by Chandramohan Nair
Chandramohan Nair recollects his two years at a French-medium school in Brussels when his struggles of coping with a new culture and language were greatly eased by some wonderfully supportive classmates.
The École du Bois de la Cambre was housed in a traditional Flemish-style building with tall narrow windows and a red-tiled roof. It was unpretentious in appearance but conveyed an impression of solidity and durability. The École (school) derived its name from the nearby Bois de la Cambre, a picturesque public park located south of Brussels.
The past six months had been surreal. After two vagabond years in Kathmandu – a city as chaotic and untidy as any in India – the spic and span environs, the orderliness of the traffic and the symmetry of the tree-lined avenues in Brussels seemed to belong to a different world. Recovering from a serious chest infection, this was a world I glimpsed mostly through the window of our apartment while being tutored at home by my French teacher Michelle.
So, on a bracing autumn morning in 1967, as I walked through the gates of the École on my first day at school, the anxiety of having to cope with a strange new language and culture was lessened by the elation of getting out of the confines of home and the prospect of meeting new classmates.
The École was a state school catering to students in the age group of six to twelve years. Considering my age – I was eleven – I should have been admitted to the sixth and final primary grade but the Principal took a dim view of my ability to cope with the medium of instruction, which was French, and reluctantly approved my admission to the fifth grade.
I located my class with some difficulty asking around for ‘cinquième primaire’ (fifth primary). The buzz inside the classroom was familiar. There were around two dozen boys and girls engaged in animated conversation. There was a moment’s silence while curious glances were directed at me before they resumed their chatter. A vacant bench right up in front beckoned and I self-consciously went and sat there.
Soon a middle-aged man of medium height and build entered the class and strode briskly to the front. He had an arresting presence with a patrician nose, a prominent jawline and an air of total confidence. It seemed entirely appropriate, when he announced himself as our class-teacher Professeur Daniel Dansaert, to discover that he possessed a mellow baritone.
Professeur Dansaert asked everyone to introduce themselves which they did enthusiastically, accompanied in most cases by humorous comments from the class. It was apparent that the entire class had studied together for some time. When it came to my turn I struggled to pronounce the few lines Michelle had prepared for me. For all the progress I had made in grasping written French, I realised with dismay that I could neither satisfactorily decipher the spoken language nor was my French very intelligible to the hearer.
The next few weeks saw me trudge despondently to school every day – my inability to communicate had made school a very lonely place – sustained only by the constant encouragement from my mother. The textbooks were not too much of a problem to understand but the Professeur’s explanations and class interactions remained largely incomprehensible. My conversation with my classmates during those days was largely limited to ‘oui’ and ‘non’.
After the first few months, I started feeling better. The sea of faces, adorned with eyes and hair that came in a colorful array of hues, that I beheld on my first day had by now been transformed into personalities. The class monitor Liévin Philippe stood out – lean and athletic, he had the bearing of a natural leader and commanded the respect of the class. He made it a point to greet me each morning with a smile and a ‘bonjour, tu vas bien?’ (good morning, are you doing well?)
The Japanese twins Hitoshi and Satoshi were distinctive with their Beatles-style haircut and heavily accented French. Hitoshi was a favourite of the class with his constant giggling and head-nodding while Satoshi was the opposite in temperament – a quiet lefty who was always absorbed in drawing. Jean-Paul with his toothy smile and a penchant for practical jokes kept us all in good humour. As for the dozen or so girls, they all appeared demure and kept much to themselves.
Professeur Dansaert was in his element during the French class when he would bring both prose and poetry to life through his dramatic rendition. During these classes he would often make me recite after him, painstakingly correcting my errors in pronunciation and intonation. This well-meaning criticism flustered me but I endured my travails with equanimity, comforted by the empathetic smiles of the class and the encouraging pat on the back I received from some after my ordeal. There was an innocence and friendliness about my classmates that gradually made me feel at ease and confident about my spoken French and by the middle of the academic year, I was able to converse haltingly and follow much of the discussions in class.
From then on, with each passing week, life outside class too became more interesting.
Football was a major passion for the boys. I had also become an avid follower and fan of the game thanks to the British newspapers that my father would bring home. And it was football that forged my first friendships. There was a lovely ground close to the school and Liévin and a group of the boys – Jean-Paul and Hitoshi were amongst the regulars – would gather there every Wednesday afternoon. I was thrilled when they invited me and I finally got to play a game. This midweek diversion would become an addiction that I would look forward from then on. A couple of hours of play would leave us exhausted and we would then repair to a nearby restaurant for some hot chocolate, biscuits and chips.
Bicycling vied with football as a favoured holiday pastime. Every Saturday many of us from the football group would gather at the Bois de la Cambre for rounds of cycling through the many pathways of the park. The handicap of not having my own bicycle – my father didn’t have much confidence in my ability to navigate the fast-moving Brussels traffic – was overcome by someone in the group generously lending me his bike while he took a break. The bonhomie of riding with friends, the sense of freedom that one gets while cycling and the sylvan surroundings all made for an experience that was as close to contentment as one could imagine.
Outside of school, Liévin’s birthday party was noteworthy. It was the first time I had been invited to a classmate’s house and I was rather nervous. He had invited some of our group along with a few of the other boys and girls in our class. I marvelled at the meticulous manner in which the various games were organised – with the instructions for each game as well as the no-go areas in his elegant and spacious apartment clearly spelt out – and the care his mother took to ensure that each of us enjoyed the evening which included a rather overwhelming spread of Belgian pastries.
With all the activity in and outside school, I did not particularly look forward to the long school breaks over the New Year and Easter when everyone was busy with family gatherings. I need not have worried. I was more than compensated by the ethereal experience of my first white Christmas and before the Easter break, Liévin surprised me by thoughtfully gifting a pile of French books and comics which kept me pleasantly engaged till school reopened.
My first academic year in Brussels ended on a happy note – I did well enough in my exams to be promoted, much to my relief and the delight of my parents, my friends and Professeur Dansaert.
My second year was thoroughly enjoyable. Professeur Dansaert continued as our class teacher and academically I did very well. Our cycling and football pursuits continued apace. Jean-Paul generously allowed me to use his old bicycle, having bought a shiny new one, and our cycling expeditions explored vistas beyond the Bois de la Cambre. As for football, Lievin and I, rather unbelievably, got selected to play for the local district school team in a European youth tournament. To be all kitted and booted and play in the Stade Fallon – the home ground of the local first division team Racing White
– was a fairy-tale moment for me.
When our final year came to a close I could sense the sadness in the class. For most of them, this was their second home – from nursery and kindergarten to the six years in primary school. As for my friends, they were aware that I would be returning to India in a few months. But we were at an age when our dreams for the future allowed us little time to bemoan the end of good times. So when we gathered over a last round of colas and chips there were few tears but a whole lot of back-slapping and vigorous shouts of “bonne chance”.
Sadly, I was to lose all contact with my classmates after leaving Brussels.
Looking back, I wonder whether the students of the École are still as good-natured and welcoming of newcomers as the children I studied with were. My class appears to have no presence on social media. If it had I would have loved to dedicate this most apposite quote, in French, to the bunch of easygoing and endearing kids who made me feel at home in a strange place: ‘Le plus beau cadeau de la vie est l’amitié, et je l’ai reçu (The greatest gift of life is friendship and I have received it).’
Chandramohan Nair lives in Kochi and has taken up writing after a career in the banking and technology sectors.
