courteously from behind a pair of spectacles that gave her an official but pleasant appearance similar to Anique’s and nodded in greeting. The sleeveless jersey with a modest scoop neckline she wore showed a flawless skin. She said in French she was Florine and I was very much welcome to their home.

I bowed and said thank you in English to Mrs. Evrard.

I was ushered indoors to a guest room that grandly stepped up one foot in level from an archway adjoining the vestibule. The room was a cosy nest of pine effect and terracotta leather furnishing with fine cream jacquard curtains flowing down a window that exhibited a flower bunch in an ornamental vase. Florine said something her daughter interpreted thus to me: Please feel welcome here. This is where your parents stayed when they visited Belgium.

I nodded and gently lowered my travelling case to the floor.

Florine pointed out a picture on a stand atop a shelf to me. The picture showed Nnamdi and Ugboaku Okekeze in traditional Nigerian wears in the company of Florine and her husband Philippe. Nnamdi and Ugboaku in the picture displayed plaques which the charity organization Philippe’s family ran had awarded them at a prestigious ceremony in Brussels. The awards, alongside a series of public speaking engagements and workshops the Evrards’ charity organization set up for Papa and Mama, had constituted the reason for my parents’ visit to Belgium. And that visit had specially endeared them to the Evrards. Florine told me with the aid of Anique’s interpretation that she and her husband Philippe felt proud to have had such wonderfully diligent and charitable people as Nnamdi and Ugboaku as family friends and that it was a certainty that God felt proud of the duo in heaven right now.

Philippe said to me, They were heroes of righteousness, truly. They were great examples of love and kindness and godliness. Devoutness can hardly exhibit itself better than in the lives that those two lived.

I turned away. This was another thing apart from my parents’ departures that I didn’t really like hearing concerning them — their devoutness. They had been very committed to worship and spiritual living, and this had been much to my distaste. Matters of faith had never appealed to me, though I had been very fond of my parents before their deaths. I liked to think of Papa and Mama as just ordinary people and not religious heroes. Okay, maybe not perfectly as just ordinary people because they had been outstanding in charitable works, but I definitely avoided the faith angle in my reminiscences. I respected their charitableness when I considered it apart from their spirituality and I really aimed to continue to an extent with the social services they rendered in their lifetimes. A rehabilitation centre for homeless young people they built in my hometown but couldn’t get operating before their unfortunate deaths was an especial admiration of mine and I was bent on taking it all the way.

By the way, the rehabilitation centre was the work I had to travel back quickly to Nigeria to face. At the moment, nothing else deserved the preciousness of my energy and time.

***~~~***

Dinner was served some time afterwards. I sat at a light oak finish dining table under a chandelier with Philippe, Florine and Anique and picked at a plate of frites or fried potatoes served with mussels and other seafood items Belgium was famous for. The Evrards made effort to get me into a discussion — any discussion — as our cutlery clattered against our dishes. They talked to me about Belgian climate, art, food and holidays but got only grunts from me. Florine pointed my attention to the greens that formed the skyline from the dining room’s window and told me they sprung from the Soignes forest just a short way off which I should be very glad to visit for recreation and adventure someday. I loved recreation and adventure, didn’t I? It was another determined attempt to get me to loosen up. I gave another grunt however and indifferently forked some morsel into my mouth. I was in the middle of a strategy. I was building up momentum to release what I had on my mind.

Florine continued with her talk about the Soignes forest. It was a national treasure for them in Belgium. It was a forty-three-square-kilometre expanse of natural greenery and a few wildlife stretching out over portions of all three of Belgium’s political Regions — the Walloon, the Flemish and the Brussels-Capital Regions. It was open to the public and very much cherished by strollers, joggers, horse riders, cyclists, mountain bike riders and recreation-seekers generally. I would really love it out there on a weekend morning and this was just a fraction of the nature and fun that Belgium had to offer. FSR University would put me through a week of orientation when the new session began next week and I would learn more about Belgium and its many thrills.

