and so much warmth – Ivanhov and his group had, alltimes, a very deep place in my heart. I didn't see the person from the Belgian embassy anywhere. A panic attack began to quietly build up in my chest –Nothing can go wrong here or I will never see any Belgian land again, I thought. I approached the security checkpoint. Still no one. God, what should I do?!I saw a window, behind the control. There was a man with a cardboard sign with something written on it.I narrowed my eyes and read: “Luc, I'm here, everything is OK.” I can't describe the relief I felt there. The man gave a thumbs up and nodded ”it's alright". I checked all my things again, gathered my (useless and useful) papers and money and walked to the checkpoint. I gave my passport to the lady at the counter. She was super friendly! She nodded and smiled and pointed with her hands further in the direction I was supposed to go. I smiled back and continued walking.
Freedom and safety were in sight, wonderful. The embassy man and I met and we shook hands. I wanted to quickly buy something before we boarded the plane. I grabbed my papers.
I couldn't find my money anymore.
Where was my $100? My realization fell - I felt hot and cold at the same time, I almost threw up from the stress - that €100 was in my passport.
That lady at the security counter had the note.
That's why she was so friendly./
The fear hit me twice as hard. I had just bribed a security checkpoint officer. That was perhaps a degree or three worse than the “normal” street police. Heaven preserve me. I wanted to disappear into the environment as best I could and not stand out at all. I could see myself being taken away in handcuffs.
You're never home until you're home, I thought.
Who knows, the embassy man might have bribed her too – who knows. I couldn't really think straight anymore. Together with the man, I was sent to a van - which took us across the tarmac to a plane that was ready to take off.
We got in.
Let it rise, let it rise, let it rise.
It had been a long time since I had come this close to praying. I kept looking at the exit, almost twisting my neck – peering, watching to see if some government figure was coming to take me away. The crew got the plane completely ready. All steps were completed.
Well, we're almost there! I thought.
We started to taxi - and moments later we were in the air. I could cry with happiness. On the way home, on the way to Belgium.
In any case, I had a tough story to tell my Russian friends when they came back to Belgium later that year. Jawadde. I had to laugh just thinking about Ivanhov's reaction. He always was so sharp and funny.
We kept in regular contact throughout the year. It was agreed that they would arrive the third week of June. Many concerts had already been planned, but more were added: the Belgian relations of the previous year bore fruit. Their CDs were also selling well in Russia – they even sold out! At Brussels Jazz Club we have put a lot of effort into finding a sponsor for the reprint of a new batch of CDs. That shipment had to be finished before their first concert in Belgium took place – preferably before they landed. It worked! Upon arrival at the airport. I was able to hand them the CD. They were all so happy. Ivanhov beamed. They toured throughout Flanders, from the coast to Limburg, with a stopover in Antwerp and a whole series at the Ghent Festivities that summer. I was so proud of them. Unfortunately I couldn't attend all the concerts. I still had my other volunteer work to do and I also just needed to rest a lot. My illnesses made themselves felt. When they had nothing to play for a few days, they asked me if I wanted to go to Amsterdam with them. They wanted to buy cannabis for their own use. I didn't feel the need to do that at all - I was taking enough medication in the meantime - but I wanted to go with them. I was also curious about what happened in a Dutch “coffee shop”. The group paid my travel expenses and we went out together.
“Don't you want a puff too?” Ivanhov asked me when we were hours away later worked in a cannabis shop.
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