This article originally appeared on VICE Netherlands.Filmmaker Elisabetta Agyeiwaa was born in Brescia, Italy in 1991. Shortly after her birth, her aunt left her with a Dutch friend of hers in a small village in the Netherlands without any papers. Thanks to the help of a cousin, she later found out her identity had been stolen – and that her own mother was behind it. 31 years later, Agyeiwaa still doesn’t officially exist – something that makes her life a bureaucratic nightmare.
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Unable to find anyone who could help, she decided to tell her story in a short documentary Elisabetta, which premiered in September 2022 at the Netherlands Film Festival. In the film, Agyeiwaa attempts to retrace her story by interviewing her aunt – who lives in Amsterdam – plus the Italian consulate and the Dutch police. VICE spoke to Agyeiwaa about what it means not to exist in the eyes of the law and her attempts to regain her identity.
Photo: Maurice Meijs.
VICE: On paper, you do not exist. How is that possible?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: I have a birth certificate, but my mother – who came to Italy from Ghana – never registered me with the Italian authorities. In 1993, she went on to register another child, who was much older than me, with my birth certificate. She is most likely the [child of my half sibling’s father]. She was given my name and date of birth, but was registered with her own photo and fingerprints. This other child has not only been given my identity, but also a place in the family. After I was born, my aunt – who is from Ghana, but has Dutch nationality – took me to the Netherlands. She did so because my mother was “overwhelmed” and could not take care of me for some time.
In the Netherlands, my aunt left me with a woman she knew named Marianne, who lived in a village in Friesland. She became my foster mother. I was never given any papers. As a result, I have no right to vote, I can’t get a mortgage, get married or travel far.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: I have a birth certificate, but my mother – who came to Italy from Ghana – never registered me with the Italian authorities. In 1993, she went on to register another child, who was much older than me, with my birth certificate. She is most likely the [child of my half sibling’s father]. She was given my name and date of birth, but was registered with her own photo and fingerprints. This other child has not only been given my identity, but also a place in the family. After I was born, my aunt – who is from Ghana, but has Dutch nationality – took me to the Netherlands. She did so because my mother was “overwhelmed” and could not take care of me for some time.
In the Netherlands, my aunt left me with a woman she knew named Marianne, who lived in a village in Friesland. She became my foster mother. I was never given any papers. As a result, I have no right to vote, I can’t get a mortgage, get married or travel far.
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Why have you been unable to prove you actually exist?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: It’s very difficult for me to prove that I am the original Elisabetta and not the imposter. Her fingerprints are tied to my name. If you type my name into the system, you'll see a picture of that other woman. My mother also refuses to help me with this. She says she’ll always deny it.And can’t you claim a new identity? Why do you want to remain Elisabetta Agyeiwaa?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: That’s simply impossible. You can't just start over – there has to be a parent who acknowledges you with proof of your birth. There are exceptions, for example for asylum seekers who cannot obtain a birth certificate because there is a war in their country. But for me, it's more complex. I have been Elisabetta for years, that’s how I’m known everywhere. I cannot legally give myself a new identity overnight. Besides, I also have the right to be myself, don't I? I want to live my life with the identity I was born with. Why should I be okay with being someone else?Was there no adult in your life who tried to look into this issue?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: No. My mother didn’t show any interest in me. I was well looked after in the Dutch village where I grew up – I had no papers, but I was able to go to school and to the doctor. I was a fully functioning member of society.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: It’s very difficult for me to prove that I am the original Elisabetta and not the imposter. Her fingerprints are tied to my name. If you type my name into the system, you'll see a picture of that other woman. My mother also refuses to help me with this. She says she’ll always deny it.And can’t you claim a new identity? Why do you want to remain Elisabetta Agyeiwaa?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: That’s simply impossible. You can't just start over – there has to be a parent who acknowledges you with proof of your birth. There are exceptions, for example for asylum seekers who cannot obtain a birth certificate because there is a war in their country. But for me, it's more complex. I have been Elisabetta for years, that’s how I’m known everywhere. I cannot legally give myself a new identity overnight. Besides, I also have the right to be myself, don't I? I want to live my life with the identity I was born with. Why should I be okay with being someone else?Was there no adult in your life who tried to look into this issue?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: No. My mother didn’t show any interest in me. I was well looked after in the Dutch village where I grew up – I had no papers, but I was able to go to school and to the doctor. I was a fully functioning member of society.
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In the end, everyone there just wanted what was best for me. I don't think they really understood the consequences of me being undocumented. If people had raised the alarm sooner, the situation would have probably been resolved by now.
Still from the documentary, courtesy of VPRO.
Your foster mother died when you were 7. That’s when the bureaucratic mess really started, right? That must have been very difficult for you.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: Absolutely. She was the first person to teach me I was loveable, something my own mother never did.
When Marianne died, it really became clear how problematic my situation was. I was supposed to get an inheritance from her, but ended up receiving nothing. I was on my own and the authorities couldn't figure out who I actually was. I was officially registered as an “undocumented person with unknown origin” and became “a child of the state”. I was given a guardian, someone who kept a folder with my data, information on where I lived and how I was doing. Without papers, I could not be adopted and I went from foster home to foster home.How have you gone about trying to regain your identity now that you’re an adult?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: The first thing I did was contact my mother. For years, I’ve tried to get a hold of my papers through her. Back then, I didn’t know she had given away my identity. She kept lying about why I couldn't get my documents. For example, she’d say she needed to get married to the father of my brother and sister first, because then her own papers would be in order. For years, I believed all of these excuses.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: Absolutely. She was the first person to teach me I was loveable, something my own mother never did.
