Memoirs of a bloody foreigner (1)

Well, I arrived to England. New hopes, dreams and more importantly, new stories to be told.

Arriving at the airport, I was stopped by the Home Office dudes, courtesy of my Sudanese passport of course. They – as they put it – wanted to check if I was there for the right reasons. Being an expert with those fellows, I knew all the right answers. But thinking about the question, I thought about what would my true honest answer be, I figured out it could lie anywhere between “I have a great job waiting for me here” to “I am after a British passport that would spare me your bullying”, but none of those answers was even close to the truth.

At one of those rare revealing moments, it hit me. I was there because it really didn’t matter. As high as Theresa May and her dudes could think of their country, for me, it was just another step along … some road. I was always a foreigner and I will always continue to be. No passport, no job, no family will change that, because …..

(cheesy Steven Seagal movie theme song)

…. because I am the ultimate bloody foreigner!

I was a foreigner as long as I could remember. I am not talking about any victimized feelings here, rather about a feeling/state of mind that I always did my best to emphasize, it is the feeling that was (for me, someone who believes in almost nothing), it was the only driving force in most of my life. Being a foreigner gives me that adrenaline feeling that I thrive for but more importantly, it adds the tiny bit of spice that makes a good story great.

What changed in that revealing moment, is that I suddenly came to terms with “me being a bloody foreigner”. I might have been a victim of it once or twice, but I have a luxury that few foreigners have: I choose my terms. And even though I – admittedly – have all the doubts of the world in my head but I know enough to appreciate the rare gift of having a choice.

Thanks Mrs. May.


Today, looking from the window in my office, I felt faKe.

I’ve never felt “faKe” before. I felt like a liar, like a bastard, I felt weak, stupid, arrogant, I felt like nothing. But for the first time ever, I felt faKe.

I’ve been faKing it for so long, every day every hour. You can call it getting along, getting used, learning, experiencing, growing up .. whatever you wanna call it … But today, I found out it is simply being “faKe”.

I faKe watching the green light before crossing the street, I faKe being confident with the bar tender while ordering a “pint”, I faKe laughing at the stupid “Achmed” show, I fake not being astonished with the bus coming in the exact minute it’s supposed to come at, I fake being used to policemen that smile like human beings.

I fake being used to this clean street that I see from my fuckin window. God, how can they do it !!! … Whenever I look at it – Johan de Wittlaan (notice how faKe is the name!) – I expect a wave of dust that will turn this faKe beautiful scene into Khartoum or Cairo, you know, turn it into something I really know, something that I don’t need to “faKe” dealing with.

But … Will I – someday somehow – believe that it is “Normal” to look from the window and see a clean street and that there are policemen who actually smile, will I stop being astonished? … or will I stop faKing that I am not being astonished?

By the way, I just had lunch where we talked for an hour about Skiing resorts … looo0ool ..


Schiphol Apartheid

Have you ever passed through the non-Schengen gate in Schiphol airport?

Ok, let me re-phrase the question:

Have you ever passed the non-Schengen gate in Schiphol airport, holding in your hand, let’s say: a Sudanese, Kenyan, Indian or Cuban passport?

Schiphol airport – which is the main entry point for most people visiting the Netherlands – is imposing a policy, similar to third world dictatorships on its non-Schengen gate.

When you pass through the passport control, what is supposed to be a routine check becomes a nightmare if you don’t have the “right” nationality.
Continue reading “Schiphol Apartheid”


veryone struggles to find a division for our world of today.. Of course, the division of a Capitalist vs. Communist world is no longer valid .. Some people divide us into a First world and a Third world .. Others talk about the clash of civilisations between East and West .. or the scenario of the axis of Evil vs. the axis of Good .. others talk about the holy fight between the faithful and the infidels .. But none of them managed to find the optimal division:

Our world is divided – my dear reader – into two camps:

The eBay world and The non-eBay world

eBay – on its homepage and on behalf of all the thinkers, the philosophers and theoritists –  managed to solve this dilemma,  according to the standards of the 21st century and without any compliments to any side. This world is divided into two opposing parts:

The eBay world: where your requests are granted with a mouse click, where the whole world lies on your screen, where your comfort – if you belong to this world – is the most important .. A world where the most complicated of things becomes very simple .. The eBay world where they would trust you, without knowing or meeting you, just because you “belong” to this beautiful world .. A world where the king is the Human Being

and the non-eBay world: where there is no such thing as a Human Being.


Ten years ago, I’ve started my journey into the eBay world. A journey that will – forever – take the label “Temporary”. I knew from the first day, that every day I spend in this world makes it harder to return to where I “belong”.

“Belong”, this is the dilemma I created for myself. Belong to where I don’t fit, or fit where I don’t belong. I spent the last ten years, immersing myself into this captivating eBay world, trying – meanwhile – to reach the middle ground between my two options. I did not reach it yet.

To be continued if it is to be continued.