In my native country, Ghana, there is a proverb that says “If you are a well-known professional thief, whenever there is theft within the vicinity where the thief lives, he becomes the number one suspect on the police’ list.”
This is the case in Belgium. The country has abused its trust, being the first country in the world, to name streets and build statues in honor of a king that killed over ten million Africans, including children, in Congo, during the colonial era, under the administration of the bloodthirsty and greedy King Leopold II, when there is no statue of Adolf Hitler, for killing six million Jews.
With such a horrific and distasteful history, I didn’t delay a minute when the African Community in Antwerp, contacted me to investigate the high death rate of African patients at a hospital.
As a matter of fact, before the investigation, ‘Stuivenberg Hospital is one of the most feared hospitals, which sends cold waves through the spine of Africans, any time the hospital’s name is mentioned. The fact that hundreds of Africans who visit that hospital don’t come back alive.
What made the African community suspect that something sinister is going on at the hospital is, many who went to the hospital without any serious injury were declared dead to their relatives. There were rumors that they deliberately kill the African patients for body organs, desperately needed for the Belgians.
Then personally one day, I witnessed a demonstration by a group of Albanians over the same allegation. I can’t describe the spirit which entered into my body, the day I entered the hospital.
Underestimation is one of the biggest problems the black man faces, especially an African. They greeted me with scorn. They frustrated me and hindered all my activities, but one doesn’t need to be educated to know that they are fighting to cover up something. Actions speak louder than words.
According to a worker: “The hospital been in service for over more than a hundred years ago, so there is no way such things can go on.”
“Whatever crime committed against Africans, can never be read in any newspaper in Belgium,” I replied. It almost turned to verbal war, so I left the hospital and published the story in one of my books, ‘An African in Antwerp,’ then updated to be published in America as ‘Little Boygium-Wonderful Experience.’
It is worth noting that the high death rate of Africans occurred during the administrations of Mayors Leona Détigé and Patrick Janssens.
After the publication, an official from the City of Antwerp wasn’t pleased and she called the publication ‘Stupid,’ because her husband is a journalist and wouldn’t publish such a stupid book.
I replied, “Your husband is a journalist but not an African.” It’s unfortunate that when it comes to Africa and Africans, nobody cares about what happens to them. I am therefore fighting this alone without the support or investigation by any Belgian journalist.
Even the media refuses to address serious situations over Africa, until the last minute, when things get bad, they pretend and quickly jump into it. Now you know the reason this writer remains the most hated writer in Belgium is that he has proved to the Belgians and their journalists that they don’t know their job.
Whether I published a stupid book, or I am the stupid one, I have unanswered questions for the City of Antwerp officials.
“Why after the publication of my book, the police were at the hospital for several weeks to protect the place? Are they afraid that since they have been exposed, the African Community will storm the hospital?
And why is it that after the publication, the hospital now remains one of the safest hospitals in Antwerp, without any more death of Africans like before? I will be posting more articles for readers to judge if I am the bad one, Antwerp or Belgium.
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