Asylum Seekers in Ugchelen: A Comedy of Errors
T
he asylum seekers have landed in Ugchelen like a frisbee at a family picnic—unexpectedly and definitely not in the place anyone hoped it would be. An abandoned school building, no less! Beautifully nestled between 1980s houses and a Catholic primary school that’s probably packing more enthusiasm for education than the local government has for communication. Oh, the irony! And here I thought the only thing getting wedged in between neighborhoods was the pizza delivery guy trying to find his bearings.
Local resident and self-proclaimed neighborhood watch, Gerard Molenaar, is out there on his concrete platform with his cat Nala—who sounds suspiciously like an extra from a David Lynch film. Gerard insists, “999 times out of a thousand, things go well for those people.” Not to be outdone, his wife has taken a proactive approach. “She bought cameras,” Gerard explains, adding a touch of impending doom. I mean, if you can’t see the fun in filming your neighbors being cautious, are you even living?
Then we have the lovely neighbor with the dachshund—who, let’s be honest, probably has better social skills than most of us humans. “Four kilos of cuteness,” she says. But the existential quandary arises: should she start locking up the garden now? I don’t know, Lady, it depends if those asylum seekers are planning to throw a rave or perhaps just garden gnome-sharing sessions!
Now, onto local councilor Peter Kranenburg, who, with an air of frustrated resignation, notes that the loudest voices in the community are drowning out any rational discussion. It’s as if some parents consider picking up their kids at school a high-risk mission akin to catching a highly elusive Pokémon. “Guided walks to the gym? That’s thirty meters away!” he laments. I mean, when did a stroll to the gym become a trailer for a suspense thriller?
Then there’s the context of our dear friends the asylum seekers—their welcome comes with kettles! Yes, kettles! Not the shiny teapot your gran has—these are essential because the water might contain ‘poo bacteria.’ Nothing says ‘hospitality’ in a new country like “Boil before you drink!” Who needs a warm welcome when you have boiling water and a dash of fear?
But hold your jokes—an explosive went off! I’m not talking about someone discovering a new way to cook instant ramen. This is a proper explosion! Think of it like maybe the neighborhood’s efforts at bonding have taken a rather explosive twist. Security guards shrugging it off suggests we’re in a sitcom now. “Welcome to Apeldoorn, home of the fat bike and disaster.”
As for the municipal communications? A comedy of errors. One day they announce that 100 asylum seekers are coming in for a sleepover, the next they plead with parents for their support. “We adjusted the plan to accommodate parents,” comes the official response, which only leaves me thinking: who needs coherent planning when you can have spontaneous chaos, right?
Now, our asylum seekers are getting a nightly road trip that could rival a cross-country tour, only to return to Ter Apel for breakfast. A lovely little scenic drive of total absurdity! It’s like Bushtucker Trials all over again, minus the kangaroos and with added bureaucracy.
But you can’t help but laugh (or cry?) as Gerard notes that the municipality can’t do anything right. Wrong parking signs? Perfect touch! The school might not have seen an asylum seeker yet, but the feeling of unrest is palpable—a bit like trying to get a cat into a bath. You know something’s going to go wrong.
In Uganda, they say, “Where there’s humor, there’s hope.” Here, it looks like comedy has birthed a new reality series, and I think we should all tune in. Ugchelen: Real Life and Real Issues, coming to a neighborhood near you. So, grab your kettle, keep an eye on the chaos, and remember: Nala the cat is probably the sanest one in the village.
The asylum seekers have to spend the night here until the end of the year: in an abandoned school building in the village of Ugchelen, on the south side of Apeldoorn, wedged between 1980s houses, green areas, a stream and the new Catholic primary school De Eloy. A maximum of one hundred asylum seekers who have just arrived in the Netherlands for whom there is no room at night in the registration center in Ter Apel, 150 kilometers away.
There are weeks when less happens in Ugchelen, says neighbor Gerard Molenaar. He sits down in front of it, on a concrete platform near the garbage containers in front of the old primary school. His cat Nala hovers around him. “999 times out of a thousand, things go well for those people,” says Molenaar. “But the neighborhood app has exploded and many local residents feel unsafe because of all the media attention. My wife bought cameras. Something will happen to the car soon – at least then we can prove it.”
