LEENDERT JAN VAN DOORN

The Godfather of Street Football SPEAKS!

Story Adventures Publishers
Rotterdam

Copyright 2021 Story Adventures BV, Rotterdam

Cover design: Bureau Kicker, Rotterdam

Typography inner pages: Coco Bookmedia, Amersfoort

Photos inner pages: Archives Edward van Gils

Translation: Team Translationwork.eu

Print: Drukkerij Wilco, Amersfoort

ISBN: 978-90-8318022-9

ISBN e-book: 978-90-8318027-4

NUR 480

www.storypublishers.nl

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced and/or published by means of print, photocopy, microfilm or any other means without prior written permission from the publisher.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface

Introduction

The streets

A severed head!

Wolf among wolves

No silver spoons

The beginning

A pitch-black Christmas

Knock-out

My new home, the streets

House of horrors

Separate worlds

Trying on jackets

Setback

Same old song

Support from Ilsa

The ring

Abandoned again

The Godfather Speaks!

The backpack you’re hauling around is not the engine that drives you

Like a boomerang

25 years later

Globetrotter

Humphrey, the downfall of a friend

A call from Nike

Assembling at the Burger King

The gang of five

Counting chickens

Chocolate legs

Clowns

Nike

A street kid travels business class

Painful past

A six-hundred-dollar hat

Not a youth hostel

Telephone prank

The ‘blaaskaak’

Argument with a director

Schooled

Unexpected loss

Nike boss is angry

Edward is the biggest

The settlement

The airport match

A special meeting

Last stop: Gein

A book emerges from the sidelines

A call from the Sheik

What a sheik!

Headquarters StreetKings

Few words

Big names

Looks can be deceiving

Batman meets Robin

Hit(man) again

Issy is hot

Angel with tattoos

Nitan Sing

Argument with Edgar Davids

Mr. Make It Happen

American hero

Kiki Musampa

Back to Darrell

The Godfather Speaks!

Working for street football organizations

In it together

Edgar Davids strikes back!

Headshop

Strangled by a contract

A call from Darrell

Batman and Robin forever

Street football in the Netherlands

The tide turns

A visit from Ed

Kiki looks back

Turkish terror

New York, New York

Pain in the ass

Approval

Public figures

Gullit gets head-butted

Heavyweights

Hakim Ziyech

Samuel Umtiti

Mario Melchiot

Diego Armando Maradona

Night-time phone call

Batman and Robin go on an adventure

Menkie

The top 40 of Ronaldinho

Losing

Fear

Bas Bot

No fear

Melvin Manhoef

A call from Badr Hari

The beginning of StreetKings

Fardad

And the pope can’t keep a ball in the air

The prince of Kuwait

Through the pain

StreetKings in LA

The Godfather Speaks!

Young people need role models, not criticism

Freestylers conquer the world

Hip hop

On the other side of the bars

Niall in jail

Dino Soerel

Winston Eelst, an old acquaintance

StreetKings in jail

Brazil

Favela

A heavenly apparition

Gilberto Silva

Touched

The ring 2

Drop in the ocean

Ronaldinho in Zaandam

Ring in my ears

A phone call with Bianca Desmet

The Godfather Speaks!

In conclusion

PREFACE

In September 2019, I met Edward van Gils, the Godfather of Street Football. We spent a year together. This book, the gripping story of the street kid from Koog aan de Zaan who became the best street football player in the world, of course mainly owes its existence to the fact that Edward took the time to tell me his story. Thank you Edward van Gils, thank you Ed, for your effort, your energy and your dedication. Our journey was a very special one. Our endless conversations spanning more than a year, the countless voice messages, texts and emails have not only resulted in a beautiful book but also in a special friendship.

However, the book would not have existed without the cooperation of the people close to Ed. It would not have come to fruition without their kind assistance. And they did this with at least as much commitment. Ed deserves this book, they kept telling me. Of all these people, I would like to name one in particular: Darrell Bell. He lived up to his nickname, Mr. Make It Happen.

My thanks also go out to Thecla, who was once again invaluable, my critical readers Leo van Doorn, Jon Bauer, Frederik Meijster and Albert Rottier. To Patricia, my rock, and last but not least, André Breedvelt, without whom this book would not have been written. Thank you all.

