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 My mother was an Indo-European woman. Her father was a Dutchman, her mother Indonesian, a real Javanese. They lived in Klaten, near Solo. My mother married an Indo-European man. Together they had three children: two daughters and a son. Suddenly, her husband disappeared. It was wartime, and at first my mother lived in great uncertainty. She was left alone with the children. Only later it turned out that her husband had gone to Holland. His story was that he had become ill and was transported to Holland. She received the divorce papers by mail.
A Dutch soldier took pity on the abandoned family. My mother met him in Jakarta, where she had taken with her children after she was liberated from the Japanese camp. This soldier, Andrew Brandt, had already moved to Indonesia with his wife before the outbreak of World War II, fleeing for his family. They had in fact committed the shame of premarital sex. In Indonesia they had a few children, and at the outbreak of war the wife and children left to the Netherlands. He remained in Indonesia as a military in the KNIL. My mother was born in 1919, he was probably born in the early 20th century and was already a bit older. His own children were not much older than my mother, there was no more than ten years difference.
Andries Brandt and my mother had a relationship with each other of about three years. Andries fathered a child with my mother. Me. I was born on February 15, 1950. My father had already returned to the Netherlands, to his own family. He paid the delivery costs and paid three years rent for my mother. And that's it. Only my first name reminds of him: Andrea.
When I was five years old I was brought to an orphanage, first in Bogor, and then at St. Vincentius House in Jakarta. Three years later, in 1958, I was picked up from the orphanage to go to Holland with my grandmother and my niece. In the Netherlands I was placed in an orphanage again. My mother had to remain in Indonesia because she had TB. She came to Holland later and spent two years in a sanatorium. So I was eleven when I was reunited with my mother and left the orphanage.
My mother never would talk about my father. We've had bad times in Indonesia. When my mother found out that her husband was in the Netherlands, she begged him to bring their three children to the Netherlands to give them a good education. That he did. But unfortunately, he then talked so badly about my mother that children broke with her.
Many years later, I first met my father in Kampen. He wanted no contact with me, because it was difficult for his wife. They had about 5 children. Only one of these children, a half brother of mine, accept me and kept in touch.
In August 2009 I read your story in the Moesson about Jose Kerry, a daughter of a Dutch soldier and an Indonesian mother. This was so recognizable to me! I am also one of these children. I had to deal with this my whole life. I have half brothers and sisters, yet I'm no part of it. I've always felt ignored by them, only one of them accepted me really. You always live with the sense of 'being between two stools ". Just my name I have to go on with. I have nothing, I had rather preferred the name of my mother.
After reading the article in Moesson, I visited your website and found what I have long been looking for. I've always wondered if there would be something for our sort of children. I think Warlovechild is a beautiful name. I find it moving, it gives me a place. That's why I responded.
Do you know anyone who is looking for his or her father, half brother or sister? Or do you know anyone who has found him/her? Let us know! Contact us! |
The documentary
