Author: Michel Baljet

I am not quite sure what I will find when I step into the central square of the refugee camp early in the morning, past the overflowing garbage containers. Today I am following Dutch photographer Niels Wenstedt, who is here to do a photo shoot for Hollandse Hoogte. Together with a Red Cross contact, we just passed through the lightly guarded main entrance. On our way to an introductory meeting with the shelter's acting manager, Ognyan.

The refugee camp we visit today is one of three refugee camps around Sofia, Bulgaria's capital. The three-story property is moderately maintained on the outside, the fences creating a fence for a dilapidated playground used as a laundry rack and trash lies all over the grounds. From the first step on the grounds, you can feel the tense atmosphere that exists. Where at first I thought this one was a hostile one, I later learn that this is desperation.

The stench of feces

Ognyan, the deputy manager of Voenna Rampa, looks sullen as we enter his office. Like an overwrought prison warden, he discusses his frustration at our arrival with our interpreter. What exactly is bothering him I will never know, but after receiving some facts and rules of the camp, our tour can begin. Like a watchdog, Ognyan accompanies us.

The condition of the building, which houses 800 refugees, is poor. Broken ceiling tiles, smashed walls and a constant stench of garbage and feces fill the corridors of the complex. In the first moments of our stay, it is mainly distrustful eyes that follow our tour of the building; it is only later in the day that the distrust turns into despair and I am overwhelmed by hellish stories of flight, horror and uncertainty.

This conversation has consequences

If I Sirwan I probably would have avoided eye contact and bowed to him. The muscular Iraqi who resides illegally in the refugee camp looks at me piercingly as I walk into his little room, which he has to share with 3 others. The cooking is primitive on a single stove behind me and the corridor in front of his room soon fills up with children and their parents, who begin to notice that there are suddenly strangers in the house.

Sirwan is scared, he tells me about the atrocities he has encountered along the way, the times he has been beaten up by Bulgarian police, and the fear of going outside the camp because he feels he may be targeted by local residents there as well. 'I am afraid our conversation will have dire consequences for me,' Sirwan says to me as he gestures to the interim manager Ognyan. Secretly, I share contact information with him and later today I will learn via the Telegram app that our conversation so far has had no negative consequences.

Sirwan is negative about a lot, about the shelter itself, the food, the care and mainly the lack of clarity. He told me that even a temporary refugee identification has not yet been issued to him. Ognyan, who overheard our conversation, later tries to disprove it. 'He really did have an ID, I gave it to him myself. The problem is that they sell those IDs for 20 euros in downtown Sofia and then come back here and say they lost it, that way I can keep busy taking passport photos'

What I am not allowed to see

As my conversation with Sirwan comes to an end, several people standing in the hallway try to get my attention. Children because they perk up when they see a camera, but mostly parents who want to show me the real misery. The floor in the hallway where we stand is filthy, half the boards in the ceiling are gone and the light dangles weakly shining from a wire from the ceiling. The walls full of holes are chalked with texts and signs. People try to tell me that there are rooms where 20 men lie in a room, that even the hallways are littered with mattresses to create sleeping spaces, and that the bathrooms are a disaster. They try to show it, but Ognyan won't. He simply does not allow it and would rather we go see the kitchen. Pictures I receive later confirm why. That part of the property, the bathrooms, is one big disaster

Grandma Fatima misses her family

Fatima (84) sits disconsolately on the tip of her loft bed as she shares her story. Fatima fled Afghanistan with her family and was found along the way in a forest in Bulgaria and separated from her family. Strangers have now sort of adopted her in this refugee camp, she has no idea where the rest of her family is, possibly they are in Germany and Austria.

No drugs

He has been working here as a doctor in Voenna Rampa for three years now. 'Some days I treat as many as 60 patients, but we have a problem. I am out of medicine again, many ailments I cannot treat'. Earlier I learned in a conversation with our Red Cross contact person that money is not the problem 'The European Union made over 4 million available last year, among other things for medicines, but there is a lawsuit pending about the tender of the supplier of these medicines, and as long as that lawsuit is pending, the money is frozen and we can't do anything with it'. During the day, I encounter many children with rashes, young people with inflammations and people with chronic conditions who cannot be helped at the moment. 'If it gets out of hand, we can have people with life-threatening conditions transferred to a hospital' the doctor says apologetically to me.