The neighbor who brings coffee doesn’t know what to think. She has a dachshund (“four kilos of cuteness”) and she is not afraid of whistling men – she hasn’t been whistled at in “a long time.” But on the other hand, should she lock the door to her garden from now on?
Local resident Peter Kranenburg, also a municipal councilor for the Christian Union in Apeldoorn, is less light-hearted. His children are at Eloy, he has attended information meetings about the shelter. There he saw that “a small group of parents” was hijacking the discussion. “There is a lot of media attention and little nuance. Parents and local residents who support the shelter hardly move. On the other hand, you hear the screamers everywhere.” How does that happen? “There is strong anti-government sentiment here and there,” he says. “Some parents will keep their children at home for the foreseeable future. And the school board has announced that children who have to walk to the gym in the morning can receive guidance. That’s thirty meters away. In Ugchelen. What is this about?”
Kettles
Asylum seekers are not yet in the old primary school, which was equipped last week with, among other things, bunk beds and a cupboard full of kettles. These are not a luxury: the water in the region is contaminated with ‘poo bacteria’ E. coli, so that for the time being it is only suitable for consumption when boiled.
Things remain restless in the area. An explosive went off during the night from Tuesday to Wednesday, causing extensive damage to the school. The emergency shelter was quickly restored, but on Friday night local residents heard loud bangs again, this time fireworks – never far away in this part of the city.
The two security guards at the school building shrugged it off on Saturday afternoon. Apeldoorn is simply the “fat bike capital of the Netherlands”, they say. The Central Agency for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (COA), which announced in the afternoon that there will be no bus from Ter Apel on Saturday evening – and probably also on Sunday evening – does not keep them informed of the latest reception plans. The supervisors: “We’ll see, we’ll just monitor everything.”
Asylum seekers have to spend an hour and a half in a coach in the evening to spend the night in Ugchelen. After breakfast they are driven back to Ter Apel.
Only at night
Proponents and opponents of the shelter in Ugchelen know one thing for sure: communication from the municipality was unhappy. On October 2, local residents received a letter stating that Apeldoorn would take over the crisis shelter for up to a hundred asylum seekers from Zutphen, because the contract there with the local sports hall expired. A week later, a ‘walk-in’ was planned in the old school building in Ugchelen, which was purchased by the municipality at the beginning of this year and will eventually make way for houses.
When the parents of the neighboring Eloy school got wind of the plans, things turned around. A hastily planned additional information meeting followed in the nearby Van der Valk hotel De Cantharel. Mayor Ton Heerts (PvdA) promised that the asylum seekers would only stay in Ugchelen at night – and not during the day as was the case in Zutphen. “The background to this change, says a spokesperson for the municipality, was that the Eloy primary school right next to the daycare center had to be able to continue to function normally. “We have adjusted the plan to accommodate parents.”
On the night of October 8 to 9, an explosive went off at the entrance to the reception location, causing extensive damage. The police assume destruction. The emergency shelter was quickly restored. Photo ANP LDG PHOTOGRAPHY
Circus
From now on, a maximum of one hundred waiting asylum seekers in Ter Apel will have to sit in a coach for an hour and a half after dinner to spend the night in Ugchelen. After breakfast they are driven back to Ter Apel, where they join the asylum queue again. Every evening, the COA determines who will return to Gelderland. Sometimes this is a large group, other times no one – depending on the flow and capacity in the Northern Netherlands.
Gerard Molenaar thinks it’s just a circus in his neighborhood. Friday night, he was walking his dog and saw city officials screwing parking signs into the ground. No one is allowed to park in front of the reception location from ten o’clock in the evening until ten o’clock in the morning. And believe it or not, he says: “They have the wrong stickers, which makes it appear that you are not allowed to park there during the day.” The signs now need to be adjusted before they can be properly used.
“The municipality cannot do it well,” Molenaar concludes his story, on the ledge in front of the school. He quotes his cat Nala and says: “Older people in the neighborhood think it’s a scary idea, they won’t dare to walk their dog anymore. This is how it works: we have not yet seen an asylum seeker, but the unrest is already there.”
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