Leendert Jan van Doorn

‘Edward is a great personality and a wonderfully humble person who is giving young people something amazing, and I’m proud to be part of that.’

Ronaldinho de Assís Moreira; European Football Player of the Year, World Football Player of the Year, Football Player of the Decade

“A great football player, the ideal professional. A street kid who had to fight to make his dream come true. Someone for whom I have great respect.”

Darrell Bell, Mr. Make It Happen of Masters of the Game

INTRODUCTION

In September 2019, I was present at the sports programme Langs de Lijn (Along the Sidelines). Tom van ‘t Hek is interviewing a small, bald man. With his hoodie, the holes in his ears and his tattoos, he looks like a boy. He’s talking about his project ‘StreetKings in jail’. Not about all the things he has achieved. He doesn’t talk about the fact that he is the best street football player in the world, holds the honorary title of ‘Godfather of Street Football’ and won every prize in this field. He talks about children who got off to a bad start. He talks about what football can mean to them and how he wants to contribute to this.

During the following year, we work on his book together and I get to know him. 2020 was a very special year. The world put in its place by the Coronavirus, shaken to its core. I didn’t really notice. I was sucked into the world of street football. I got to know someone who, despite everything that was going on, kept working on his mission to offer perspective to young people around the world.

2020 was a special year. I was given the opportunity to write a book about the best street football player in the world and a great human being.

Leendert Jan van Doorn

Wormer, March 2021

Born on 8 June 1976

45 years old

Serious look
Bald

Two holes in his ears
Toned body full of tattoos
Soft, grey-green eyes
A big heart

Silent

He lets his feet do the talking
An example

for all street football
players and

one of the greatest stars in the
world, he received the honorary
title

THE GODFATHER

EDWARD VAN GILS

THE STREETS

The streets. That’s where I’m from, I grew up there. I went through a lot there. A lot of things that aren’t good for a growing child, but that’s the way it was. Some of us grow up in a warm, safe environment with all the opportunities, and some people get off to a false start. I learned and experienced that you can always change and make different choices.

I know that I was lucky enough to sometimes cross paths with people who gave me a gentle push in the right direction. I was lucky, and I am grateful for that.

Long ago, I decided to do my best for those boys and girls who got off to a rough start. I try to point them in the right direction and give them a gentle push towards it. It might be a small and humble mission, to give a boy or a girl a gentle push in the right direction, but it’s very valuable to me. It’s my mission. To me, it feels like I’m giving back to the place where I come from: the streets.

A SEVERED HEAD!

It’s been a great afternoon. Edward, Rocky, Winston and Feliciano played football for hours in the neighbourhood sports hall.

You can play against another team for a guilder. The winner stays, the game is called, and when you lose you have to watch from the sidelines. The boys haven’t been spectators that day. As usual, they were the bosses on the field, and they’re now walking down the street feeling pretty pleased with themselves. The ball is passed around quickly, and the boys try to panna each other when possible. They’re having a good time, but the world of Edward and his friends consists of more than just having fun playing street football. It’s the world of the streets, and it’s a tough world.

They’re on their way to Feliciano’s house. Feliciano’s mother always gives them a warm welcome. She doesn’t ask any questions. She gives them something to drink and she cooks for them. A safe haven in the hard, rough world of everyday life.

They walk onto the Opheusdenhof. On the other side of the street, a delivery driver rings the doorbell to drop off a pizza. Edward considers shooting the pizza out of the delivery driver’s hands. It doesn’t come to that, though. The door flies open and a voice bellows through the street. Something is thrown outside and Edward sees a ball fly right past the delivery driver’s head. The ball bounces over the pavement, leaving behind a red trail. The ball has two eyes. It’s a head, a severed head. What the fuck, thinks Edward.

I was quite the tough guy in the neighbourhood, but not at that particular moment.

Edward van Gils

WOLF AMONG WOLVES

You can’t expect someone to become a tame and innocent sheep if they grow up surrounded by wolves. I grew up on the streets, among the wolves. To outsiders, it may seem like a disorderly, wild mess, but it’s just a very tight-knit family with laws and rules that you have to abide by. There’s a fixed structure with a clear hierarchy. It’s not written down anywhere, but you feel it, you know it. Everyone knows and has their own position within the family. We have our own place, the streets. Our territory, where we rule, and we make that very clear.