A garbage dump

When lunch is over I go outside to have a smoke and take a walk around. The ground is studded with plastic cups in which lunch was handed out earlier today. It seems like everyone collectively wants to make it one big garbage dump. Our Red Cross contact tells me all the things they are doing to educate people in other camps. What they tell them to do better with hygiene. 'Every day we give one-on-one lessons there with products and situations, but even there it doesn't seem to be catching on yet'

As I walk around the building and there is commotion a little further on as people from inside the building, shouting at Niels, try to make it clear that the pile of garbage under their window is demeaning, I get into a conversation with a couple of guys who are on a makeshift campfire are making a canned meal. Again I hear the stories of beatings and robberies by Bulgarian police. 'In Serbia none of that happens, the police there are nice, here we are afraid to walk out of the gate.'

A flood of refugees we cannot handle

'At the moment, I think Bulgaria is hosting over 5,000 refugees, very much larger is our capacity here as well,' says our Red Cross contact. 'If we try very hard, we might be able to accommodate 15,000 people, but we can't handle a larger influx of refugees.' A day before my visit, it was announced that the European Union is giving Bulgaria more than 100 million euros to strengthen border security and accommodate more refugees in the future. In recent weeks, Turkey threatened to reverse its refugee deal with Europe. This could mean easier passage to Europe for the three million refugees currently in Turkey.

Outside, children are playing; as soon as they see Niels' camera, a smile On their faces. As if problems don't exist. 21-year-old Guldar from northern Syria stares ahead as she tells us about her dreams, one day she would like to become a journalist. She has been in a camp in Bulgaria for six weeks. Almost everyone I speak to, like Guldar, has a dream, but currently feels hopelessly trapped in a country where none of them actually want to be. 'People hate us here.

Over 200 illegals in the camp

Yesterday there was a check in the camp. Other than the original residents, over 200 people were found to be staying illegally or actually should be in another camp. By buses they were dispersed, back to their original camp, or to the detention center for an initial intake.

You can see the entire photo reportage by Niels Wenstedt for Hollandse Hoogte. here retrieve

Tomorrow the opposition in Venezuela has announced a large demonstration in Caracas. It is demanding a referendum to depose current President Maduro. As the opposition prepares for the demonstration, Maduro is bracing himself. Military checkpoints are being thrown up, "phone jammers" can be found throughout the city, activists are being arrested, and on state television the president's supporters are calling for the streets to be defended. My sources expect a battlefield.

Ok, 100% pay raise
Venezuela is in a political and economic crisis. As inflation mounts, supermarket shelves are emptying. Food is scarce and hospitals are being closed due to a shortage of medical supplies. In vain, President Maduro is trying to control the situation with emergency solutions. For example, starting tomorrow, the minimum wage has been raised by 100%, and supermarkets in outlying areas are being spontaneously given one-time supplies in the run-up to the demonstrations. According to Dutch entrepreneur Frank, who lives in Venezuela, it doesn't help anything. 'I pay my people well, but the extreme increases in prices mean they can just buy a pack of sugar at the end of the day, if there is any sugar in stock.' Frank watches tomorrow's mass demonstration with concern. 'If it doesn't get out of hand tomorrow, it will happen three days later when the food really runs out. People are already dying needlessly from the food shortage.'

State TV on overtime
State TV is working overtime with reruns. Maduro is calling tomorrow's protest an attempted coup with US help. During a broadcast last week, he already reported taking tougher action than Erdogan, should that happen. In between, tens of thousands of people have been marching for days to get to Caracas on foot from all over the country. A protest march symbolically led by a priest, Lenin Bastidas. He arrived in Caracas after his eight-day, 400km walk. The priest, who first intended to go on hunger strike, later decided to come to Caracas on foot. Gradually, he won the hearts of thousands of Venezuelans who began to follow his example.

