Of course, it was the Police business to know whatever information that could help them to capture drug pushers.
I was loaded with dangerous drugs which was even capable of killing me.
They were wasting my time and if not that my mobile phone was switched off, Basil would have called me from Amsterdam.
I was with his drugs worth over 30, 000 Euros and he reserved every right to know why i haven’t contacted him yet.
It would have also been very dangerous to receive a call from Amsterdam.
Every European Police was wary of Amsterdam and its drug related clandestine businesses.
I was lucky that i was left with my phone.
They were still investigating and the moment i said what they didn’t like, i would be whisked away to a place where i would be dumped for hours until the drug balls in my stomach start to disturb me.
I was also sure that in a few hours, the drugs would begin to reject the condition they were subjected to inside my stomach and at that stage, there would be nothing else to do except ejection.
“5 years Sir” I said with a fake smile.
I felt that it was important to make him feel that i was comfortable enough.
I was about to make my first drug money and pay for my Toyota Rav4.
Every minute seemed like an hour to me. I was uncomfortable but i didn’t show it.
After a few more questions, the Police officer handed my documents back to me and told me to go.
But as i stood up to leave, i saw Ken being led away from the Airport Police post to an unknown Place. He was on handcuffs.
They discovered something illegal with him.
It must have been either his documents or the drugs.
One other mistake Africans made in Europe was to use fake documents to carry drugs.
The worst group were the Nigerians in Italy and Spain.
Due to the fact that the two countries gave out residence permits by applications, it was clear that the fake ones would be everywhere in town.
Meanwhile, i got mine directly from the foreign office in Italy. As a result, i had no doubt that it was authentic.
I picked up my small luggage and walked out of the airport through Immigration.
I entered the first cab on the line and moved out of the airport.
“Take me to the Central Train Station” I said to the French driver.
“Oui Madamoislle” he said as he headed towards the train station.
“A car is following us” He announced three minutes later.
I looked back and saw a black Mercedes on our back.
The head lamp was being flashed at us.
That was it, i was finally going to be captured.
I had thought that i was out of it.
My mind was already on how to return to Italy from Amsterdam.
But it seemed that the Police men on Mufti finally decided to check me out again.
If not that i was fully loaded with hard balls of cocaine, i would have jumped out of the cab and started running away.
I was almost shaking as the taxi driver stopped along the highway.
As the Mercedes drove past us slowly to park in front of us, i saw two black men sitting inside it.
Two black Policemen in the same vehicle in Belgium, that was likely impossible.
Although some European countries had a few black Policemen but i didn’t think Belgium was one of them.
But even if Belgium was one of them, there was small chance of leaving two black Police officers in the same vehicle and on the same duty.
Not that it was impossible but it was unlikely.
The white populace would never have that in their country.
How could two black Police officers arrest a white Man who committed a crime?
It was almost impossible to happen in the United States, not to talk of Europe.
But as one of them walked out of the Black Mercedes, i smiled.
It was Basil from Amsterdam.
“I know them” I said to the taxi driver who was somehow scared.
He was afraid that he could be attacked.
Blacks were not trusted in Europe due to their violent nature of handling things.
I sat where i was as Bassy came to the window of the cab and smiled at me.
“Welcome sweetheart” he said as he handed a ten Euro note to the taxi driver and opened the car door for me.
I walked down from the cab and hugged Bassy.
The taxi driver drove away as we entered the black Mercedes and joined the highway again.
“How was the journey?” Basil asked.
“It was fine. What did you come to do in Belgium?” I asked.
He laughed and said he came to welcome me.
“We saw when you entered the taxi at the airport but it was dangerous to approach you. We believe a Police man followed you outside” He said.
“You didn’t tell me all this things would happen before you send me to Africa” I said.
I wanted to push him to the wall.
“But i told you it was a game of luck and danger” He defended.
Basil apparently knew when my flight would land in Belgium. He was there at the airport to pick me up.
It was a good thing to do because, according to him, some danger could emerge while i was in the train to Amsterdam.
He was right because, my stomach has started to disturb me while inside the Mercedes to Holland. It was obvious that it was time to start removing the non digested balls in my stomach.
Through the rest of the Journey to Amsterdam, we discussed about Africa and the experience.
Bassy never stopped praising me.
He said i was brave and courageous and that i was likely going to become a rich girl if i kept up my courage.
Of course he was right, if i got paid every time i moved drugs, i would be rich.
However, i knew that he told me all that so that i would transport more drugs for him while he stayed back in his apartment in Bijlmer.
I was likely going to move more drugs in the future but at that stage, all i cared about was to remove the ones i swallowed first.
Then i would return to Italy and buy my car.
After that, i would plan on how to move to Nigeria for the proper vacation.
Nigeria was where all the fun was, not in a French Speaking Abidjan where it was almost impossible to communicate with the locals.
We arrived Amsterdam around 7pm where i immediately started removing the drugs in the toilet.