The film “explores the precarious lives of two migrant workers, Reginald (a Romanian construction worker) and Niki (a Greek bicycle courier), in Brussels, Belgium.”

Last night I was there, in the Sphinx movie theatre.  And so were perhaps a hundred other cinema lovers.

Reginald and a friend didn’t have Belgian work permits … but they had to eat.  A building owner hired them to renovate an apartment.  They worked for two weeks – ripping down and then building up.  When the job was done, the owner threw 300 euros at them and started phoning the police when they protested the ripoff.  So much anger, so much despair.  We the audience felt it with them.

During the 90 minutes, my mind flowed between the story and the people sitting before me – black figures with hints of grey at the edges.  I fell in love with these ghostly human beings whose lives I didn’t know.  And then the story returned …

Niki had a bicycle that didn’t work well, but it was the lifeline for her to survive.   When the chain came off, she knelt down to get it back on, wiping the grease off on the leaves of weeds.  At one point she had the food order, and stood in front of a sprawling complex with no idea of how to find the person who did the ordering.  And no answer on the phone.  More despair.

Towards the end, Niki and a fellow bicycle courier sat on a wall, talking about their lives, their struggles, their dreams.

I was with Niki and Reginald

I was with my fellow audience members

***

After the screening the lights came on, and four men took a seat facing us: the director of the film, a fellow who advocates for people who don’t have a Belgian work permit, a union rep for bicycle couriers, and the interviewer.

The conversation was in Dutch.  The commitment of the four was vivid.  And so was the kindness of the young man who sat beside me.  He translated a lot of the panel’s comments.  “Thank you for translating.  That was nice of you.”

It was a fine evening

***

This post was to be about trains.  Maybe tomorrow!