Vote for referendum means resignation
Last December, the opposition won parliamentary elections in Venezuela. After winning, one of the goals was to hold a referendum to depose the increasingly unpopular President Maduro. While the opposition followed all legal steps to bring about a referendum, they were not made easy. Government employees who voted in favor of a referendum were fired, initiators of the referendum were arrested and the CNE, Venezuela's electoral office, tightened the rules with impossible demands during the process. For example, the office indicated that any referendum could not take place until next year. This would mean that if Maduro is removed from office, he would be replaced by the vice president instead of new elections. Thus, power would remain in the hands of the same party. With tomorrow's demonstration, the opposition is still trying to bring about a referendum.

Checkpoints
In recent days, tensions have risen considerably in Venezuela. People are being stopped from driving to Caracas by additional set up military checkpoints, belongings are being confiscated, foreign journalists are not allowed to enter the country, collectivos (government-armed gangs) have been called in, and supporters of the government have been called to defend the streets.

Fort Caracas 
Frank has long been concerned about developments in the country he came to live in more than 20 years ago. 'But now things are really going wrong Michel. There is nothing left at all and the government no longer functions. While dirt is piling up on the sides of the road, soldiers are taking over the streets. And as sandbags pile up at temporary military posts meant to guard the tunnel entrances to Caracas, Fort Caracas is filling up with opponents. One thing is certain. Tomorrow Venezuelans face an exciting day.'

From a distance, I will be monitoring the situation tomorrow with my contacts on the street. Follow me on Twitter for the latest updates

I was halfway through my delicious dessert -a Kunefe- when the first reports of a coup came in. I had spent the hours before just outside the center of Gaziantep talking with two doctors about health care in Turkey. Mainly that for the more than 3 million refugees Turkey is currently hosting.

Return to your hotel

Streets were closed, bridges occupied, and fighter jets and helicopters were reportedly flying low over Istanbul and Ankara. According to initial reports. Quickly we decided to end our conversation and each go our separate ways.

I was advised to go back to my hotel. I decided to go to the police headquarters. I figured that if something was about to happen in Gaziantep, a place an hour from the border with Syria, the first signs of it would be visible there. I decided to watch from the steps of a closed restaurant across the street from the station.

Erdogan: Take to the streets

Many cars were approaching the main entrance at high speed and people were busy discussing. Not much later, the Prime Minister proclaimed on TV that a coup was underway. People were asked to take to the streets, The first honking cars appeared in front of the police station. People carried flags and shouted declarations of love for their President Erdogan. In no time, the entire city seemed to be moving toward the center, roads became clogged and people continued on foot while shouting. I decided to leave my post at the police station and follow the crowd to Gaziantep's central square.

When I arrived at the central square it was already half full. Erdogan had just indicated that the coup had failed, but also called on Turks to take to the streets and squares. People in the square went wild and the demonstration increasingly began to take on the character of a true popular festival. Gaziantep, the pro-Erdogan city, went wild.

Attacked

I had arrived in Gaziantep the morning before to write some stories about Turkey and Syria. I, like I think everyone in this square, had not seen a coup coming. I decided to talk to some people with the help of an interpreter. Despite all the hustle and bustle in the square, everything went very amiable at first. People in the square were so friendly, open and welcoming, as I had come to know them over the past few days. I decided to do a tour around the square on my own and thought it would be a nice thought to start a livestream via Periscope. For about eight minutes that went well, until two men came walking toward me in a straight line. While one man tried to take my phone away, the other man gave me the first punch. With no interpreter around, I tried to explain who I was, but before I knew it, the second punch came right to my eye. I tried to run away to the street behind me, but was knocked over, stood up and tried to make my way between the cars stopped on the street. The two men had now become five men, I felt another kick and suddenly found myself between two cars on the ground. The moment a boy got between me and the men, I saw my chance to sprint away quickly in the direction of the hotel.

I decided to spend the rest of the evening following the information via Twitter and TV. The flow of people toward the center seemed to have no end. For a long time it remained unclear whether a coup had really failed and soon the first theories began to emerge, including the possibility that Erdogan had done it all himself. At 4:41 a.m. I decide it's time to go to sleep.

