Africans going Dutch: Part 34 - Selling drugs?
“Hi ladies, are you the ones smoking that very sweet smelling joint?” A Dutch man, probably in his mid-50s, wearing a grey suit, white shirt and red tie, is asking us. My Dutch companion, a professional photographer, who was busy taking photographs of Amsterdam's famous canals, seems puzzled.
By Alice Mapenzi Kubo
As if not noticing the shock on our faces, the man asks again, “Where did you buy it?” My friend remarks:“Alice, his next question will be in which window of the Red Light District do you work? I am deeply shocked. Never in my entire life have I been so insulted!” I apologize after realizing that the incident was probably caused by my presence.
Two days later, I dash to HEMA, a store in the city of Leiden’s central train station where they sell foodstuffs, stationery and clothing. I walk past two young Dutch boys, I guess in their mid-20s. One of them says: “Hey you, where are you rushing to – to buy drugs?”
I cannot believe it. Again! Although the Netherlands liberalized the use of marijuana and hash, it is belittling to be labelled a drug user when you do not even smoke cigarettes. I turn and look him in the eye. “Sorry, but I am an educated woman and I have a decent job in Amsterdam!” He responds, lamely, “We are also very educated!” I remark: “Then behave like you are!”
These two incidents remind me of a conversation I once had with a Dutch researcher specialized in ethnic relations. We spoke about foreigners in the Netherlands, including myself. He was so honest to admit that although he is educated and well travelled, he still believes that an African who drives a Jaguar or any other expensive car could only have earned it through selling drugs, prostitution or some other shady business.
He himself, after working hard for many years, still cannot afford such a car, so how could an African? But at the same time he lives in an expensive house. And, if you ask me, he chose to invest his money in a house, rather than a Jaguar.
I happen to know an African who drives a Jaguar. She’s my hairdresser. For ten years, I have witnessed how hard she works, six days a week, all day, and half-day on Sundays. She lives in a poor part of town, but decided to spend her earnings on an expensive car. My Dutch researcher friend would probably qualify her as one of those Africans who earned their money illegally. How very sad.[related-articles]