Well, yesterday I had a nice all-day internal rampage.
I think every immigration office on the entire planet is created and bred to make me question my willingness to go elsewhere. Today on my class break I went to the immigration office to begin my workin visa
application. The nice francophone driver I used yesterday came to the school and drove me to the immigration office, over in Kacyiru. I was thinking I would get through in no time; I had every single piece
of paper that their website stated. Why wouldn't it be a breeze?
The line was young. I was number 63, and they were still on number 38. So I sat and waited and watched Oprah on their TV for about an hour.
The man was pleasant and went through my papers piece by piece. He notes that I am working with an NGO, so he says, "Ah, but you work for an NGO. You need to register with the INGO office first, before you
apply with me, and then you come back and apply for a visa. It's down out back. Oh, and so is the bursar, so you can pay for your visa, then, too. Oh, and while you're at it, you need to bring in another
document from your office. See you!"
Peturbed for being thwarted outright, I set on to find the bursar's office. And I waited in line for about 30 minutes to pay my money and get a receipt. Then I asked where the INGO office is. The man
shrugged and grumbled something in French, and sent me out. My driver found me and wondered what was taking so long, so I explained to him my dilemma - I couldn't find the INGO office. Thus ensued an hour-
long goose chase where I would ask him in French, he'd asked someone else in Kinyarwandan, they'd respond to him in Kinyarwandan, and he'd respond to me in French. Up stairs - down stairs. Around buildings.
Finally, I ended up in the same office I started, and the guy looks at me baffled and says "It's through this office and through the small set of doors on the side!" Oh, right. That was easy (this is
sarcasm). So I pushed through a mob of people through an office area, and slid through a side door into an empty hallway. And lo! the NGO office.
Well, the NGO office decided to give me a hard time. Apparently, my story didn't fit the bill. And apparently, I can't apply for a visa without some other random forms from my organization and coming back to their office and encouraging them to permit my visa.
So after over 2 hours of being sweet and thorough, I stormed out of immigration with my taxi driver, and I ran to work. Late, for my class. I was fuming with such intensity I had to start my class late so that I wouldn't boil over on my students.
So, the rest of the day happened. I had a great dinner chat with Jane at Shokola Lite, and I tutored until about 9pm at night. It was a long, long day.
And even when I got home so late, I got in to find my housemates in a tiff with each other about housing stuff. Let me say it was the last thing I wanted to deal with. So I went to sleep, and I did some Reiki on my bunny bear for The Man (he had something like food poisoning). I fell asleep with the bunny bear on my stomach.
And I woke up to talk to The Man, and I burst into tears.
I think every immigration office on the entire planet is created and bred to make me question my willingness to go elsewhere. Today on my class break I went to the immigration office to begin my workin visa
application. The nice francophone driver I used yesterday came to the school and drove me to the immigration office, over in Kacyiru. I was thinking I would get through in no time; I had every single piece
of paper that their website stated. Why wouldn't it be a breeze?
The line was young. I was number 63, and they were still on number 38. So I sat and waited and watched Oprah on their TV for about an hour.
The man was pleasant and went through my papers piece by piece. He notes that I am working with an NGO, so he says, "Ah, but you work for an NGO. You need to register with the INGO office first, before you
apply with me, and then you come back and apply for a visa. It's down out back. Oh, and so is the bursar, so you can pay for your visa, then, too. Oh, and while you're at it, you need to bring in another
document from your office. See you!"
Peturbed for being thwarted outright, I set on to find the bursar's office. And I waited in line for about 30 minutes to pay my money and get a receipt. Then I asked where the INGO office is. The man
shrugged and grumbled something in French, and sent me out. My driver found me and wondered what was taking so long, so I explained to him my dilemma - I couldn't find the INGO office. Thus ensued an hour-
long goose chase where I would ask him in French, he'd asked someone else in Kinyarwandan, they'd respond to him in Kinyarwandan, and he'd respond to me in French. Up stairs - down stairs. Around buildings.
Finally, I ended up in the same office I started, and the guy looks at me baffled and says "It's through this office and through the small set of doors on the side!" Oh, right. That was easy (this is
sarcasm). So I pushed through a mob of people through an office area, and slid through a side door into an empty hallway. And lo! the NGO office.
Well, the NGO office decided to give me a hard time. Apparently, my story didn't fit the bill. And apparently, I can't apply for a visa without some other random forms from my organization and coming back to their office and encouraging them to permit my visa.
So after over 2 hours of being sweet and thorough, I stormed out of immigration with my taxi driver, and I ran to work. Late, for my class. I was fuming with such intensity I had to start my class late so that I wouldn't boil over on my students.
So, the rest of the day happened. I had a great dinner chat with Jane at Shokola Lite, and I tutored until about 9pm at night. It was a long, long day.
And even when I got home so late, I got in to find my housemates in a tiff with each other about housing stuff. Let me say it was the last thing I wanted to deal with. So I went to sleep, and I did some Reiki on my bunny bear for The Man (he had something like food poisoning). I fell asleep with the bunny bear on my stomach.
And I woke up to talk to The Man, and I burst into tears.
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