The partying continues

The next morning I saw the damage; fortunately, it wasn't too bad. With a black eye, some abrasions and some pain in my ribs, I decided to start my day again in Gaziantep's central square. The square was still packed. It seemed as if people had not left and continued to party tirelessly.

The original plan, before the coup attempt took place, was to go to Nizip. Nizip is a place an hour east of Gaziantep, where one of the refugee camps is located. My interpreter and I decided to go ahead with the plan. After an hour of sitting in a crowded van, we arrived in Nizip. It was 41 degrees outside.

After asking around, we soon found out that it was virtually impossible to go to the camp today. Government offices were closed and the camp was closed to outsiders due to the events.

After an hour of talking with several residents and former refugees who had already found their place, we decided to go back to Gaziantep to see how the situation was in the central square. Erdogan had called on people to stay on the streets; mosques also repeated this call over their loudspeakers. On my Turkish phone, I received a text message with the same message "come to the squares, take to the streets.

Attacked again

The square had almost been transformed into a veritable event site in the hours of my absence. Stalls and a stage had risen and an aerial platform with a large Turkish flag stood in the middle of the square. I was invited to use the truck of the aerial platform to take pictures of the crowd from above. As I stepped off the aerial platform, I was stared at by four angry men. I had no idea what they were yelling at me, and my interpreter was still on the other side of the aerial platform. Pretty soon a police officer was standing next to me and while he was asking for my papers a skirmish ensued. I again received a few blows and was pushed against the aerial platform. The police told me to walk with them. An officer grabbed my arm and pushed me toward a small police station just outside the square. Fortunately, my interpreter saw it happen and walked with us discussing with the officer.

Behind us, the official part of the program began.

Government employees

Pretty soon some other government employees in civilian clothes joined us. They asked me - and mainly my interpreter - questions. I had to hand over my equipment, passport and press card. A series of questions and commands were given over the walkie-talkie. I would later learn from my interpreter that they asked her how she knew I was not like all the other Western journalists, how she knew I could be trusted, what we had all done and seen, and with whom we had been talking.

As agents scrolled through my phone, trying to read my messages and looking at my photos, I try to remember if I had nothing incriminating on it. I see a picture of the map of Syria come by with the current state of the balance of power, I gulp for a moment and am lucky that at that moment the government employee was distracted by a crowd of people coming to walk toward the gate from where we are standing.

The barrage of questions

More and more government officials in plain clothes are arriving, and my interpreter is under a barrage of questions; I see that she is holding strong, but worried. I don't understand a word of what's going on and just trust the best.

It becomes clear to me that the officers know about the incident the night before and do not understand why I come back to the same place afterwards. The group of people who have attacked me twice now appear to belong to a group that has a mangy hatred for journalists, especially Western ones. We spread lies or work for other governments, said one of the officials.

They know you now, stay away

My papers appear to be in order and after more than an hour we are allowed to go. Before we are allowed to leave, an official wonders why we had not reported to the press office. There I could get help. 'You should know that as a journalist,' said the official. He also advised me not to come back to the square. 'You are known now.

I decided against the customs and culture here to look for a beer. After a beer or two and a good conversation with a bartender at a bar, he decided I shouldn't go back to the hotel alone. A few blocks outside downtown, the streets were still packed with honking cars and screaming people. The party feeling I had earlier seemed to turn to a grim, almost terrifying atmosphere.

The bartender had called two friends. Two "security guards. Half an hour later, I saw myself making my way with those two through the crowd toward the hotel. The hotel staff, who by now had been informed of the events earlier that day, were worried. More worried than I was at that moment myself.

We would go the next day, if possible, to Killis, a village south of Gaziantep right on the border with Syria. As we sat on the bus toward Killis, my interpreter told us more about recent events. The border village has been targeted several times by rocket attacks from Syria. In the first five months of this year, at least 20 residents were killed as a result. She has family living there who will accompany us through the day.