Philippe nodded in support of his wife as he chewed from a piece of prawn. He said to me, Your time at FSR University will be a great experience of educational and recreational discoveries from the very first day. No boredom for you here in Belgium, my friend — this I promise. With diligence, you’ll be a Master of Management degree holder in a year’s time and be fully equipped to run the rehabilitation centre in your hometown Umudioka.

I laid down my cutlery and cleared my throat, causing every eyelid among the Evrards to lift. The time was right for me to speak. I said without preamble, The fees for my university programme are not yet fully paid. I’d like this to be settled without delay.

Anique was still for a while, then she slowly rendered a French interpretation of my words to her parents. Philippe and Florine looked at me sharply, maybe to ascertain I was okay. I looked back at them with conscious and deliberate calmness. I didn’t think any show of timidity would help my cause.

Philippe and Florine whispered to one another, then Philippe said to me, Of course your outstanding fees will be settled without delay. We have this intention already and I’ve prepared a cheque for that purpose. I’ll send the cheque to FSR University tomorrow on your behalf.

Still calm, I said, "Like I made known to Anique in a number of my emails, I’d prefer to make all payments concerning my education and my stay in Belgium personally. I detest to trouble people or see them trouble themselves for me. It was okay weeks ago for you to make the part payment of my fees directly to the university since I was not yet in Belgium. Now that I am here, however, you must let me do any spending that needs to be done for my master’s course by myself."

Philippe gave this a thought and whispered briefly with his wife, then shrugged and said it was okay if I wanted to have things that way.

That was one hurdle crossed for me.

I wasted no time heading to the second hurdle. I fished a piece of paper out of my shirt pocket and gently unfolded it. It contained a list of items and their financial equivalents. I said to Philippe, To get down immediately to organizing myself for my one-year stay in Belgium, I need the following to be made available to me.

Philippe together with Florine and Anique were all ears.

I began, aided by Anique’s interpretation: "€12,000 for the outstanding MBA tuition fee, €300 for educational materials, €600 for health insurance, €12,000 for accommodation in a mini-apartment, €3,000 for security deposit for the accommodation, €2,000 for service bills at the apartment, €15,000 for furniture and appliances, €12,000 for clothing, €300 for launderette or wasserette services, €12,500 miscellaneous fund for other domestic needs, €12,000 for taxi rides to and from the university and around the Brussels-Capital Region, €11,500 for meals in restaurants, €12,500 for recreation and entertainment, €2,200 for days of vacation outside Belgium, €12,000 savings in case any emergency happens, €600 for an air ticket back to Nigeria when my MBA course is over, and €30,000 resettlement allowance for my first three months back in my country. I looked up from the piece of paper. This comes up to a sum of €150,000 for one year of MBA programme that your charity organization is responsible for." I passed the piece of paper over to Philippe and sat back in my chair. The ball was away from my court.

Philippe and Florine looked at me with incredulity. I clearly seemed to them something close to a lunatic right now. But I cared nothing as long as I got what I was in Belgium for.

Philippe cleared his throat and said, It would have been better, Uzoagu, if you’d rested yourself from your long flight from Nigeria before bringing up a discussion like this.

I said, Bringing up the matter now is not premature, Mr. Evrard. I’d like to settle down immediately for my MBA course in this absolutely new environment to avoid distractions when the university session commences next week. I made it clear to Anique online that the upfront payment of all I needed for a smooth academic programme in your country was the condition on which I would step foot in FSR University campus when I travelled down here. You had plenty of time to consider my demand. You shouldn’t have any problem with it now.

Philippe said, I don’t have any problem with seeing you get settled immediately for your academic programme. But your needs for that programme could be attended to on a monthly basis. It’s unnecessary your asking for the complete one year of scholarship grant at one go.

I said, It’s necessary my asking just as I did because people aren’t very trustworthy, unfortunately. Your mood is okay today — fine. But tomorrow is unpredictable. If you happen to be mad then over something else that doesn’t even concern me, you could deny me all you promised for my MBA to vent your frustration. So I want everything I should get from you now.