When Marianne died, it really became clear how problematic my situation was. I was supposed to get an inheritance from her, but ended up receiving nothing. I was on my own and the authorities couldn't figure out who I actually was. I was officially registered as an “undocumented person with unknown origin” and became “a child of the state”. I was given a guardian, someone who kept a folder with my data, information on where I lived and how I was doing. Without papers, I could not be adopted and I went from foster home to foster home.How have you gone about trying to regain your identity now that you’re an adult?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: The first thing I did was contact my mother. For years, I’ve tried to get a hold of my papers through her. Back then, I didn’t know she had given away my identity. She kept lying about why I couldn't get my documents. For example, she’d say she needed to get married to the father of my brother and sister first, because then her own papers would be in order. For years, I believed all of these excuses.
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I received a call from my cousin in Ghana around Christmas in 2015. He finally told me the truth. I immediately confronted my mother, but she denied everything. She said my cousin was crazy, she got mad at me and even blocked me so I wouldn’t be able to contact her anymore.
I went to the Dutch police, but they wouldn't do anything to help me either. Back in 2017, I travelled to Brescia and went to the municipality, the police, the immigration service – but again, I was turned away. I was completely stuck. Nobody wanted to take responsibility.
I have often heard people say I should “just be happy I can live in the Netherlands”. That's purely based on how I look. As if I had to accept that I don't have the right to vote in my own country!
I went to the Dutch police, but they wouldn't do anything to help me either. Back in 2017, I travelled to Brescia and went to the municipality, the police, the immigration service – but again, I was turned away. I was completely stuck. Nobody wanted to take responsibility.
I have often heard people say I should “just be happy I can live in the Netherlands”. That's purely based on how I look. As if I had to accept that I don't have the right to vote in my own country!
Still from the documentary, courtesy of VPRO.
How are things between you and your mother?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: Very bad. She doesn't care at all. She never asks how I'm doing, doesn't congratulate me on my birthday and never cares to visit me. In the past, she’d visit the Netherlands every now and then – I’d see her sometimes, when she stayed with my aunt. She told me she could do whatever she wanted with her children's papers, that it was her right as a mother. She is extremely rude. She'd rather argue than speak to you in a normal way. She’s yelled at me, slammed doors, told me to fuck off. That's the way she handles the situation.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: Very bad. She doesn't care at all. She never asks how I'm doing, doesn't congratulate me on my birthday and never cares to visit me. In the past, she’d visit the Netherlands every now and then – I’d see her sometimes, when she stayed with my aunt. She told me she could do whatever she wanted with her children's papers, that it was her right as a mother. She is extremely rude. She'd rather argue than speak to you in a normal way. She’s yelled at me, slammed doors, told me to fuck off. That's the way she handles the situation.
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Do you at least know why she gave away your identity by now?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: No idea. That remains the big, unanswered question. Why is my mother doing this to me? It’s already painful enough that she didn’t take care of me, so why does she continue to kick me while I’m down? And why did she give this other kid a place in her family? She has never given me answers to these questions. I hope one day she’ll have it in her to apologise, but I don’t think it’ll ever happen. I wrote her a letter in the documentary. We spoke online, and eventually, she read the letter. The next day, she blocked me. That was her answer.And have you spoken to the woman who has taken on your identity?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: I never spoke to her, but she did approach me on social media. She sent me a friend request on Facebook, among other things. I never accepted it, but I saw people telling her happy birthday on my birthday. Later on, she suddenly started liking all my photos on Instagram. I don’t understand why she would do that. I see it as bullying. You’ve already taken my identity – now live your life and leave me alone.In the documentary you also briefly talk about your father: you don't know who he is, but he might be able to recognise you as a child and unblock your situation.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: Yes, nobody wants to tell me who my father is. All I know is that he probably also lives in Italy. I hope I’ll be able to find him someday. Perhaps the documentary will help with that. I sincerely believe in justice, and despite everything that’s happened, I still have faith that things will work out one day.Is this why you decided to make this documentary?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: I’m still hoping to eventually find a solution to my problem – and that telling my story will somehow help with that. Besides, there are other children out there who have also become victims of identity theft at the hands of their parents. I want to give them hope, and I hope to draw attention to their situation. You feel so powerless when something like this happens to you.In the documentary I also speak with the Dutch police, who admitted they had failed me. They have now reopened the case.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: No idea. That remains the big, unanswered question. Why is my mother doing this to me? It’s already painful enough that she didn’t take care of me, so why does she continue to kick me while I’m down? And why did she give this other kid a place in her family? She has never given me answers to these questions. I hope one day she’ll have it in her to apologise, but I don’t think it’ll ever happen. I wrote her a letter in the documentary. We spoke online, and eventually, she read the letter. The next day, she blocked me. That was her answer.And have you spoken to the woman who has taken on your identity?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: I never spoke to her, but she did approach me on social media. She sent me a friend request on Facebook, among other things. I never accepted it, but I saw people telling her happy birthday on my birthday. Later on, she suddenly started liking all my photos on Instagram. I don’t understand why she would do that. I see it as bullying. You’ve already taken my identity – now live your life and leave me alone.In the documentary you also briefly talk about your father: you don't know who he is, but he might be able to recognise you as a child and unblock your situation.
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: Yes, nobody wants to tell me who my father is. All I know is that he probably also lives in Italy. I hope I’ll be able to find him someday. Perhaps the documentary will help with that. I sincerely believe in justice, and despite everything that’s happened, I still have faith that things will work out one day.Is this why you decided to make this documentary?
Elisabetta Agyeiwaa: I’m still hoping to eventually find a solution to my problem – and that telling my story will somehow help with that. Besides, there are other children out there who have also become victims of identity theft at the hands of their parents. I want to give them hope, and I hope to draw attention to their situation. You feel so powerless when something like this happens to you.In the documentary I also speak with the Dutch police, who admitted they had failed me. They have now reopened the case.