Antwerp blues

Meet Mehmet. Turkish by birth, Uber driver by day, math wizard by night, and apparently, a part-time traffic rule rebel. He picked me up from my Antwerp hotel at the ungodly hour of 7:30 AM on a Sunday. According to him, he’s technically not allowed to pick anyone up there because of road construction, but hey—it’s early, the cops are still in bed, and honestly, who follows all the rules before coffee?

Apparently, the police sometimes understand the human need for airport runs and croissants, but other times they hand you a lovely souvenir ticket. There are zero warnings in the app about this no-go zone, by the way. As a frequent Uber-er, I’ve switched to the “order in advance” feature—less stress, often cheaper, and it seems the app sends you drivers who are philosophers, scholars, and occasionally, undercover superheroes.

Mehmet is one of them. Five years ago, he left Turkey, where he was a mathematics teacher. “I love my job,” he says with a smile, “but I’m not allowed to teach here yet—my Flemish isn’t good enough.” Math, it turns out, is hard enough without having to explain it in Dutch. So now he Ubers during the day and studies at night.

Cue my admiration for immigrants: people who leave everything behind, start over in a strange land, and work ridiculously hard to contribute to society. Mehmet dreams of teaching again, because, as he says, “Math is mandatory, and helping kids—especially the ones who struggle—is my dream.” I tell him he’ll make a brilliant teacher. He smiles and politely avoids rolling his eyes at my lack of algebraic talent.

We’re cruising from Antwerp (where I attended the ECVS Congress) to Brussels Airport. “You’re lucky,” Mehmet says. “Normally it takes 90 to 120 minutes, but today it’s quiet.” That peace ends abruptly at Brussels Zaventem, where the highway suddenly goes from four lanes to two, then one, and then throws you into a hairpin curve designed by someone who clearly hates travelers.

No wonder the airport advises arriving four hours early—three of those hours are spent navigating this logistical nightmare. And once you finally reach the drop-off zone? Chaos. Mehmet warns me, “I’ve got 15 minutes to get out or they’ll charge me €27.” Talk about surge pricing… from zero to 27 in 15 minutes. Even exponential growth curves are jealous.

Inside, the usual modern airport hurdles: electronic passport gates that promise smooth sailing but deliver more of a stutter-step experience.

As I’m leaving the car, I ask, “Do you ever go home?” He pauses, then says quietly, “When you’re an intellectual and a teacher who disagrees with the government, you lose everything. I had to bring my wife and kids here to give them a better life.”

And there it is. Life, summed up by a man who teaches equations by day and lives one by night. I bet his kids will know their multiplication tables and understand the true meaning of resilience.

Well done, Mehmet. The world needs more people like you—whether behind the wheel or in front of a chalkboard.