I will not suffer in Belgium if I'm an alcoholic sleeping at the central train station

Photo: Anyone sleeping at a central station, battling addiction, alcohol, or fighting invisible challenges, deserves understanding, not condemnation.

 

People don’t devote their mental energy to you when you’re unknown, since they are preoccupied with their own lives. They don’t give a damn about you, but when you start adding value and finding solutions to issues, you may make friends or enemies. The decisions we make, the places we live in, and the dignity we grant ourselves all influence who we are. If I were an addict, I doubt that I would have become the person I am now.

 

My objectives, perseverance, sense of purpose, and support for other Africans dealing with a range of difficulties, such as visiting Africans facing challenges in Belgium and the Netherlands, would most likely not exist in the same shape if my life had gone in a different direction. Many people believe that Europe is a utopia, yet mental health problems might arise if you are cognitively, emotionally, or spiritually weak.

 

Many Africans in Europe have either developed mental health issues or become alcoholics or drug addicts. I don’t condemn them, but I wish they had the will and strength to face the unexpected situations that many Africans find intolerable, which ultimately force them into the dark tunnels of no return. Sometimes, I wonder why some Africans came to Europe.

 

It’s one of those uncomfortable truths about human behavior that almost everyone feels at some point in life. When you’re “nobody,” you don’t threaten anyone’s sense of place, identity, or comfort. However, why is it that society doesn’t care about you if you are nobody, but as soon as you try to achieve something, all eyes are on you, and they want to bring you down?

 

In the social system, you are invisible, but as soon as you begin to rise, even the little movement you make attracts notice. While some find it intimidating, others find it admirable. Since I entered the world on my own at the age of nineteen following the unexpected death of my father, I have experience with challenges and an understanding of the facets of human life.

 

Your growth forces people to confront their own stagnation. Instead of asking, “Why am I not improving?” it’s easier for them to say, “Who does he think he is?” Crucify him! Life is extremely difficult, but it wasn’t created by God; rather, those who aren’t prepared to accept the truth, or think being a Black man means you are not a human being, will make your life miserable.

 

Being a doormat means allowing others to take advantage of you without setting boundaries. If you consistently prioritize others’ needs over your own and suppress your opinions to please everyone, you risk being seen as someone who can be easily walked over. When I die, nobody will remember me as a thief who stole bread to eat at the supermarket in Antwerp, but as an African writer who suffered a great deal because of the truth.

 

I will be neither an alcoholic nor a drug addict. It clouds judgment, weakens the body, and numbs the spirit. It replaces hope with dependency and steals the clarity needed to make meaningful decisions. If I were trapped in that cycle, I would not have the mental freedom to reflect, to learn, to build, and to be a celebrity without appearing on television.

 

The person I am today, capable, reflective, and driven, exists because I have been able to stand on my own feet, face challenges with a clear mind, and pursue my goals with intention. I have been able to choose growth over stagnation and purpose over despair. That doesn’t make me superior to anyone struggling; it simply means I recognize how fragile identity can be and how delicate life can be; therefore, you need to step in the right direction.

 

This reflection is not about judgment but about gratitude. It is a reminder that dignity is not guaranteed and that compassion is essential. Anyone sleeping at a central station, battling addiction, or fighting invisible battles deserves understanding, not condemnation. Their story could have been mine. My story could have been theirs. The line between us is thinner than we like to admit.

 

In acknowledging this, I honor both my own journey and the humanity of those who walk a harder road. The truth deepens my appreciation for the life I have while strengthening my empathy for those still searching for theirs.

 

Read more: The suffering of an African writer in Belgium because of the truth