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| The Actual Home Affairs where it all took place |
Ah, Home Affairs… No matter how Westernized Joburg feels (and it
does with it’s traffic and malls and Soap Operas – check out 'Isidingo: The Need', it’s a
trip) you realize you’re in Africa the moment you need to renew your driver’s license,
register a baby’s birth or want to stay in SA, like me!
After our last trip to apply for the permit I was dreading
going back. Particularly because I
was expecting to be denied, and told I filled out one of the forms incorrectly. Because I did fill one of the forms out
incorrectly. According to said
form I am single/divorced AND widowed, but am pretty sure I SHOULD be one or
the other, not all three (although technically you could be all three, so now
I’m really confused about the 'right' answer). Anyways, I think I was supposed to cross two options out and
leave my current marital status.
Oops?
So we got the text after 6 months of waiting saying that
'they' had reached an answer and we could proceed to the Home Affairs office in 5
working days. I figured I should
check first, to make sure the paperwork is there and ready, before going
through the hectic process of collecting the permit. So we waited, and called
and decided to wait some more for good measure. I thought that the ‘Africa
Time’ Rule of Thumb probably applied here (meaning take the original ‘suggested’
time and times by 5, then divide by 2, then find out the time you were given
actually had nothing to do with your situation and get a new correct time which
you still times by 4 and divide by 2 - if you're an optimist - to get the actual time you should wait before you assume
it’s been long enough) so we waited an additional 2 months before we called our
‘friend’ and asked to put our name on the list for the following morning. That’s what I love about
Africa. Everything just makes
sense. Side note: We verified this equation with our friend and he confirmed we were spot on! Side note 2: It's a dangerous game, this math. Let me tell you that the possibility of your paperwork going missing increases exponentially the longer you wait. It's like gambling. Kinda fun, but kinda scary. Side note 3: Sparkly pens! 
So we show up at Home Affairs and RESULT! We are 4th on the waiting list. Even though there is a written list
people still line up. But not in
list order - just to add to the general confusion people line up in random
order. We get in line anyways,
just in case it means something, but also out of solidarity for those who think
the line/cue system will work (hopeful fools). Even though we are 4th on the list, we are
actually 14th in line.
Not numerically a big difference, but it could mean 6 hours of
additional waiting. You just don’t know.
After a few hours of pondering our predicament Home Affairs Lady (H.A.L.
or Hal as I fondly remember her) comes out of the residential building and
starts collecting the submission forms from our line. We give the form to her and expect to be taken up to the
office in small groups for The Answer (*ominous music*). But she takes the forms from all 302
people waiting and leaves without us, locking the gate behind her. We wait, and wait, and wait. This is not the same process we saw
before when we were jealously watching the Collections Line from the
Submissions Line. But that’s
hardly surprising. I get the
feeling that South Africans like to mix it up a bit, you know, keep customers
on their toes.
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| Hal Arrives |
Finally there’s
some movement at the gate. It’s
Hal! But everyone is just crowing forward, pressing into the lobby of the
residential building. I
panic! This is not going to
work! We’ll never get to the front
of the line and our careful planning will all be for nothing. NOTHING! Wait…That
means we’ll have to COME BACK?!’.
Then, like the veteran of the London transport system I am, I mentally
slap myself out of the injustice induced shock, and sprint between the slow
amble of the African mob to get myself within shouting distance of Hal, now
standing there like a dictator on the stairs with her box of forms and answers.
She starts calling out a name, shouting it over and over,
everyone craning their necks to see who among us will have an answer at last. A hand tentatively goes up. It is
Mdabi! Mdabi has an answer! ‘REJECTED! No Passport.’ Hal shouts in a cold and kinda mean voice. ‘Ohhhhh’ the crowd murmurs,
‘Does that means he didn’t have his passport when he submitted, or he doesn’t
get the passport he was applying for?’ I ponder. I’m sweating now.
I am going to get a ‘NO!’ in front of all these people. ‘How embarrassing’ I think, my small Canadian need for privacy shuddering.
Name after name is called with ‘Rejected!’ following every one. It’s actually a pretty smart way to
control the influx of immigrants - Just reject them all, and give a one word
ambiguous answer that they can’t question without taking their lives in their
hands and possibly being attacked by the white eyed crowd.
Then something different happens. Hal calls out a name, that person quietly sobbing, but this time Hal holds her hand out, as if expecting a tip, or payoff in front of the whole
crowd (corruption!!). Everyone is confused but from the back someone yells out ‘Your
passport – give her your passport!’. And the passport is passed, hand over
hand to the front and up the stairs, where Hal puts a green sticker
inside. Yay! Maybe we’re through
all the rejections! Then she calls out ‘Nicole Berry!’ but like ‘NeeCol Berrrrrry’
and she roles the ‘rrrs’ so that I barely recognized my own name. I hope she’s through the
rejections!
And then, just like in ‘The Creation
Of Adam’, her hand extends through a ray of sunshine, fingers
outstretched like she’s looking for money!
I throw my passport to her and turn to give an excited ‘I
got it! I actually GOT it!’ to the
small, old woman I nearly trampled to get towards the front of the cue. She doesn’t hold it against me though because
she’s awesome. She could be my new
BFF, my South African BFF now that I can stay in the country for another 2
years! My passport makes it back
to me, Permit stickered inside.
What a moment.
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As much as I keep saying ‘In Canada, we’ve got this
paperwork/bureaucracy stuff all figured out – it’s so easy, takes like 5 minutes.’, I do realize that if this had been Canada, they
would have caught the mistake and i would have been denied.
So here’s a photo of me and Pete and my new Permit (valid
until June 2012, so it’s not the full two years and we’ll have to reapply a bit
sooner than I thought). You can
see in the photo how stressed (and tired and lopsided face) I was because the tendons in my neck won’t
relax. Their still kinda like that
now and I’m a bit worried they will stay that way. But it was worth it in the end.
Note: I've embellished a few small details. Its what I do. :)
xox