Five minutes from Syria

The people of Killes are not afraid. Not afraid of the future, not afraid of war, afraid of nothing. God will determine it, is the answer I get from everyone. Syrians and Turks seem to live together like brothers and sisters, and no one I talk to even thinks about not admitting refugees anymore. Yet the government seems to think otherwise. In recent months, a large wall has been built on the border with Syria, rules to entry have been tightened and refugees are kept apart from residents. For example, they are not allowed to simply leave the camps and long-standing refugees are only allowed to travel between cities with permission.

At a teahouse, I strike up a conversation with some Syrian refugees. One of them is a trader. He has been here for six months and has somewhat more rights than an average refugee. Because of his position as a trader, for example, he is allowed to cross the border and back. He offers me, if I can get my papers in order, to go with him. In the conversation, the horrors of modern-day Syria come up. Supported by photos and videos of events, the trader wonders aloud what we as Europe are doing. We would only make things worse than they already are.

Police in front of the hotel

When I was back in my hotel room in Gaziantep in the evening, a police car stopped at the door of the small hotel. Two policemen got out and walked to the front door. I could swear they say something with the word Dutch. Outside the hotel, an endless crowd of people moves toward the central square. And so I fall asleep, hoping I will not experience any new surprises this night....

It is early afternoon, two hours ahead of schedule, that I walk into the Dutch embassy in Kiev. Three hours earlier I landed my flight from Amsterdam, and in between I have arranged for a hotel, a Ukrainian SIM card and some other basic necessities for the coming days.

A tweet with the embassy
Stefan knows nothing of my coming. Through a one-two punch with an acquaintance of Stefan and the Dutch embassy in Kiev, he came to the embassy hoping to get a Western Union code so he could pick up 100 euros. It would be the 100 euros from an invoice from RT, one of the few clients where Stefan was still welcome as a journalist. The rest of his clients, such as GeenStijl.nl which he published on (as well as through Reporters Online), had long since removed their hands from Stefan after he was arrested in Beirut a few months ago for credit card fraud.

Geenstijl helps Stefan out of Lebanese cell
Many principals feel misled because everyone initially thought he was arrested in Beirut for his journalistic work, a lie he himself made public on social media the day before his arrest. 'I asked questions about Hezbollah to the defense ministry.' Only later do we learn that Stefan stole a credit card to pay for a hotel with it. With the help of GeenStijl and others, Stefan eventually managed to get out of his Lebanese cell and headed back to Ukraine with a stopover in the Netherlands.

We are completely done with him
The weeks before my arrival in Kiev did not appear to have been the easiest for Stefan. His income was nil and drove him out of his home, he found himself on the streets and forced to sell his last possessions. Down to his laptop. Toward family and friends, the stories got bigger and bigger. For example, in the weeks that followed, Stefan reported having AIDS, a tapeworm, he was robbed and so on. Stories that in hindsight to 90% consisted of lies with the sole purpose of extorting money. 'We are completely done with him Michel. I never have to see him again' says his father in one of our conversations.

Back in Kiev
Before being led to Stefan, who is in another room at the embassy, I briefly talk through the plan with my embassy contact. The embassy had visited Stefan several times in recent weeks, but they couldn't do anything for him. They had to turn him away time after time. 'We couldn't give him more than advice and sometimes a cup of tea. We don't provide money, nor can we pay for his trip back.'

Spekkers what are you doing here?
The embassy had chosen to place Stefan in a separate room so that he would not see me coming. In talking with them and with Foreign Affairs the days before, it became clear to me that they were a little worried that the handover would not go as smoothly as in my promises. 'How will he react, we do open to the public.' So I think they kept him apart mainly for that reason.

He was sitting quietly on a bench when I walked into the room with a saucer next to him with some fruit and a cup of tea. When he looked up he didn't seem to recognize me for several moments, then surprise, "Speakers, what are you doing here?

A day earlier I only decided to go
A day earlier, for various reasons, I had chosen to book a ticket to Kiev for the following morning. The latest reports about Stefan were disturbing; for example, he was said to want to commit suicide, was wandering the streets of a Kiev suburb. The stories about his criminal activities were growing. Earlier that week, I and others, including journalist Chris Klomp, received some very alarming emails from him titled "Suicide," in which he explained step by step how he had bought three bags of coke and planned to end it. The emails were almost pregnant with despair and the tone got worse and worse. At the end, he was even said to have cut all his wrists. Later it all turned out to be nonsense.

