What Happened- My Story

Hey everyone, I hope all is well with all of you. I myself am not so well, and I'm going through more pain and devestation than I could possibly put into words. I've had a lot of people asking what happened, and it's eating me alive to have to keep explaining, so I'm going to write my story in this journal and hope that the questions are answered. I long for peace...

On the 25th of October, my husband and I were on our way to the Zelda 25th anniversary symphony in London for what should have been one of the most beautiful nights of our lives. I had specially put aside money to buy an amazing artwork poster for him, we agreed to frame it and treasure it always for years and years to come. We had even managed to get first class additions on our travel tickets. I had never been to England before.

We arrived in Brussels at the station. We went through the passport check. They took one look at me and said "You're American and your last travel stamp was 4 years ago, you MUST be illegal!" and took me aside. The police took my things, even my shoes and jacket "in case I tried to kill myself". My husband was outraged. He showed the officers the Dutch law under which I was legally allowed to stay in Holland. The police took one look at it and declared "No, your information MUST be wrong, Belgian law is the same as Dutch law." (which is a total lie, but anyway). My husband was forced to leave. I told him to go to the symphony without me, but he couldn't do it. As I sat and waited, treated like a criminal and being thoroughly unacknowledged, my Dutch family worked on sending through my marriage license, to prove I was legal in Holland. It was sent, but they claimed they never received it. Regardless, they didn't wait like they were supposed to for it, and instead immediately contacted the Belgian foreign minister, without waiting for any context, who immediately declared me illegal and had me shipped off to a detention center. They threatened I'd be put in a public jail instead if my husband kept talking with me on the phone (by this time it was several hours later).

I was taken to the detention center, they took photos of me, my fingerprints.. I got an isolation room that night, I was so devestated. When the guards working their shift saw me, talked with me, heard my story, they were outraged I had been treated this way, and were sure I'd be able to go home soon. They were all rooting for me. The social workers the next morning felt the same way, they thought my marriage license with my husband (2.5 years ago) would sort everything. Certainly being a resident of Holland for 4.5 years, Belgian shouldn't have a right to say anything. They received my license, forwarded it to the office in Brussels, and waited. I sat crying and staring at the wall for 2 straight days. I barely slept, I couldn't eat... When news came, it was bad news. Not only was I being moved into the general population downstairs, but Belgium claimed my marriage license wasn't enough, and contacted Holland for my registration number. Now, this is how it works/worked: because I was married to my husband (Dutch) and am an American citizen, I qualified to stay in Holland without a registration number. This essentially means that I don't get the perks of being a citizen (insurance etc), and instead pay cash for it. I don't officially exist, however immigration has no problem with me. We contacted immigration, the embassy, city hall, etc numerous times during the 4 years regarding my status, and they never said it was a problem ("It's fine, she fulfills these requirements"). Any activity that required a registration number, I was allowed to do under my husband's name. I'd been through passport checks in Europe, and never had a problem. I showed my passport earlier this year in Amsterdam at a check, and they said it was fine. If I had visa problems, Holland would have never allowed me to get married 2 years ago, because the ceremony itself was even held in the city hall. As far as Holland was concerned, I was perfectly allowed to stay. Belgium called Holland for my registration number, though we explained the laws (my husband even forwarded the Dutch laws and paperwork to the Belgian foreign minister), Belgium waved it all aside claiming "no registration number, you MUST be illegal!"

So came a horrible decision. I could request to be extradited back home, to Holland, but it would take a long time because of how messed up the situation got and the registration number misunderstanding on their part. It would have taken at least 3 months (I'll explain this later) to bring me back home out of that hell-hole. Or, I could say I wanted to return to America, where my visa would reset and I'd have to wait at least 3 months before travelling again, and restart the whole process of acquiring my citizenship. But at least 3 months here, I'd have my freedom, I could talk with my husband without paying huge fortunes, and I wouldn't go completely insane. I made the most painful decision of my life-- to return to America.

But making a decision doesn't mean it's done. The system was slow, and conveniently decided to take a huge holiday (extended past the official dates even) in addition to not working weekends or nights. 5+ days of no news, and nothing moving forward, no one working. It was agony. The American embassy kept calling to see if I was ok and push Belgium into working faster. They weren't able to contact me for 3 days, nor my husband, though the center had a 24 hour line, it was conveniently always busy. In total, it took 13 days from hellish start to miserable finish. 13 days locked up like a criminal, for doing nothing wrong.

The guards especially treated me well, because I was always polite and kind to them. The social workers too, who actually said "We're ashamed to be Belgian" when they told me the bad news. The guards were outraged, cursed the system, and a couple declared they didn't want to work there anymore. What was happening to me was wrong, and I didn't deserve to be there. One guard, who worked there for over 20 years, very passionately put "I'll bet you're in this situation thanks to some pencil-pushing desk jockey having no decency and just wanting to 'do his job well'. It's wrong and so frustrating! This is what you get in a country with no government.." Some of them even hugged me, some audibly cursed when they heard what was going to happen. I fell victim to a system corrupt to the core.

