Story from Villette's Klein Kasteeltje/Petit Chateau

Posted by Matthew Crouch at 14:09

Today we here at the Experiencing Belgium desk have a different kind of blogette posting. Nearby on the canal down the street is an asylum center known as the Klein Kasteeltje/Petit Chateau a nice local name for a "camp" housed in a building that resembles a small castle. It is common modern day poor house for people caught in Belgium without papers and especially without that paper in the form of euro notes/dollar bills. Though not held under lock and key it is a dubious sort of arrangement for those whose lives end up there seeking shelter for a painful life transition. If only the Belgian newspapers would print the many stories such as this life story then perhaps the Belgians of Belgian origin would understand who the unfamiliar strangers they now share these old streets with. The following is one such story of a fellow from Nigeria staying at the klein Kasteeltje center here in Villette who asked me to type out his life story on why he came to stay in Belgium.

The reason why I wrote my story is because the endless empty time I am spending in the “Petit Chateau” doing nothing, helplessly bored for hours that stretch the day into endless proportions. My mind keeps spinning around in my brain. So as not to sink into madness I decided to concentrate on what had been life before… The time I was happy… unaware of what was happing in the country, unaware of evil in some peoples mind.

My name is Dovenn Ekeanyanwu I am from Nigeria. We were a family of three brothers and one sister. Awaking from our happiness was quite a shock. The eldest brother of my father, my uncle, Sylvanus, works as a government official and is therefore rather powerful. My uncle Obet, also brother of my father died leaving everything he had to his son my cousin Thomson. Uncle Sylvanus took advantage of his position and power in the government to steal the land documents of uncle Obet leaving my cousin Thomson without anything. My cousin requested the documents in vain as uncle Sylvanus refused. So one day Thomson forced his way into my uncle Sylvanus’ house and… God knows how and why… killed my aunt. At that time I was in Oweri, in my state, when the police popped up and arrested me and my mother accusing us of being accomplices of Thomson’s murder. We were tortured with knives and beatings. I myself had wounds all over my body. But the worse is that I could hear mother crying over in the other jail cell – oh! We Suffered! …mother died. My cousin Thomson was caught. Fortunately with the help of friends I had the opportunity to escape. My uncle insisted that I should be executed like my cousin without trial of course. He hired and bribed the police again to get me. Also my brothers had to go on the run. I still don’t know where they are.

The police got me, they tortured and beat me. But, God be the glory! Some other prisoners and I were driven through the bush were we would be executed secretly. They told us to run and so we did. Most of us were shot. Fortunately I managed to escape running helplessly through the bush. I turned to the nearby town of ABA were I fell down completely exhausted. A man, who I will call “the good Samaritan” so as not to reveal his real name, found me and hid me in his house. When he learned my story he decided that in order to escape from my powerful uncle, the best for me was to leave the country. He managed to take me on a flight to Belgium. There at the airport in Zaventem, he gave me 10 euros to go to an asylum center and he left me.

In those cold and gray October days I felt completely lost, having no clothes and nothing to eat. I strolled for about three days sleeping in the streets. Then somebody directed me to the “Petit Chateau”. There they provided me with a room, a bed, some medications and clothes. They actually saved me from the streets. Later I was asked for an interview with the “Commissariat General” and went there with a lawyer to whom I had been introduced. They asked me about how I arrived in Belgium and why I decided to leave my country. To me that interview seemed like hell. I felt like the interrogation started all over again. I was but nerves and panic. Besides I had not recovered yet from the shock. Like for an exam at school I would have loved to do well… But I was just able to utter a very nervous and disordered story of my past four months. I am afraid they did not get a good image of me. In such an interview one is always afraid that this first and so important declaration is not clear enough and sounds unbelievable. But it is the truth! Roughly said and with clumsiness of a frightened and nervous mind.

Things like what happened to me might sound exaggerated when one lives in Europe but they are happening so very often in Nigeria. Later I went to the Palais de Justice and was introduced to another lawyer. In fact a young lady who took over my case - I am thankful for her for her care and courage - Having many other souls like me to defend you can imagine the world and implications she must face. Actually my life and also that of the other poor souls she defends are depending on her.

It has been two months now and in the meantime I try my best to integrate into the Belgian society. It’s hard without a family but I made a lot of friends. Belgians are rather warm open and warm hearted. Some I know were even nice enough to write a letter of recommendation.

I do sincerely hope with all my heart that Belgium will give me another opportunity to start life. That I will never have to go back and face death in my native country. I unfortunately did not get a positive answer the first time. But I am doing my best. Some friends are helping me with French and Dutch and I might have the opportunity to follow classes in this language center of the “Petit Chateau” in September and any other craft-work classes I would gladly follow.

I warmly thank the Belgian Government for helping me this far.