LAST STAND: Emilienne Driessen, left, sits in her kitchen with her daughter, Cecile van Gimst, in Doel, Belgium.

By Helen Maguire

Eighty-two-year-old Emilienne Driessen and her daughter, Cecile van Gimst, have long lived with the death knell that hangs over their native Belgian village of Doel. “We have to move, that’s for certain,” van Gimst says. “They want Doel.”
The village — founded in 1613 among the polders of Flanders and known today for housing one of Belgium’s two nuclear plants — was chosen by planners in the 1990s as the location to build a new dock for the Port of Antwerp.
The expansion is considered crucial to Antwerp’s role as an economic hub, but its opponents point to Doel’s rich heritage, which includes one of the oldest windmills in Flanders and a house built by the 17th-century painter Peter Paul Rubens.
After decades of legal battles and campaigns to secure Doel’s place on the map, it now seems that time is finally running out for the last residents — including Driessen and van Gimst.
The leases on their homes, owned by the port development authorities, expire at the end of the year. After that, they could be handed their three months’ notice at any moment.
“They want to be the biggest port in the world. ... They will have it,” Van Gimst says, adding that just 20 residents are now left in Doel, of whom five are original “Doolenar,” born in the village.
As the locals began leaving, graffiti moved in. The empty houses provided a huge open-air canvas, attracting some of Europe’s better-known street artists.
Those in the know will recognise the handiwork of Belgian street artist ROA in the giant birds adorning several houses or the huge rat sprayed across a row of former shopfronts. But even that is now being destroyed.
At nighttime, groups of youths come to vandalise, breaking windows or covering buildings in artless tags.
“They are playing games: who can destroy the most windows?” van Gimst says. Her dog Sasha helps her feel safe at night.
Jan Creve, of campaign group Doel 2020, accuses the authorities of turning a blind eye and letting Doel slip into decay, to the point where nobody will resist the port expansion. “They let it happen,” he says.
The Port of Antwerp, situated on the Scheldt estuary, ranks itself as the world’s 10th largest port and one of Europe’s busiest, alongside Hamburg in Germany and the Dutch port of Rotterdam.
But situated 80 kilometres inland, Antwerp needs fast turnarounds to compete with more easily accessible rivals. This requires space, especially to accommodate the ultra large ships increasingly used on routes between Europe and the Far East.
“If Antwerp wants to maintain its role as a major European container port, then it needs additional free capacity,” the port says on its website. In July, the Flemish regional government approved a study confirming the need for its expansion.
“There is a need for ... an extra tidal container dock,” says Peter Van de Putte, the director of the Scheldt Left Bank Corporation. It is responsible for the port development project. This dock can only be built on the land occupied by Doel, he adds.
The handful of remaining residents have hung up signs saying, “This house is occupied.” In the case of Driessen’s home, teddy bears look out from every window.
The octogenarian happily invites passers-by in for a drink or a cigarette — despite doctors’ orders to cut back. Driessen particularly enjoys the company of young people, who remind her of her own children.
Her biggest fear, however, is the day the bailiffs come knocking. Once she is evicted, she knows that her only option will be to move into a care home.
“I cannot see my mother in one room, spending her days there,” van Gimst says. “I don’t think she would live very much longer.” —DPA

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