Henk-Jan was adopted, but found out that he was not legally brought to the Netherlands

Henk-Jan was adopted by a Dutch family as a baby. Only years later did he hear from Nelleke, the woman who brought him from Indonesia to the Netherlands, that this trip was not completely legal. On the contrary: he was quite lucky both in Jakarta and at Schiphol. 

Henk-Jan (45) : 'When I was nineteen years old, Nelleke contacted me. I hadn't seen her since she brought me to the Netherlands, and I can't remember anything about that trip. I only knew her from the photos I still had. In the late 1970s (when I was born), private adoption agencies were still allowed to carry out adoption mediations, but nowadays this is only allowed through government-appointed organizations. Nelleke – a Dutch expat – ran her own adoption agency from Jakarta. The fact that she found me after all these years is quite amazing, because over the years my first and last name have changed twice. My parents invited her, and we met in the backyard. Here she told me the story about my adoption.

Henk-Jan as a baby, 1978

My adoptive parents were a childless couple from Drenthe. My father Henk was a lieutenant in the Royal Dutch Army, and my mother Robin worked as a nurse and freelance journalist. Before my adoption, they had already tried twice to adopt a child from Taiwan, because friends had also adopted two Taiwanese children. Unfortunately, one died before the adoption was finalized, and in the other case, the birth mother withdrew from the process at the last minute. In addition to the many miscarriages that Henk and Robin previously suffered, these were major disappointments to process. Robin's father had previously served in the Royal Dutch East Indies Army (KNIL) and therefore said that an Indonesian baby might be nice. How lucky for me! So I got the third try.

Things got tense for a moment: I got pneumonia, which meant the crossing had to be postponed for a few months. Fortunately, I recovered, so when the time came, Nelleke wanted to make the crossing as quickly as possible so that Henk and Robin would not have to wait any longer. Yet she did not leave with confidence. She suspected that something was missing from my official documents that she needed to identify me during the trip. After all, as a Dutch woman she could not simply board a plane with an Indonesian child that was not her own - even though human smuggling was already taking place on a large scale. Ultimately, she decided to just catch a plane before anyone found out. She knew that I was already the third attempt for Henk and Robin, and she did not want to cause the couple another disappointment.

Miraculously, she cleared customs in Jakarta without any problems and was eventually on the plane. In the meantime, I cried to all the people on the plane, I was inconsolable (I'm sorry, dear people). Just when Nelleke thought she could relax, a flight attendant's voice came over the loudspeaker: 'Does Nelleke want to report to the crew?' Her heart flew into her throat. Had customs been paying attention after all? She decided to keep quiet and looked out the window "unsuspectingly". Not much later, the pilot announced that he had just received a message that he was not allowed to take off. If everyone would sit quietly, and he would soon come up with further news. Half an hour passed and Nelleke was convinced that they were waiting for her outside the plane to pick her up. 

The pilot came again with a message: all passengers had to leave the plane. The flight was postponed and rescheduled for the next day. Nelleke and I, together with the other passengers, were led back to the airport along the long tarmac, where they were taken - with many apologies - to a hotel to spend the night. That night she didn't sleep a wink. Not just because I wouldn't stop crying, but also because she realized she still wasn't 'safe' in the air. The next day we would have to go through security again. The hotel was of course on the landside, as they say, before customs. But she was lucky: that morning everyone was allowed to board the plane straight away without a security check , with the airline apologizing for all the inconvenience. 

A stewardess together with little Henk-Jan on the plane, on the way to Schiphol

Once I landed at Schiphol, Nelleke had to take me to the Aliens Service (VD), as it was still called at the time. The VD had to check my arrival in the Netherlands, so Nelleke waited quietly. This time she was a little calmer. It seemed unlikely to her that they would send us back now. She handed the documents to the officer on duty. He studied the papers carefully again, so it took a while before he came to his conclusion. But finally the officer walked up: 

'Mom, those papers aren't quite in order. There are some stamps missing that they should have put in Indonesia. You can get away with that. You should not have been allowed through customs there officially and then you would never have left Indonesia. However, it is not a problem for us. The contents of the adoption documents themselves are in order.'

He did indeed start with 'Mom'. The officer was Nelleke's son. He then wished his mother (and me) lots of fun and a nice day. Nelleke and I were allowed to go to the landside at Schiphol, party! My adoptive mother Robin welcomed me with open arms. Unfortunately, after the official adoption, but before I was healthy enough to fly, her husband Henk died after colliding with a tree. This made Robin a widow when she received me as her adopted child. As an adopted child, I was raised by a single mother until I was six.

She decided to change my name from John – the name they initially gave me – to a typical Dutch double name: Henk-Jan. On the one hand the name of her deceased husband and on the other hand the name of her mother, my dearest grandmother. When I was six, my adoptive mother also died of cancer. After living with my grandmother for a year, it was legally arranged that my uncle and aunt would take care of me. A few years later my surname changed to that of my uncle, now my father. So my names have been changed twice. 

I was very lucky in a number of ways: with the missing stamps that were not noticed in Indonesia, Nelleke's son who let us into the Netherlands and the lovely families I met here. On the other hand, I not only had to endure the sad death of both my adoptive parents, but also that of my dear grandmother. And hey, what's in a name . I am me and I am here. I feel fortunate that there were four strong women in my life who loved me immensely.'

For privacy reasons, the names appearing in this article have been changed and are therefore not the official names of the people concerned.