The cesspool opens
It was revealed on Facebook in an expat group from Ukraine that Stefan had tried to cash some checks. forge from an American woman who was a resident of Ukraine. Stefan adamantly denied, but he would possibly be wanted in Ukraine for that. A country where, as a gay journalist, you shouldn't get stuck. In the weeks leading up to my arrival in Kiev, it became increasingly clear that many of the allegations against Stefan were well-founded. And not only that. More and more things were emerging. Stefan seemed to be involved not only in forging checks, but also in credit card fraud and numerous other things. He also appeared to still be under investigation in the Netherlands.

Along with conditions
My purpose in being in the same room with Stefan now was twofold. On the one hand, as a writer and, on the other, to offer him a chance to stop what he just can't let go of. To try to resolve things so that he could have a "normal" life again after years. This was not easy and I set him my conditions. 'I am here to help you, you have caused a lot of misery, sleepless nights and hurt a lot of people, but there are still people who want to help you. If you want this help then it means that you will listen to what I am about to say, that you will now put all your belongings in this sports bag, that for the next few days you will speak only Dutch or English, that you will do as I say and that immediately upon arrival you will report yourself to the police in Holland.' He agreed, emptied his pockets into the sports bag and added a small bag with his last belongings.

8 euros fine
He looked bad, tired, confused. He was unkempt and smelly after times not showering. After saying goodbye at the embassy, I took Stefan to a hotel I had arranged earlier that day. After letting him shower and eat, we went over the plan for the next few days. Since it was unknown whether Stefan was wanted in Ukraine, I could not simply fly out of the country with him. I had decided to travel via the Polish border, through Germany back to the Netherlands, I hoped we could be back on Dutch soil in three or four days.

Later that day I go with Stefan to the Kiev train station; during his ramble through the city over the past few weeks, Stefan had lost the opportunity to pay a fine for not retrieving his bags from a locker. We pay the eight euro fine after all and Stefan gets back two bags of clothes.

Youth
'Things started going in the wrong direction when I was 16. I grew up in a safe environment, always got everything I wanted, but I wanted more. If I got a Playstation 2 I wanted a Playstation 3. It was like an addiction, everything I wanted I got.' When I talk to Stefan about his childhood, it soon comes to his parents. When he was young, Stefan once emptied their bank accounts and their house and stole their car. After he was convicted of that, they gave him another chance. Stefan tried to use forging signatures to get a second mortgage on their house, and it continued. Just last month, Stefan tried to buy an iPhone by having it charged to his father's account. "I don't know what I was thinking, Michel.

Where did it go wrong
Things really went wrong when Stefan went to live in America at 18. With 10,000 euros in savings given to him by his parents, he found himself in the land of all opportunities. "The unlimited dream. Not much comes of his intention to go to college. Soon he starts using other people's credit cards to buy luxury goods - up to a car - and forged checks to get his groceries. 'They have one of those green card lotteries there, but I kept failing to get through that. I then tried to fake a green card.' Stefan left America, but was never convicted of his actions there.

Living like a king
In the following years, he continues to defraud credit cards, to this day. "I buy fake credit cards online with bitcoins, the best credit cards are the ones without a chip, then you get away with just a signature. With those stolen credit cards, Stefan paid for almost everything in recent years. For example, he flew to Seoul, England and other countries. He rented hotel rooms with them and paid his Airbnb bills. He lived in Kiev in a $2,000-a-month apartment paid for with stolen credit cards.

A USB flash drive full of credit cards
I only really get a good idea of the extent of his fraud when, just before his arrest in the Netherlands, he gives me a folder with papers, a USB stick and access to his email and social media. 'Michel, it was like an addiction. Where a junkie craves drugs, I crave money.'

Stefan used drugs. 'I sold my laptop last week, half of the $100 I got for it I used for coke.' He indicates he is not addicted, and in the days that follow I also detect that the absence of coke does not seem to affect him.