"Downstairs", was the general population. At least 40 people, 4 to a room, in a small ward hallway. If you were lucky, there might be something to see on a TV if the canteen wasn't closed. The food was terrible- bread for breakfast, a generic semi-warm meal at lunch, and bread for dinner. People didn't sleep much, and it was a bad group with lots of screaming and fights, at least on a daily basis. You were required to shower everyday with baby shampoo as your shampoo and body wash-- my skin dried out horribly, and the shower was full of bugs. You had a washcloth to dry off with. You had to carry a card with a horrible picture of you living your worst, most painful moment, at all times. Most all the residents spoke different languages, and it was difficult to communicate. The toilets-- metal, no seats, dirty as can be. Let's say public airport and city toilets seem like the most luxurious thing in the world now. Toilets in high security interrogation rooms were cleaner. In my room, a day after I arrived a new woman arrived, who was mentally disturbed. She'd be scared to death one moment and pushing or screaming at someone the next. She talked to herself so much, it was difficult to sleep at night. She kept the window open at all times, so the mosquitos ate me alive. She hallunicated that my "towel" contained clouds of raving bacteria that were going to attack her, so she'd have fits. She started slamming the door all the time. The staff wanted her in a hospital but the higher-ups in Brussels insisted she stay, it was misery. The sheets had holes in them, the blankets were never washed. The matress and pillow were both mostly styrofoam, the pillow about an inch thick. You can imagine how my back problems got much worse in that environment. You were allowed to go outside for 1 hour a day, but not if you had a visit (which was indoors). If you were lucky, a staff member might take a group to a seperate room to make bracelets or something for an hour, but the rest of the time you had to keep yourself busy. After days of pure misery, the worst days of my life, I threw myself into 500 piece puzzles in an attempt to keep my sanity (my disturbed roommate destroyed my last one within a couple minutes of my finishing for absolutely no reason). It wasn't until over a week after I was taken to the center that I received any news about a flight back to America.

During the time I was locked up in that horrible place, my husband came and visited me at least every other day. 10+ hours of travel, from Holland to Belgium and back, just to see and talk with me for an hour. I can't even put into words how much that meant to me, how loved I felt. For me it was a reward: get through a day, and he'll be there to see you. I'm still so moved he'd do that for me, in addition to making sure there was always enough credit on my phone, no matter how expensive, to call. It was very expensive, but it was worth every cent. I miss him so, so much...

When the day finally came that I could leave the center, I was escorted by police van and locked up in a holding cell at the airport awaiting my flight with other women. It was really bad, someone had an accident at some point and so there were feces all over the floor. But I finally got on the plane after an agonizing wait. The crew were especially kind to me-- I was the first on the plane, and my passport and tickets were given to the captain under strict orders I was not to receive them back until I landed in San Francisco. But the crew liked me, so they gave it back to me mid-flight on the way to Chicago. They wished me all the best and were appaulled at what had happened-- Dutch and American alike. They actually told me the flight I was on was the last to/from Brussels for that airline for the forseeable future, because of the state of Belgium and its systems. They refused to support their nazi-like enthusiasm for wrongfully deporting people (even a fair number of perfectly legal Americans) and thus decided to pull out. Rather disturbing, but even so it felt like the perfect flight at the perfect time to leave a country rotten to the core. I will never be returning there, and I'd advise people travelling not to do any form of international stop-over there.

If I had flown from Holland to England and back, there wouldn't have been a problem. The same goes for Germany. I'm safe in the U.S. now, staying with family, but it's so stressful. They're in the midst of a huge and scary divorce here (and I mean way more than normal-- with sociopathic problems, abuse, restraining orders..), and everyone's stressed out of their mind. Old family stuff is hitting me like a semi, and I'm deprived of my cats, any form of personal space (not like you can ask for it!), and my wonderful beloved husband. It breaks my heart, and I've been severely sleep-deprived and depressed as a result. I'll be here for at least 3 months, at least (because of tourist visa renewal rules), and that thought alone breaks me down into tears.

There's something wrong with the system in Belgium, though. Among the people locked up at the detention center was a woman who grew up in Africa. Let me tell her story: She grew up in Africa, and one day a Belgian businessman came to Africa and met her. It was instant love, and he decided he couldn't live without her. They got married, and moved back to Belgium, where they lived for at least 10-15+ years, perfectly legal. She became a citizen during this time. 6 years ago, the husband died. He left his entire will and estate to his wife. It took the 6 years to process it, and when it was confirmed and established she would be receiving this, the sister of the deceased husband became very jealous. She accused the woman of being an illegal immigrant, and so the widow was immediately taken by police-- no warning, no research done, and locked up in the detention center for 2 months. She fought in the court system to establish the obvious-- she was a legal Belgian woman, and had been for many years. She finally got to leave when I was there, and we all applauded her as she walked out a free woman, back home where she belonged. Another woman I met had lived there legally for 10 years and was also accused, taken with no notice, and being deported to Albania. If it took this long for the system to deal with it's own innocent within its own country, imagine how long it would have taken me to get out of there if I decided to fight and be extradited back home to Holland. I chose sanity, I chose freedom, and I harbor absolute disbelief and disgust at how positively rotten Belgium is. Make no mistake, we have fond memories, but never again will I be returning there. The injustice in how I was treated has left a traumatic mark on me, and I'm afraid my fiery passion to travel the world has currently been all but extinguished. All I want now is to go home...

So, in short, that's my story. I tell it because I hope it will keep people from asking me again, making me relive it over and over: the worst days of my life. I have to thank all of you though who posted encouraging comments, and sent me texts-- those texts kept me going, they gave me such beautiful hope. My husband would read your guys' comments to me over the phone to cheer me up. Honestly I cry when I even think about it. I kept every single one of those lovely texts, and I read them over and over again to make the pain seem less, to feel a little less alone. You'll all have to forgive me as I'm in an absolute state of emotional exhaustion right now, and I spent today weeding through all my messages and seeing all the posts about how amazing the Zelda symphony was, all the happy photos, all the wonderful things I missed while I was wrongfully locked up, and I truly mourned at what I had missed and what had happened to me. I can't even reach out to my husband for a hug. My spirit feels truly hurt, and my heart feels like I've truly missed so much. It's wonderful to be out of that horrible purgatory that was the detention center, but I have a long way to go before I heal, and it will be a long time before I can hold my beloved husband again.