A Visit From A Policeman in Civilian Clothes


Following to my letter to Mayor Bart De Wever of Antwerp, of 25 January 2017, to check out Miss Ina Valstar, my parents received a visit from a policeman in civilian clothes, around 9:40 AM.  He said he came to collect more information about the letter which I sent to the Mayor.

My parents called me to come down.  He told me that he was instructed to contact me, following to the letter.  Both parents were very curious about what was in the letter.  Like a prosecutor he began to sum up the very severe accusations which were in it like accusing someone of murder and of heading prostitution.

As I didn’t see much signs of a police man about him in the first place, I asked to see his service card.  He gave me his card with the identity card included, but I hope you know what I think of Belgian identity cards, by now.    I took note of his name :

The man who visited our house is Mr Keyn DE MEYER. He came alone, which I don’t find normal.  I asked for the boss’s name and he said that his boss is Mr Karel HEEREN.

I asked where his office was, he  said that he works for the police in the Oudaan.  “Ooooh the Oudaan”, I commented.   I remember that it was the police of this office who arrested me at the end of 1990, and who came to collect me in Brussels.   Let’s say that the police of this office “have a reputation”.   There were officers in the Oudaan who were “not so clean”.

I focused the attention of everyone to the crime dossier concerning the false visas and passports, for which I was condemned and which we need to solve, because I am not guilty.  By mentioning this, I created not only the division between my parents which I needed, but also a big surprise.  It is a good thing that I didn’t tell beforehand a thing to my parents about all I was doing.  We needed this surprise, because my father is an important witness.

My father’s opinion diverges strongly with my mother’s who began using against me the same reproaches like 26 years ago, which is that I should keep out of anything related to the government.  Now, I see what she means.   She wants total lawlesness.

To the agent, who was friendly and polite, I explained that “we were digging up the dossier again”.   “Who is we”, the policeman in civilian clothes, the Ciminal Court of Justice (Parket), I answered without indicating which one.

“Yes but who precisely”, he insisted.  I knew that I have caused unexpectedly information to be revealed which some tried to hide.  He wanted to know who was helping me with getting the information, because in the letter I wrote about “a secret agent”.    I shouted “I am helping His Majesty”.  “Who else is helping you”, he asked.  “The King of Morocco”, I shouted.  He was startled, and I know why.  It is because the death sentence still exists in Morocco.  Mentioning the King of Morocco caused division with my parents, with my father taking his both hands to the head as is wondering “what is he going to think of us”.

Then my father wanted to know from the man what I wrote about Ina Valstar.  I was quicker in telling that she tries to accuse me of stealing.  With this I adjusted the feelings and emotions of my father.

My father assured the young man that Ina is an old friend of the house who never caused any problems to us.  “But when it comes to my children, they were gone more than twenty years and I haven’t seen much of them.  Did you know that I was helped by the police in the Oudaan to get the address where my daughter was living.  I just couldn’t find her by myself and all the other administrations were refusing to supply the details by law. My son too.  I haven’t seen or heard of him for years.  Did you know that my daughter is 52 years of age.  Don’t think she is twenty or something.  I don’t understand what the problem is she has with Ina, because she is like this with us (he showed a thumb up for Ina Valstar)”.

My mother was supportive of the way my father was depicting my brother and me compared to Ina Valstar.  Then she interfered and said “Ina Valstar is my very best friend, really really a very good friend”.


Then he focused his conversation on my residence being revoked.  He wanted to know where my official address was and he advised to get registered.   That sounded fair.  Yet, he seemed prepared by somebody who read all the articles and who filtered the weakest spots which is my relation with the parents, and also that I hide realities that may worry them, such as the fact of being without an address.

Then he focused on what I was doing for living.  Not knowing who sent him, I answered “nothing”.    “What is United Chambers”, he asked.   “Your question has nothing to do with Miss Valstar”, I answered.   He reproached and said ‘yes, but you are asking money from everywhere, for people to give you donations, that means you have a company or what ?”  “No, United Chambers is just a name of a project in Morocco, not here , OK”.  I got him to shut up about that.

When I felt that Mr DE MEYER was not prepared very well for interrogating me, I excused myself to the police man.  I told him that I have an appointment.  I went to the shower room, from where I started sending tweets since last Saturday.  I emailed to the Mayor to let him know about the visit of his subordinate about the letter which I sent yesterday.

I was a little nervous when doing that, because I expected an outbreak.   5 days ago, my intuition told me to get prepared to leave to another place in the case I might need it.  I began to that indeed.

When Mr Keyn DE MEYER was gone, my father continued his business as usual with no further comments about this visit.  He went to carry the meal to Valstar’s place, and I hope that this time, he took a good look at the Sheherazad Lounge.  I hope he asked himself the question if it really looks like something which has been closed for over 10 years.


My father didn’t ask me a thing about my letters nor what I write.   He didn’t comment at all about whether I have an address or not.   He didn’t try to understand anything at all. He came in calm and said take your stuff and go.

That is not his style to throw his children out.  I think it was my mother’s decision, because this is what she was looking to achieve.  She was looking to do that for keeping my father ignorant of everything she was doing behind his back.

I think my  father appreciates that the moment has arrived in which he will finally have the discussion that he always wanted with my mother,  about what happened in the past resulting in a catastrophy for our family.


I packed in everything.  The curious thing is that while I was packing in, my mother tried to find out from me where precisely I was going to.  She knows I have no adress and she wants to supply to the mafia the exact direction where I was going.  “I am going back to Zaventem… I still have my place there and the keys… It is also another mayor now”.   “It is such a shame… you see, we don’t want a police car to come and collect you here in front of our house.  In fact, we don’t want you to use our address at all at all,  but do come around and say hello from time to time”.

I was prepared when my father came back.  I heard him getting prepared for something.   It is his usual mumbles which he does before an attack.  He was kind with me.  He asked if he could carry my bags to Central Station.  I thanked him.  Only open the door for me.

“You are not saying goodbye to your mother? “, he asked .  “Oh, I forgot, let her come out”.   I left perfectly knowing that this is the day when he will make mincemeat of my mother.

That is how I know that it was her decision and not my father’s, and also that this visit from a policeman in civilian clothes this morning, was designed to intimidate me, and thus possibly a fake one.

That is why I decided to report about it.

Naima Mouali, United Chambers






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