The Encounter

The few not-quite holidays between Christmas and New Year had the city buzzing with international and Dutch tourists, excited to see Amsterdam go up in flames when 2018 was discarded for a fresh start. Next to the regulars and the expected handful of tourists, de Balie was buzzing with families and groups of friends. Everyone ordered at the same time and demanded excellent service, so I and my colleagues tried to live up to expectations. At five pm, my shift was finally over and I escaped outside to smoke a cigarette and enjoy a beer. People strolled past the terrace, animatedly debating where to go next. A blond girl parked her bike next to me and asked me for a light. She sparked her cigarette, thanked me and cycled off again. I secretly hoped that she would have started an engaging conversation, asked me something unexpected or joined me for the cigarette. However, she seemed the only person on the entire square that had a set destination. 

Only a few minutes later, a middle-aged man with dark hair and eyes, bushy eyebrows and a distinctively hooked nose stopped at my table and asked for a light. As he lit up, he explained that he quit smoking after twenty years by lessening the nicotine he is vaping. Now his vape ran out of battery, so he decided to smoke his first real cigarette in four months. I congratulated him on his success beating addiction so far and he smized. “Thank you, it has been quite the battle. I used to smoke all-day long, you see I got  whiplash in a traffic accident. I was bedridden for two years and so bored that I kept lighting one after the next. I felt so hopeless, I lost everything, my job, my wife and child, the opportunity to see my mother before she passed. The doctors said it sometimes took people in my state six years to recover again! After two and a half years of self-loathing, I decided to change my life. I slowly started to exercise and luckily enough I was soon strong enough to get my job as a car mechanic back.” I was not entirely sure where our conversation was headed, so I agreed that  people’s mental disposition and attitude towards their physical recovery has been proven to be directly linked to the speed of the recovery itself, meaning he had cured himself and he should be proud. He nodded and said, “so much has happened in my life and I’m still here, now I really don’t think anything will break me. All my friends keep telling me I should write a book.” With our conversation shifting into the realm of literature, I keenly engaged, “where would you start telling your story?”

He frowned and took the first drag of the cigarette. “I grew up in Afghanistan in a family of seven, but because of the civil war, I was the only one that could find a job. I wanted to be a doctor, but since I was already working as a mechanic, I didn’t have enough time and money to study. As the conflict became increasingly fuelled by foreign money, my family started to flee one by one to Russia, China, Italy and other countries. I had to leave my mother behind when I fled. I arrived in the Netherlands 18 years ago, seven years I spent in an asylum seekers centre. Straight away, I met a beautiful and sweet Dutch girl. We started loving each other very much and she came to visit me every week. She loved me so much that she swore that if I would be sent back, she would move with me. I was so afraid she would actually do it.” I heard myself say, “oh no..” He laughed and said, “That couldn’t happen.” He took a drag and seemed to study the colourful fairy lights adorning the shape of the historical courthouse behind me. “In total, I have been deported three times and every time I have come back to this country. I was lucky to have the financial means to do so.” 

The man sighed and continued, “just like now, migration politics were turbulent. The third time I arrived back in this country was two days before the enforcement of the general pardon in 2007.” This regulation would allow the asylum seekers that had been in the country for six years to become status holders though many arriving after were rejected and sent back. The parliament was conflicted about which groups to grant the Dutch nationality. For example, by saying a refugee had to have stayed continuously for 5 years, would mean that a large number of refugees that had been deported has no right to stay. 

Nader stressed that the regulation applied to him, his lawyer had told him he had good chances of getting a permit of residence, as the period of residence was constantly debated. “I kept waiting for my hearing but instead a few months later, I was put in an armoured van, accompanied by four policemen. “It was so hot and stuffy there, I bet that an asthmatic would have suffocated.” He told me that he knew they were about to deport him, it was after all the fourth time. Right before he had been brought to the airport, he had contacted the coalition, CDA-PvdA-ChristenUnie, saying “I’ve arrived well within the timespan of this regulation and I have the right to a permit of residence. But still I’m being deported. This is the time, number and gate of my flight, I really hope someone does something because what is happening is illegal!” He told me that soon after the van had been parked under the gate of his flight, the policemen got out and left him in the cramped, airless space. Suddenly he heard a shouting group of people rushing closer.

They demanded to know what was in the van, the police man answered uneasily that they could not disclose this. The people pressured the policemen to open the van, who kept saying they had not been authorized to do so. He described listening carefully to the conversation and then started banging on the door and screaming on top of his lungs, “get me out of here! Open the door! I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating, I’m going to die here!” The policemen did not have any choice now and opened the door. As soon as he was led out of the van, the two dozen politicians and the three policemen disappeared in an adjourning office. He was left with just one police officer. “I have to go to the bathroom.” The officer pointed and said, “at the end of the hall, to your left.”

He took a drag, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Well, through all of these procedures, I always had to take two officers with me to the bathroom, they gave me two minutes and if I wouldn’t be done, they’d kick in the door. But this time, he just gave me directions! I thought to myself, now something is about to go down.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands together. He said that soon after he got a permit of residence, he married his girl, got a lovely son and picked up his trade in the Netherlands. Just when he thought that his life was back on track, he got into the car accident and divorced. He recovered, quit smoking. He saw his ex-wife and kid regularly. He smiled and locked gaze with me. “Life is beautiful but hard. We have to be grateful.” I wholeheartedly agreed, thanked him for sharing with me and asked for his name. “My name is Nader.” “My name is Lily. Nader, I hope you really do write that book one day, I think that your story needs to be heard. We need to know.” He nodded and laughed. We were quiet for a moment and I realized how hungry I actually was. “I’m sorry, I have to go now, I’m absolutely famished. It was so nice to meet you and again, thank you!” It was as if that sentence had broken a spell, he seemed to realise how long we had been talking. He squashed the largely unsmoked cigarette under his shoe, grinned and wished me the very best and a happy new year. I watched him disappear into the crowd, his head held high as he walked.

Writer’s statement: Inside again, I told my colleague Nader’s story. As soon as I did,  I realized that I should have asked for his contact details instead of just his name, because I wanted to help him tell his story. Put the first words on paper together. For a while, I hoped that I would find him through wild googling. Unfortunately I could not even find out which company repairs the Conexxion busses in Amsterdam, where he said he worked. The day after we met, I made extensive notes of our conversation but felt too ambivalent to share his story without his permission and help, but I now hope that maybe someone reading this will know him or that this article will reach him in some way. Since, dear reader, you made it to this point, I would like to encourage you to share this story and help me find Nader.