Not just credit card fraud
Stefan didn't stop at credit card fraud. For example, he states an interview I had with him just before his arrest that he stole items from Airbnb properties. He also took an SLR camera from the local Espresso bar in Haarlem last year. 'I saw a bag standing there and hoped it contained a wallet. Turned out to be just a camera. I later sold the camera at a pawn shop for 70 euros. I had nothing left, I was going to Moscow and I needed money.' Stefan also acknowledges having accumulated hefty debts with mail order companies and with loans. 'I don't know how much that adds up to, but at least 125,000.'

The border crossing
From Kiev we travel early the next morning to Lviv, a city more toward the Polish border, with a car I arranged the day before. There we will spend the night. The following morning we leave by car for the sleepy town of Rava Ruske, about six kilometers from the Polish border. Acquaintances in Holland who are following me via GPS throughout this trip have found the best route across the border for us and forwarded the satellite maps to me earlier that day.

The trip we thought would take half an hour turns out to be not so easy. After three hours through mountain and valley, we reach Poland without being noticed. The first village we meet turns out to have far fewer facilities than we had hoped for, so I decide that we will walk six kilometers to the next, slightly larger village. Hoping to find a cab there.

Apprehended in Poland
Halfway through our walk we are stopped by the Polish border guard. In a minute Stefan, without my noticing, manages to tell the police present three lies about how we ended up in Poland. They smell danger and take Stefan and me away and our belongings are checked. Stefan is taken to the station and I have to go with eight officers to point out where we crossed the border. Eight hours later, after paying a fine, Stefan and I are driven to a hotel by one of the officers.

We leave early the next morning again, arriving in Krakow after a few stops. Then suddenly it's a lot simpler. Two trains and we are where we need to be.

Other victims
Stefan says he has drawn many people into his activities, take Antonie. 'I met Antonie in Beirut, a very good guy, I was allowed to come to his family's home, he was gay too.' He sometimes called Antonie from the hostel where he was staying. Later, when the police are looking for Stefan for stealing and using a credit card, it is Antonie who is violently lifted from his bed by the Lebanese police. They make Antonie an offer. Either you make sure we find Stefan, or you pay for what he has done. Moments later, Stefan receives a message from Antonie asking what hotel he is staying at.

'I look at myself with disgust, that coming from such a good environment, I have disappointed and angered so many people when without all these tomfoolery I could have done things differently on my own. I lied to people to gain sympathy, in retrospect I see that it all didn't work.'

Still those checks forged
A few weeks ago, when Stefan's latest exploits hit the Internet, he denied having anything to do with it. 'It's not even my writing, I didn't do anything.' In my last interview with him, just before the police picked him up at a studio in Tilburg, he acknowledged anyway. 'I did, there were even more checks, but I want to emphasize that I never received that money. It was an attempt, nothing more.'

I don't know what's going on where
'I don't know what my life will be like in five years, I hope I won't get a harsh punishment if they were to extradite me to America. I don't know what else is going on. I might still be wanted in Israel or some other country. One thing I know for sure. If I am free, I will not stay in the Netherlands'.

My parents
'If I could turn back anything from the past few years, it's that I didn't involve my parents.' When I then point out to him that just last month he attempted to order 16,000 euros worth of stuff from Coolblue at his parents' delivery address, Stefan responds emotionlessly. 'It's an addiction, I don't think about it, I do think about it. I don't see the consequences.'

When the police enter the studio in Tilburg, Stefan begins to cry uncontrollably for a moment. At that moment, it seems for a moment that the normally emotionless Stefan realizes what he has done and what awaits him.

And now?

Stefan is currently serving an old 266-day sentence in the Netherlands. It is unclear whether he will subsequently be sentenced for outstanding charges or extradited to one of the other countries where he has left a trail of misery.

In my opinion, Stefan has taken a step in the right direction with this. Stefan is sick and needs help.

Image: Guido Koppes

Note: I wrote this article before my last name change, I chose to leave my old last name in this article to avoid confusion.