Just like in a wolf pack, we communicate in our own way with a lot of body language that only we understand. The way we greet each other, an approving nod or a look of contempt, a small hand gesture. Everyone understands this language perfectly. It’s a world in which you have to fight hard for your place. You have to bare your teeth and growl, threaten, at the right times. And sometimes you just have to bite. Hard. I did a lot of biting.

You only learn to ride a bicycle by falling, getting up and trying again. Your whole life is one big learning process. You become a better person by making mistakes, doing the wrong thing and learning from that.

Johan Cruijff once said: ‘I never learned anything from a victory.’ I lost a lot of games. I fell down many times and always got up and kept going. That doesn’t automatically make me a good person, but I learned a lot. I still fall sometimes and behave like that wolf from long ago. Sometimes I think I’m there and I know it all. By now, I know that all you can do is your best. Let’s just say I’m getting there. I do my best and that’s still a struggle, but now in a good way.

Street life gave me a lot. Despite the fact that I did many things I’m not proud of. I did many things I’m even ashamed of, but this made me the person I am today. I learned a lot. Luckily, also a lot of good things. Loyalty, comradeship, sharing, courage, these are the beautiful things I got from the streets.

Many of the people I met are still close friends. Although I don’t see some of them too often any more, I can still call them in the middle of the night and they’ll be there for me. They’re friends I can count on. Old wolves from the pack, loyal friends. I’ve also lost a lot of friends. Friends that literally did not survive. Friends that were a bit less lucky than I was.

Of course you’re responsible for every part of your life, but sometimes you need support, a nudge in the right direction. At important times, there were people who gave me the support I needed. And I have been lucky to have Ilsa beside me, who protects me and sometimes pushes me in the right direction. I was lucky.

I came a long way. I didn’t have the best or easiest start. A father and mother want the best for their children, but are definitely not always able to provide this. Over the years, I’ve become more wary of judging. You rarely know all the ins and outs, even when you’re right on top of them. When you read the story about my youth, it might sound strange that I now look back on it in a positive way. Not that it was all good, but it shaped me and made the person I am today. I have noticed that because of my background, my baggage, I can sometimes make a difference for a child. That small push that I got and that can make that difference.

Many things are more important than the honorary title of Godfather, more important than being friends with Ronaldinho or a video clip with Neymar. If I could say at the end that I made a difference to a child’s life, even if it was only one, I think I could look back with satisfaction.”

Edward van Gils

NO SILVER SPOONS

I was born at the Pinksterbloemweg in Zaandam. I don’t know why, I had been crying on my mother’s stomach for some time, my father’s hand softly stroking my check, but I didn’t have a name yet. Had my parents been too busy with all the preparations? Was I born prematurely and had they not come round to naming me yet? Had they expected a girl and therefore not come up with a boy’s name? I don’t know. The story I was told later is that my grandfather came in and asked: What’s my grandson’s name? All my father could say was: It’s a boy, dad, it’s a boy.

My grandfather took my hand and put it in his and said: Edward John van Gils, his name is Edward John van Gils. Although my given name is Edward and my friends used to call me Eddy, I never felt like an Edward John van Gils. I was Edward van Gils. I was embarrassed by that middle name.

When I first won the prestigious street football event for the Davids Cup, Edgar Davids even shouted my name through the microphone. ‘And the absolutely deserved winner, the best street football player in the Netherlands is standing here next to me, EDWA-A-A-ARD VA-A-AN GI-I-ILSSS!’

I remember feeling like I was in a kind of trance and didn’t really realize it yet. I felt like I was being named again. I had made a lot of bad choices and did a lot of things I wasn’t proud of, but I was standing there, beside Edgar Davids and the literal and figurative big man of Nike for street football, Edwin van Zaane. And all those people cheering and clapping for a boy who had come a long way, a little rat from Koog aan de Zaan, winner of the Davids Cup, Edward van Gils.

