Joseph Gysels

I met Jo in the summer of 2001 at the Rejean Café in Leuven. Although we were drunk so it could have also easily been 2002. Today would have been Jo’s 56th birthday. He died February 24, 2004. To the smartest, most sympathetic yet simultaneously frustrating person I’ve ever had the privilege to call my friend,

Jo was an archaeologist by education. I know very little about his childhood other than he grew up near Antwerp and his family was strict; his mother wanting him to attend a seminary instead of university. His character, he told, was built during his 10+ year field research assignment in Kenya. He considered himself African by nature; it was something that “stayed with you”. He was hunting Lucy with the Leakey’s which is about the coolest job I could ever imagine.

Through some twists of fate, Jo ended up assigned to various libraries at the Catholic University of Leuven via some sort of community social-assistance programme. It was demeaning work but he made the best of it; thriving on the Academic experience; the faculty staff were (and hopefully still are) just amazing people. It was a sort of labor driven mental synthesis.

Sometimes people “pop in” for reasons that don’t become apparent till long after.

My memory has blurred a bit over the years but I am certain about the timing. My move to Leuven was (in part) motivated by my desire to get away from IT Consulting and perhaps even the entire IT business altogether. After running through the grind of various consulting companies, I had become disenfranchised with the entire ideal of the business. It had become a sort of prostitution with me having the shiniest knees. I rented a small apartment in the center of Leuven and gave away most of my worldly possessions. I was preparing to leave Belgium, return home, and find another path.

It was during this time that I met Jo. He and his girlfriend had just given birth to their daughter Margot and were going through a deep personal and financial crisis. I suppose — looking back — that having a friend go through a trauma is cathartic in some respects. It certainly helped me deviate and want to stay in-country longer. He was the exact opposite of me. I was a selfish bastard and he challenged and changed that.

Margot

For the first year of Margot’s life, I and others in the local community donated money, diapers, food and whatever else was necessary to keep the family running. The times that I stayed over at their apartment were my first real insight into parenting. Or rather, how it should not be done. Both of Margot’s parents were drunks yet Jo (at least) tried to provide a decent home and took care of Margot’s basic needs. He’d coax Margot to sleep at night by placing his hand on her belly and rocking her; he’d play and entertain; he was a great dad albeit mostly a drunk one.

I’m not certain about the choreography of the situation, but about a year before Jo died, Kristine was placed into a local psychiatric hospital and Jo lost custody of Margot. She was taken to her grandparents to live; he didn’t get the chance to see her much outside of a few short trips where I was the chauffeur.  I still feel a lump in my throat when I think of Margot.

Losing Margot was the beginning of the end for Jo. He stopped showing up for work; I begged and cried for him to tell me how I could help but it was to no avail.  Shortly before leaving to get married, my wife and I witnessed Jo have a full epileptic seizure on the floor of a hospital where he had been admitted. The nurses were terrible. Instead of offering help, they criticized him for acting stupid. When he finally awoke in the emergency, he asked me to bring him a book to read. That’s the last I heard from Jo. He died a few days later while my wife and I were on our honeymoon.

It’s hard to find a positive light in the experience I had with Jo. I’m sure that’s true for everybody who knew him. I can only say thanks to him for showing that there are deeper, more relevant issues at play in people; sometimes you have to look deep under the skin to find a positive.

This is a small part of a bigger story. It’s something that has stayed with me, like Africa I suppose.

To be continued …