It’s funny but for this article I chose a photo of the Matonge gallery entry in 1050 Brussels BE. In the immediate vicinity there are always some small markets of what they call “grass” that have nothing to do with the activities in the Grasmarkt which goes from the central station to stock exchange building at 1000 Brussels. Also, we are already talking about cocaine in Matonge.
But the real commercial center of cocaine is in Antwerp, it seems. This morning De Tijd surprised me with an article containing some numbers of the cocaine dealing. The article is based on an interview of Bourgmestre & N-VA president Bart de Wever by the Volkskrant. Kali-team intends to clean Antwerp deeply. A series of public services will cooperate, such as local police, federal police, prosecutors, social inspection and customs.
The kind of cocaine that has such economic success in Europe and penetrates through the “Port of Antwerp” canal comes from South America where it is worth € 800 to 1000 per kilo. While on his arrival in Antwerp he is worth € 21,000 to 25,000. Where does this fantastic value add ??? At the end of my post I add a link to the matter on Wikipedia so that you can make the bill for yourself. The port of Traffic in Antwerp increases during that in Rotterdam decreases. Yet 80% of the trade is to deliver in the Netherlands.
The article also mentions a list of aggressive acts taking place in Antwerp because of the monstrous size of the cocaine trade. I should first inform myself because I refuse to accept simply that it is worse in Antwerp than elsewhere in our small country. Financially, for the Antwerper himself it seems a good thing. At first they earned a little more with cannabis, but now, in the coke era, they talk about the immo kings of Morocco. However, Morocco is always cheaper than e.g. the homophilic island Mykonos in Greece. And further do I suppose about Moroccon real estate that it is cheaper than Belgian one although I best want to admit that they have more impressing palaces then we do. At the end of the twentieth century I remember an Antwerpian sports pilot who told me he had taken “a weekend off” in his flight school to buy houses for his children. Where does this love of Antwerpians for Morocco comes from I do not know very well but my contacts with them have become rather rare. In ’97 or 1998 in car stop, once I met a woman who had just bought her second home in Morocco but since more than five years hitchhiking is not among my habits anymore.
Until there the free introduction. For those who are quite new I would like to add an observation of a Moroccan enjoying a cocaine experience in one of the cafes a hundred meters from the central station in Antwerp. It was in the year 2010 in the winter. My girlfriend had returned immediately after arriving at Antwerp Central Station because of a sudden flu. The approaching twilight in my mind, I delayed my visit to the zoo until the next day and chose a pub in the neighbourhood to spend the night a little bit more in the heat. I put myself in the back compartment and watched ads on a TV for hours. In the early morning a lady with a bag like the students carry on one of their shoulders had entered the cafe and did a chat with a blonde at the counter. Then she took off her coat, put her bag aside and started dancing on the dance floor. Shaking her hands like a bee, she danced about ten minutes after which she left the cafe. At about five o’clock in the morning suddenly a middle-aged man came running from the first compartment to the second one where I was still sitting. It was as if something terrible was happening. His face was covered with a kind of brown-colored pulp like coke. The blonde at the counter jumped into the cellar by the door that looked out on the second compartment at the height of my seat. (It’s possible that I danced with one of the foreigners during that night but I don’t remember that anymore.) In the chaos that had occurred someone must have telephoned the police. The blonde reappeared from the cellar with her face quite pale and cast an anxious glance in the cafe. Later she sat down to a table and for minutes she had a very lively conversation with one or even more of the police officers who had started questioning the public. We, the pub guests who were not yet served hesitated a few moments. Then, as if by a tacit sign, we left the cafe one by one. Outside in the cinema environment and international restaurants another Moroccan, with whose eyes mine had met during the night, followed me and addressed me. To my question what happened he replied that the blonde at the counter had sold cocaine to the older one, a Moroccan also following him if I remember well. After that, we chatted further in a pub in the Koepoortstraat of the same name, with a facade painted in black with white spots.
It was not my first confrontation with cocaine. In the eighties boys of eighteen met in our street in Schaerbeek to use cocaine.
By Monique Regina.
Further reading: Legal status of cocaine