THE BEGINNING

My mother, Bianca Desmet, a real Amsterdam girl, grows up in the Nieuw-West neighbourhood with a younger brother, near the Sloterplas lake. The daughter of a father severely traumatised by his experiences in the Japanese POW camps. She didn’t get anything for free. Marked by a strict upbringing and scarred by abuse, she flees her parents’ home at a young age. As a thirteen-year-old girl, she ends up in the Red-Light District, where she lives in an attic with other homeless children. To the young Bianca, survival seems like the only option.

I only heard most of these stories when I was older. It didn’t justify everything, but it explained a lot. One of the things I learned from this is that you shouldn’t judge too quickly and harshly, because you rarely know the whole story. I only recently restored the relationship with my mother. I don’t bear a grudge and I’m not angry. I mainly look at her with respect. She might not have done everything right, but she did what she could, while bearing a huge amount of pain and suffering. Through all this, I look at her with love and respect.

Edward van Gils

My father grows up not too far from there, in the Wolter Brandligtstraat, with four brothers and a sister. If the stories are true, my father was the free spirit of the family, a very stubborn boy who celebrated life. I never heard how my parents met and I never asked. What I heard from my uncle Jan was that things just worked between them. They complemented each other, and for a long time, life was good.

In the beginning, my father and mother live in my grandparents’ attic. The house has two tiny attic rooms. My mother and father get the bigger one and the other is crammed with the rest of the children. My mother’s father can’t accept that she completely disappeared from the picture and that he no longer has any control over her.

He regularly shows up with a few tough guys to find out what’s going on and bring his daughter back. My father and uncles often literally fought for her and protected her in those days. Of course, this all has a big impact on Bianca. She’s very shy and insecure. She barely leaves the attic. My youngest uncle, uncle Jan, goes upstairs to check on Bianca occasionally and play his toy xylophone for her. Those moments with Jan were incredibly important to Bianca. She forgot the pain and suffering that had been inflicted on her. When she later hears the sounds of a xylophone, all the memories from that time come back to the surface. Feelings of security and attention, but also feelings of pain and sadness.

After the birth of my sister Famke, my parents leave the attic and move to an apartment at Pinksterbloemweg. I’m born there, two years after my sister. I don’t have any photos of this period, but I do have a memory, my balcony scene: I’m sitting there on my father’s lap, beaming while I look at a big white rabbit.

After two years, we move to Veeringveld in Koog aan de Zaan. We live in a large family home with a big garden, and we’re doing well financially. We have two cars. My mother works various jobs in those days, from secretary to cashier. My father has a good job at the Construction Social Fund. I’m a very easy, obedient and disciplined child. My world is the size of the pavement in front of our house. I’m not allowed any further and I abide by this.

Every year, the whole Van Gils family goes on holiday to France. Five cars full. ‘The Van Gils caravan is coming’ is the family slogan. When I think back to those days, I feel the sun on my face, sitting on my father’s arm by the side of the pool. And when I close my eyes, I see the magical Styrofoam airplanes flying around again, the ones my cousins bought for me at the camping shop. Red and yellow drifting through an intensely blue sky. I smell the dryness of the rolling French landscape during a hot summer. These are happy days.

When I turn five, my world gets bigger. I’m allowed to play on the field a hundred metres from our house. I love the grass, the smell of it, and I discover that miraculous round thing, the ball. I literally wake up with it and go to sleep with it. I fall in love with the ball. It was to be a lifelong romance. I’m not a great football player. I’m a goalkeeper. I dive on every ball as if my life depends on it, and all I want is to join a football club. I make this clear every day. However, my father has other plans. He wants us to climb the social ladder and a football club doesn’t fit into that picture. “You’ll get to do much cooler stuff,’ he says. “Tennis or horse riding.” I don’t understand at all. I don’t know what tennis is, but riding horses is for cowboys, I know that much. And I also know what I want. I want to join a football club. I want to be a goalkeeper.

Because my mother is between jobs, she spends a lot of time with me. She sings songs to me, reads to me, and without my father’s knowledge, she takes me to KFC, the local football club. I’m a goalkeeper! I was too young to notice, but my father must have disapproved. Every Wednesday afternoon, my mother takes me to practice. She stands beside my goal, cheering me on for the whole hour.