Philippe waved the sheet of paper that contained my chain of demands in the air. "In any case, there are alternatives to a lot of what you listed here. You don’t need a lonely apartment somewhere out there in the Brussels-Capital Region when you have the warmth and welcome of our home to accommodate you. Here with us, you won’t need to pay any security deposit or service bills, or buy any furniture or appliance, or spend to use the laundry machine or have meals, or bother about keeping very big savings in case any emergency happens. You won’t enjoy anything better here in a foreign land than a loving family who very much welcomes your stay and is so eager to attend to your needs."

I shook my head in an apologetic manner and said, My purpose in Belgium is formal, Mr. Evrard, and I would like to keep it strictly that way. I didn’t plan for the informality your home offers, regrettably. I appreciate your offer in any case and I will consider it for any holiday trip I make to Belgium in the future. Right now, however, I will stick to my choice for an independent accommodation as well as independent general expenses.

Philippe and his wife joined heads and whispered to one another. Not like I would have understood much of what they said anyway if they’d chosen to speak aloud in their French tongue. I took a sip from a glass of juice before me and leaned back leisurely in the dining seat as I waited for Mr. & Mrs. Evrard. The creases on their brows told me my demand had shaken them significantly. Anique looked me in the eye as she chewed a bit of potato, clearly unhappy at the pressure I had brought upon her parents. I calmly shifted my eyes out of her path and went for another sip of juice. This was no time for sentiments. There was plenty of time to pity her parents and her afterwards.

Philippe and Florine straightened from their whispers with a consensus. Florine voiced it: Uzoagu, we accept to make upfront payments for your needs. But your list of demands needs to be critically reviewed because we find it very exorbitant. A room in the student hostel of FSR University or somewhere outside the campus would do for an accommodation rather than an expensive mini-apartment, saving us more than a quarter of what you budgeted for accommodation. And you don’t need to take taxis everywhere you go to in the Brussels-Capital Region — there are buses and trains that would cost as little as a tenth less. As for meals, you shouldn’t be talking of using rather costly eating places always — there are cafeterias in the campus that could serve you for about a third of the price you indicated, or you could cook in your accommodation. On the whole, you could save plenty of money by just being modest and prudent in your spending. A hundred and fifty thousand euros is not a very small amount of money for anyone in Belgium.

I pushed back my seat. I said, Maybe I should be on my way back to the airport now. I didn’t come all the way from my country to manage any discomfort here. Making this trip is a big enough sacrifice for me. My demands must be fully satisfied before I’d accept to remain here for the MBA course you imposed on me.

Philippe’s forehead glistened with sweat. He was going through a difficult time. He said, No need to think of heading back to Nigeria at this time, Uzoagu. There shouldn’t be any misunderstanding between us. There’s nothing we can’t cordially talk about.

I said, The cordiality I care for now is a commitment from you to make a hundred and fifty thousand euros available to me within twenty-four hours.

Anique interpreted this. Philippe and Florine exchanged looks and swallowed simultaneously. I tapped impassively on the dining table to match the tick-tock of the clock in the room. Anique turned away in disgust and lowered her head among her parents’, joining their latest round of whispering.

After what seemed like an eternity, Philippe looked up and said to me, We will speak to our banker about you, Uzoagu. Let it be like you said — full payment of the said amount to you within twenty-four hours.

And so it was a deal.

Two

I retreated to my room in preparation for a sweet night’s rest. It would be sweet because I’d dream of floating in the clouds amidst fluttering euro bills. I’d soar into the heights, traverse the endless chains of miles, storm past the fringes of former distant hopes and confront what used to be obstacles with new audacity. I would hold on tightly to the promises of my course and triumphantly breast the tape of expectation in the magnificent end. I felt great delight because I finally had a chance to exercise my zest, put my strength to productive use, showcase the range of my flair, and set the pace for efficiency in purposefulness according to my glowing perspective. Beginning small, yes, but being able to begin