Adopted Betty turns out to have been stolen from Africa: 'With my own family I would have been rich, despite the poverty'

When Betty travels to her native Ethiopia and meets her family, she discovers the real reason she ended up with a Dutch adoptive family. "My sister and I were sold like merchandise."

We're sitting in the same spot as a year ago: the spacious L-shaped sofa in Betty's studio. And once again, the hostess is serving tea and chocolate. We talked about the book she'd written: Mom, I Can't Do It Anymore . A compelling account of her childhood, filled with humiliation and violence in a Dutch adoptive family.

Now I'm in Hellevoetsluis to hear about Betty's journey to Ethiopia. There, in East Africa, she finally met the family that wouldn't have had a place for her 28 years ago. Betty always wondered why.

The trip to Ethiopia was exciting, she says. "Because every adopted child who goes searching for their roots knows that a can of worms can open up."

Beaten and shaved bald

She was two and a half when she and her twin sister, Tizita, flew to the Netherlands. They ended up with a Christian couple who had a beautiful house, a large garden, and lots of animals. It looked like paradise, but in reality, it was hell.

Betty was beaten and shaved. Her adoptive mother considered her a "fucking Ethiopian" who ruined her life. A "filthy pile of shit who should have gone back to Africa." At sixteen, Betty decided to run away.

Gratitude and joy

How different the atmosphere was recently in Ethiopia, with her real family. "I could tell you about it," says Betty. "But I'd rather show you." She grabs her laptop and searches for the video taken just after arriving at the airport in the capital, Addis Ababa.

A small man wearing a cap appears on the screen. He falls to his knees as Betty approaches him. The old man begins to cry, raises his hands to the sky, and mumbles something in the local language. Betty crouches down beside him, and the two embrace.

"That's my father," says Betty. There's tenderness in her voice. "He held me as if he never wanted to let me go. I felt so much gratitude and joy. But also so much sadness. When I tell you exactly how the adoption happened, you'll understand his tears even better."

Direct click

Betty traveled to Africa alone. Her twin sister couldn't come along due to personal circumstances. "But we were in touch every day," she says. "I stayed in a hotel with internet access. You don't have that everywhere in Ethiopia. It's a poor country. And my family isn't well off either."

Besides Tizita, Betty turns out to have three brothers and three sisters. "One brother has sadly passed away. He died in the Ethiopian army. I met all five of the other brothers in Ethiopia. They are incredibly sweet, warm people, and we clicked right away. If I could have grown up in this family, I would have been rich, despite the wealth gap."

Mother died within an hour

Shortly after arriving, she went to the hospital in Addis Ababa, where she was born. "That hospital is still lacking all sorts of things, but thankfully, the administration was in order. In a large book, a kind of Bible, I could find that Tizita and I were born around 5:00 a.m. in May 1995. And that our mother died within an hour."

"Our father had been sent home that night. He'd been told it would be a while before she went into labor. When he returned, his great love was dead. And – unexpectedly – he had not one, but two children. My mother had no idea she was pregnant with twins."

Dangerous viruses

"According to a doctor at the hospital, Tizita and I were weak babies. That's why it was better for us to stay in the hospital, he said. Because all kinds of dangerous viruses were going around in the country. My father believed him. He was a simple man, and it was a doctor who gave this advice. Why would he doubt it? Besides, he had just lost his wife. He wanted to do everything he could to prevent his little girls from dying too."

"He was allowed to visit us once a week. He wanted to see us every day because he loved us dearly. But that wasn't allowed. In the end, Tizita and I lived in the hospital for two and a half years. We didn't grow up in an orphanage, as stated in our adoption papers. Those papers were forged."

Crying on the ground

Betty and Tizita were always told they lived in a small room in Ethiopia, with little natural light. "That story is true," says Betty. "During the day, we were put in a playpen, which was actually meant for one child. I heard we were overjoyed when they came to visit. 'You didn't eat very well,' one of my sisters told me. 'Except when we were there. Then you'd make up for the whole week. And when we said goodbye, you were always waving at us. With tears in your eyes.'"

And then, one day, that box was empty. Tizita and I were gone. We were sick, they said, and that's why we were taken to another location. 'Where then?' my father wanted to know. But that was kept secret. In the hospital, he sometimes lay on the floor crying, begging for an answer. After two and a half months, he filed a lawsuit. Then the doctor finally told the truth. He confessed that we were adopted and had been in the Netherlands for a while.

Fraudulent practices

Betty and Tizita were apparently brought to the Netherlands through the Africa Foundation, an organization that lost its license in 2015 due to fraudulent practices. "Many children were stolen at the time," says Betty. "And not just from Ethiopia. It was simply human trafficking. Bizarre, isn't it?"

The doctor who was involved in the plot has since passed away, she knows. "To him, Tizita and I were merchandise. He simply sold us. And in doing so, he did a great injustice to our family. It was traumatic not only for my father, but also for my brothers and sisters that we were suddenly gone."

Since last year, it has no longer been possible to adopt a child from abroad. Only ongoing procedures may be completed. The decision was made following a shocking report on abuses in the adoption world, such as child theft. Adoptions within the Netherlands are still permitted.

Sad all my life

Betty hasn't told her family how miserable her life was in the adoptive family. "My father grieved over the loss of his twins his whole life. And when he hears how things turned out for Tizita and me... No, I really can't do that to him. During my visit, he kept calling out, 'Betty, Betty, Betty!' He was so incredibly happy about my arrival. He needs to hold on to that feeling."

"My sister and I were taken away from Ethiopia because it was supposed to be better for us," she continues. "But when we got into trouble in our adoptive family, there was no one to take us away from there. That's quite a painful realization, and yes, it will take a while for me to process that."

The family I belong to

She wants to return to Ethiopia at the end of this year. She'll most likely travel under a different name. Her passport will no longer say Betty van Brunschot, but Betty Loha. A name she cherishes. "Because that's the family I belong to."

She looks at me and smiles. "Well," she says, "you do have a story, don't you? Would you like some more tea? Or some chocolate?"

Since the publication of "Mom, I Can't Do It Anymore," Betty has been in close contact with other adopted children. She also regularly gives lectures on recognizing child abuse, including to the police, social services, and schools. "I'm a nurse," she says, "but this really makes me feel like I can save lives."

Starting September 25th, Betty will also be performing in theaters. Starting at De Twee Hondjes, in her hometown of Hellevoetsluis. The show's central theme is "Mom, I can't do it anymore." "It's heavy stuff," she admits. "But my theater performance isn't somber. Because believe me: you can also have a good laugh with me."

More information about Betty and her projects can be found at www.bettyvanbrunschot.nl