Life is a sequence of coincidences. We usually have little influence over the circumstances, but we can choose how to react to them. I didn’t choose to stop being a goalkeeper and start playing football. I was simply too young for that. The circumstances changed. My friend and team mate, Evert Jan, had been operated on his Achilles tendons. He couldn’t run yet and that meant he would play in goal. I’m allowed to play football and I love it! I’m not very good. My first victory is being promoted from F7 to F5. I have very weak ankles and André and Han, two regulars at KFC, see something in that small, enthusiastic kid. They tape my ankles every week and take me under their wing. Playing football is a joy. At school, I’m a cheerful and enthusiastic student, and I’m a good learner. Those were the good days.

Edward van Gils

In the early eighties, father Van Gils opens a youth club at the community centre. He keeps the kids off the streets. He gives them shelter and educates them about alcohol and drugs. For Edward, it’s an exciting world, and he spends many evenings there every week. It doesn’t really suit the upbringing of a young boy, barely eight years old, but it’s definitely exciting.

I was amazed by what went on there. The fact that my dad was the boss and I was free to come and go as I pleased made me respected among my friends. Basically, I went to bed much too late a few nights a week, and saw all kinds of things that aren’t good for an eight-year-old boy. I saw young guys that had gone completely off the rails. Dead drunk, with drugs and even weapons. I looked up to them. I admired them. Where and how things went wrong is a mystery. Did my father have a drug problem himself, did he start drinking a lot? I don’t know. What I did notice is that we started doing worse financially. Every Friday, we had a toys afternoon at school. Everyone was allowed to bring their own toys to school. I didn’t have any toys anymore. I played with other kids’ toys. We didn’t buy our clothes in normal shops anymore. We went to a house in the Jordaan neighbourhood where we got to choose clothes from big plastic bags. Only on birthdays did I get a new sweater or jacket from my grandmother. I noticed that you have to take care not to get too greedy when you’re coming from a situation of scarcity and things come within your reach. I was lacking for a long time. For a long time, I felt I had the right to compensate that.

Edward van Gils

If I recall correctly, it’s autumn 1984. Just like every morning, my mother made us breakfast. There’s something in the air and it doesn’t bode well. While I was getting dressed upstairs, I heard my mother’s shrill voice and my father banging his fist on the table. Trouble had been brewing for a while. There were arguments every day.

They usually saved them for the evening, when my sister and I had already gone to bed. I hear it every night. I wait for it. My father’s roaring voice and my mother’s shouting keep me awake for hours. I only fall asleep when it’s quiet downstairs. I often see my mother’s sad eyes in the morning. She does her thing quietly and my father is silent. I’m happy when we finish breakfast and I can go outside. The school and the streets are safer than being at home.

They’re both quiet, but storm clouds are gathering. I’d have preferred to skip breakfast and flee out onto the streets. I’m wearing my favourite sweater, knitted by my aunt Mieke. Bright red with a blue bar with my name on it. My mother makes porridge for my father. I also eat porridge every morning, just like my father. Despite everything, he’s still my role model. That’s how things work for eight-year-old boys. I eat my porridge and stare at my plate. The porridge builds up and sticks to my palate. My mouth is dry. There’s a knot in my stomach. I’m staring into a grey puddle of porridge. I want to leave. Suddenly, something flies past my head. My father’s full plate of porridge. It really flies just past my head. I feel the airflow on my face. A loud bang. When I look up, I see my mother’s frightened face. Lumps of porridge on her cheek and in her hair. The shards of the plate on the kitchen counter and on the floor.

My father swears at my mother, who flees the kitchen. “It’s always the same god-damn song,’ and he bangs on the table. I had gotten used to the swearing, but I had never seen this before. I get up. I want to leave. “You stay there and eat your porridge.” My father goes upstairs. My sister is quiet. I leave my porridge on the table, put on my jacket and go outside. Anything is better than being at home.

From then on, my world changed. My reality shifted. From a cheerful, carefree boy, I quickly turn into a quiet and withdrawn child who’s always on his guard. Whenever I can, I escape the house and go out onto the streets. For the first time in my life, I argue with my parents. I don’t know what the cause of all the misery was, and it takes two to tango, but what I do know is that it was the beginning of a long, unhappy, and unsafe time.

