Stolen Identity — Story Time

By Sid Ewing

Trigger Warning: Violence and murder

We've all missed the pub, we haven't missed the rank toilets, sticky carpets or the casual harassment. What we've missed is the moments of companionship, being listened to, and listening in return. Everyone has their story. A narrative practiced and finely tuned with every telling. Why do we seek comfort from telling these stories? Well, here is mine. Picture this, sitting at the back table in The Hastings Arms. The big table by the mirror and fruit machine. Three pints in, and a packet of ready salted crisps torn down the side, masquerading as a sharing platter.

January 2012- Aruba, an Island in the Caribbean, struggles to recover after an 18-year-old girl Stephany Flores is murdered in a hotel room.

In the run up to this horrific, violent act, Stephany has been out celebrating her graduation with school friends. She meets a man reported to look like Brad Pitt in the island’s casino. It was there that they discovered their shared love of gambling. They go back to his hotel room; they carry on their love of gambling - online using his laptop.

As the sun rises, he leaves the hotel room in search of coffee and bread. While he is gone, a headline pops up. She reads it. Local News. His name is linked to the death of another 18-year-old girl, who earlier that year was on a school trip in Aruba from Peru. The Peruvian girl Natalee Holloway, was last seen in the car of the man who murdered her. Natalee’s Body was never found. When he returns with caffeine and baked goods, he discovers Stephany trying to leave in a panic. In a fight or flight moment Jooran kills. Stephany was brutally stabbed and left in a pool of blood, wrapped in a blanket. Her decomposing body is found two days later by hotel staff.

Meanwhile, that summer I turned 21; it was particularly memorable for me. I finished university and boomeranged back to Hastings with no idea what to do next (please see Crowley’s curse for more information), I experienced my first heart-break and it wasn't until I lost a close friend that I realised that was my three unfortunate cards dealt to me by my new and un-welcomed 'adult' life. It was time for a change of pace, something glamorous, exciting, dangerous, and with a free spirit nothing left to lose attitude I decided to become an au pair in Amsterdam(?!).

You're probably wondering where these narratives meet. What is the link between 21-year-old Sidney Ewing in Hastings and a double male-perpetrated act of violence against women in Aruba? And the clue is in the name, or rather in my name.

So, fast forward a year later - it turns out being an Au Pair in Amsterdam didn't work out for me as I was a lost soul looking after someone else’s children. I'm back in Hastings (please see Crowley's curse for more information). It’s 2am on a Tuesday night, I'm unemployed and have been looking at Facebook pictures for the last 4 hours (probably my own tagged photos, because that’s the kind of narcissist I am). Scrolling through my feed, I notice there is a 'OTHER MESSAGES' inbox. WTF?! Another inbox where people have messaged you things that you have never seen. A treasure chest of: 'nice to meet you last night.'; 'you left your purse in the taxi, can collect from Bexhill'; 'Are you still selling your BMX - I'm interested'; 'Hi, We're looking for babysitter and someone suggested you.’

There, before my eyes, were all these Dutch names coming up and I’m thinking “Ahh - all these missed opportunities to make friends when I was there and people I must have met on nights out, what a shame.” On closer inspection, the vibe isn’t very nice, in fact it's horrible. People telling me to die, rot in hell, and I’m thinking, “Omg did I do something awful to someone in Amsterdam? Am I a bad person, none of these people look familiar!”

One of the messages refer to me as ‘Jooran’ and this name ‘Jooran Van Der Sloot' is popping up. Weird.

I google ‘Jooran Van Der Sloot’. Headlines. Arrested for murder. A Dutchman behind bars for 28 years, Killer of 21 year old girl found in hotel room. Now I’m starting to panic, fight , flight or freeze kicks in. I can’t stop there though, why are these people messaging me about this guy. I read on. Then I watch a news report. It’s in Spanish. I don’t understand but then my name SIDNEY EWING comes across the screen. I'd never met another Sidney, let alone see the name Sidney Ewing on a news report. I put English subtitles on. The story goes Jooran Van De Sloot has a laptop in prison, he is emailing victim's parents, trying to extradite money to show them where he hid their daughters' body, all whilst using the email address and name of SIDNEY EWING. At the time I was the only Sidney Ewing on Facebook. This isn’t a name you make up. Is it? I go to wake up my parents trying to explain the story, they tell me to go back to sleep I’ve probably received a scam email. I go to bed.

In the morning, I explain the story to my parents. Show them the videos and articles. Do I go to the police? Did I cross paths with Jooran when I was in Amsterdam?

This, sorry to disappoint you, is as far as this story goes. It's a great story in the pub. I revel over showing people the video. Telling the story of how a murderer stole my identity. This is just a story for me to tell, for the families of those two girls its a harsh reality of how life can be stolen. I sometimes wonder what his story is, what he’s like, how he became part of my story. How life deals different cards for different people.