Do you know that feeling, that you have to do something.....but can´t quite remember what?
This story is just that.
I remember being told to write it but I can´t remember what I was supposed to tell you. What I do know is that everything I am going to tell you really happened, even though it may unbelievable sometimes.
Hit Rewind to start from Chapter One
Chapter 49
The Georgian captain was older, probably in his early sixties, but I guess living at sea makes you less annoyed by other people snoring because he did not mention it once.
He was a wonderful guy who explained how to take your leftover food from the dining hall to your cell to ensure you did not go hungry during the day. He was good friends with the North African guys who also spoke English and who made up largely for the kitchen staff.
Those are good friends to have I quickly noticed because I was offered seconds almost every night. Captain Dimitri was an o.g. hustler, he had no money just like me because he had nobody sending him stuff.
Every night he came back to our cell with tasteful goodies, a can of tuna, cookies, or tobacco. I have no clue what he did and where it came from, I would not see him throughout the day, but once the door to our cell closed he would smile and show me what he hustled up that day.
After the weekend I was moved to another part of the facility, from where I would soon be extradited.
Before leaving for the other area I left the captain a little note and some tranquilizers. It was all I had and they were giving me a lot more than I needed anyway. The note told him to exchange those for some smokes and thanked him for everything he shared with me.
This was the tenth day, but I guess that bank holidays do not count because, in the end, I did not arrive in the Netherlands till the night of the twelfth day. Strange how god can create a world in six days and man needs twelve days just to get me from Spain to The Netherlands.
It was already evening when we landed at Schiphol airport and were taken to the nearest headquarters of the Military and Border Police. They gave us an actual choice of what we wanted to eat. Nasi was an option, damn those refugees get good food compared to what I had to deal with in Spain.
Once we had eaten we were loaded into a police van and taken for a spin. I keep saying we because I was not the only one being extradited. There was this old Marocain guy Hassan sitting next to me.
We were on the same plane and now in the same van, he explained to me that they would probably take him to Rotterdam, and based on what I could see that was right. Because of the Rotterdam detour, I arrived at the Breda Police station two minutes to midnight.
As soon as I was put in my Dutch cell it was day thirteen and that was obvious. I think I had slept an hour when a police lady and two men entered my cell without asking.
She introduced herself as the district attorney, well the replacement D.A. as it was night. She read me my rights and the charges, and that was when I choked. I was being charged with abduction of, and sex with a mentally incompetent person.
Now the remark of the Spanish Guardia Civil made sense," You should be happy we don´t cut off your balls for having sex with children," he said when I asked him if my handcuffs could be a bit less tight.
After the D.A. told me that the three of them tried to look impressive for a couple of seconds, I was allowed to keep silent and so I did.
What should I say? I mean this was insane, this was a bad movie with a ludicrous plot, you could not make this up not even if you wanted to. Who would believe that taking your girlfriend for a holiday could get you extradited and charged with abduction and sex with a mentally incompetent person?
That night every other hour someone was banging on my cell door. The first time I answered but I soon found that they were just trying to harass me. Which I understood based on what I was accused of. Damn, if these were policemen doing this what if I ended up in jail? I am sure they do not take kindly to people who abuse women, especially women that are mentally incompetent.
The next day my lawyer visited and said that I was in solitary confinement for the time being, which meant I was not allowed any visitors or even speaking with any of the inmates.
That was weird because in Spain I was able to call anyone I liked, I even called my dad. I did not plan on calling him myself because I did not want to worry him. But my friend Mork, the one that I asked to take care of the dogs had gone through my laptops, found my dad's email, and warned him.
My old dad had spent days locating me and finally found me in the Madrilenian prison. He called them and they informed me that my father had called.
After the first couple of days, I stopped calling people just in case I needed a phone call at some point, so there was still some money on my card. Enough to call him back, and for no apparent reason he was one of two people in the whole world of whom I know the phone number by heart. Because my mobile had not made it to Madrid.
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