Edward van Gils

During that period, many things change in the Van Gils household. It is becoming clear to the children that the arguments are no longer limited to swearing and crockery flying through the air. There are fights. The house basically only functions as a place to sleep and eat, and slowly but surely, the streets become Edward’s new home. The violence is too much to bear, not only for the children. Bianca leaves. She moves in with her mother. She escapes.

For a brief moment, I was happy with the new situation. I missed my mother, but there was no more fighting, no more shouting and especially no more violence. That feeling of relief quickly dissipated. Whereas it used to be the arguments that kept me awake, it was now my father’s sobbing. He cried for nights on end. He looked like a ghost. He did everything on autopilot and cried every night. The sound was chilling to the bone.

I don’t remember how long my mother was away. To me it felt like an eternity, but she came back. I was happy but also afraid of what would happen. Things went well for a few months, until my mother was admitted to the Academic Medical Center. To detox from her medication, I was told. I knew that my mother took pills and that this was related to events in the past.

I didn’t know much more than that. I was only allowed to visit her briefly twice a week. I told her what I had done that day, but I didn’t get much of a response. I mainly felt anger. Anger because she wasn’t home. If she could lie in bed there, surely, she could lie in bed at home? That was the question that I didn’t ask, and because I wasn’t told anything, I was stuck with that question and that anger. When she came home after a few weeks, the misery started again. Fights until late at night. I never got used to it. These were long, lonely, and sad nights.

Edward van Gils

A PITCH-BLACK CHRISTMAS

It’s 25 December 1985, Christmas morning. Things have been a mess lately. Shouting, throwing and fighting. Edward didn’t know if it was thanks to Christmas cheer, but Christmas eve was calm. He jumps out of bed and runs downstairs to look for gifts under the tree.

The gifts were never really a surprise. New clothes from my grandmother and a cloth leather football from my parents. The kind that started falling apart after a few weeks and you were scared of heading after it fell in a puddle. That monster felt like it weighed 20 kilos when it was wet.

Edward van Gils

There are no gifts under the Christmas tree. Nothing. Edward and Famke look at each other in surprise. They run upstairs to their parents’ bedroom. Father Van Gils is lying on a mattress in the corner alone, sobbing. Mother Van Gils isn’t there. Once again, Edward feels abandoned by his mother. She moved in with her mother for the second time.

It’s the Christmas I still remember. No presents, no sign of my mother, and my father sobbing on a mattress. The bed had collapsed and was taken to the dump long ago. There was no money for a new one. In the afternoon, my father put on a Christmas record for us. A bit of snow, a Christmas record, a sobbing father and no mother, that was my Christmas of 1985. Every day my father said during dinner that mom would come back and that everything was going to be OK. I remember him coming back one day and showing us a beautiful ring and a pair of earrings. “Now she’ll come back for sure,” he said, and he was right. She came back with my grandmother, who moved in with us.

Edward van Gils

KNOCK-OUT

For a few weeks, it seemed as if my grandmother had brought peace to the house. Now and then, there are still fierce arguments, but it’s all less intense. Edward no longer has to wait for silence at night in bed. Unfortunately, it was the calm before a very heavy storm.

I’m lying in bed, and I once again hear the voices of my father, mother, and grandmother downstairs. Louder and louder. My bedroom door opens and my sister comes into my room. “Are you coming, Ed?” We go to my parents’ bedroom, cuddle together on the mattress, and listen to the shouting downstairs. It’s scary, but for the first time I also feel a connection with my sister.

We’re in the same boat. The fights, our common enemy, bring us closer together. We hear them storm up the stairs and we cuddle up closer. The bedroom door flies open and my mother stumbles in, closely followed by my father who tries to grab her, but she breaks free. My grandmother, shouting: “Let her go,” follows then.

As they fight, they stumble into the only piece of furniture in the bedroom, a rickety, white wardrobe. They scramble up at the same time and before my grandmother can intervene, he throws a punch. Hard and ruthless. It’s as if I see it happen in slow motion. My father pulling his arm back and punching like a boxer fighting for his last chance. His fist hits my mother right on the chin. She falls against the wardrobe which collapses under her weight.

Edward van Gils

It’s the final knock-out of their marriage. Bianca leaves and won’t be coming back. Edward and Famke stay behind, together with their father, whose situation goes from bad to worse. Although Edward saw everything that happened, how his mother was beaten, he remains loyal to his father. Despite everything. The daily reality, a father who’s there, puts food on the table, and a mother who left, outweighs that sledgehammer blow to his mother’s face.

I knew what happened. I saw how my father knocked my mother to the ground. I saw it all that evening, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I stayed behind, and my mother, who was always there for me, who took me to the football club and stood beside my goal, she was gone. She had abandoned me. That’s how I felt. And that pain was intense and I carried it around for a long time.

Edward van Gils

MY NEW HOME, THE STREETS

There are no more fights in the house at the Veeringveld, but it’s empty. With a sister going her own way and a father living in his own world filled with sadness and alcohol and who doesn’t pay attention to little Edward, the house is grey and lonely. He gets joy from football. On the field, he doesn’t have to think about things at home. He might not be blessed with the greatest natural talent, but his dedication and passion more than make up for this. Not only the people at KFC see that Edward is developing into something special. Now and then youth scouts arrive from larger clubs, who have been tipped about that little guy at KFC. Edward doesn’t notice. He plays football with complete dedication.

Things are changing at home, but not in a good way. The same food for weeks on end, canned green beans with chicken, and porridge in the morning. Famke, who is just like Edward having a tough time, seeks comfort in her loneliness, seeks sedation, and discovers smoking weed, which lifts her out of the greyness of daily reality. She does this with friends in the living room and doesn’t want any prying eyes. This means that she occasionally locks the front door on Edward, who has to wait on the pavement for hours before being allowed in. He retreats to his room, waiting for his father to return, green beans and then to bed.

It’s a cold, rainy day in November and Famke is smoking weed with a friend in her room. Once again, the front door is locked. Edward crawls up against the door, but finds no shelter from the rain. He walks around the house and sees that his father’s bedroom window is open. He’s as nimble and agile as a monkey and climbs up a rain pipe, into the window. He’s inside.

Before he goes upstairs, he has to use the toilet. Famke blocks the toilet door with a broomstick while he’s inside. Edward bangs on the door and shouts at his sister to let him out. “I don’t want any prying eyes,” she shouts, and walks into the living room. Edward tugs on the door and the broomstick finally gives way. Famke, hearing this, runs into the hallway to the toilet that Edward is just stumbling out of. He gets up and doesn’t hesitate for a moment. He swings at her with all his might. Braces fly through the air and Famke flees into the room, her cheek bleeding. Edward, still shivering from the rain and the cold, goes to his room and crawls under the blankets.

It was bound to happen. Of course, my sister called my father, telling him I had smacked the braces out of her mouth. This was true, but she forgot to tell the rest of the story. That I had stood outside for hours in the rain and that she had locked me in the toilet. My father, who only heard her side and didn’t bother to hear my side of the story, stormed into my room, pulled me out of bed, and gave me a huge smack. It meant that I now really didn’t have a home. The little bit that was left and that little bit of sense of belonging that I got from that were gone. From then on, the streets were my home, and the care, protection, and love came from my friends on the street.

Edward van Gils

HOUSE OF HORRORS

In the early nineties, Ed and his father move to a house on the Molenveld. Famke left the sinking ship and now lives with her mother. Ed, having just turned eleven, stays behind with a father who is despite his best efforts not able to provide a home for Ed. They live there together, but lead completely separate lives. Ed goes to school when it suits him or if he might otherwise get in trouble. He lives on the football field and the rest of the time prowls the streets like a wolf. His best friend at the time is Ramses.

Ramses is almost two years older than Ed, and his role model. Someone who is there for him, through thick and thin. He sees that his father gets along well with Adrie, Ramses’ mother, but he doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t speak to his father. They eat the by now infamous green beans with dry chicken almost every day. In the evenings, his father plays billiards or chess with the neighbour, or he goes to see Adrie. After dinner, Ed goes outside or plays Super Pipeline on the computer they bought recently.