This is the story of how we received, or thought we were receiving, our temporary residency permit to stay in Botswana longer than 90 days. Also known as an exercise in patience.
Our thinking at the beginning of the day was: a three-hour bus ride, an hour or two in town to get our papers done, and then a three-hour bus ride back, getting back around 3, so late enough to not have to go to work for the rest of the day, and get off early! Knowing how things work around here, it was a bit naïve of us to expect things to be so efficient...
Our thinking at the beginning of the day was: a three-hour bus ride, an hour or two in town to get our papers done, and then a three-hour bus ride back, getting back around 3, so late enough to not have to go to work for the rest of the day, and get off early! Knowing how things work around here, it was a bit naïve of us to expect things to be so efficient...
We boarded the bus at 6:45 in the morning in Shakawe, when the air was still cool enough that I had goosebumps. The ride started out fairly normally, then the bus gradually got more full as we went along, so the temperature increased exponentially with both the warming up of the air outside and the number of people being squished on. I was fortunate to have the aisle seat…so everyone getting on and off with their loads and bags brushed past me or walked into my seat space to get past other people. Not that I really minded, but at one point a girl decided she was practically going to sit on my shoulder and put her stuff behind me on my seat. I did enjoy some comic relief throughout the trip - listening to the constant chit chat and occasional banter of strangers on the bus (the only things I understood were hand gestures and the tone of people's voices), noting some of the odd things people carried on with them, playing peek-a-boo with the curious little boy in the seat in front of me, and watching people try to squish past each other in the aisles, including the bus attendant who still thought it was a good idea to go up and down the aisle collecting ticket money when the bus was overfull. Despite all of this, after hearing stories of bus rides in Africa, I feel like our experience was far from exciting. Or, I am not easily fazed by things here anymore.
After our 3-hour bus ride, we arrived in Gumare at the immigration office. To provide a bit of background, we had tried to get this process completed in Maun on our way up to Shakawe when we first arrived in the country, but the computer system was down, and continued to be down for all of September. So, it was just our luck that we walked in to the sound of beeping computers and other devices and a stillness in the air -- it turns out the power had gone out precisely one minute before we walked in. After briefly enjoying the temporary cool because the lights were off and there was an early morning breeze coming in from outside, and unsure of how the lines (or lack thereof) work in Botswana, we joined the other people sitting waiting on the benches, where the heat slowly crept up on us.
We eventually got to talk to an immigration officer. After telling him we needed to apply for our temporary residency permit, he asked a bunch of questions to better understand our purpose there, then slowly reached for a folder from where he pulled out a checklist for "volunteers applying for temporary residency". At least he had the right checklist, but the contents were something he had evidently never seen before in his life. The rest of the conversation involved him getting confused over the difference between "volunteering" and "working", him asking how we knew what documents to bring and being a bit surprised that we had them all prepared and filled out (thanks WUSC), and him thinking Canada was in the United States. And most of this took place in Setswana, as a conversation between the immigration officer and our co-worker, despite the fact that the immigration officer could speak and understand English. Our co-workers translations were extremely helpful, but so was reading the expressions on both of their faces as they talked.
After our 3-hour bus ride, we arrived in Gumare at the immigration office. To provide a bit of background, we had tried to get this process completed in Maun on our way up to Shakawe when we first arrived in the country, but the computer system was down, and continued to be down for all of September. So, it was just our luck that we walked in to the sound of beeping computers and other devices and a stillness in the air -- it turns out the power had gone out precisely one minute before we walked in. After briefly enjoying the temporary cool because the lights were off and there was an early morning breeze coming in from outside, and unsure of how the lines (or lack thereof) work in Botswana, we joined the other people sitting waiting on the benches, where the heat slowly crept up on us.
We eventually got to talk to an immigration officer. After telling him we needed to apply for our temporary residency permit, he asked a bunch of questions to better understand our purpose there, then slowly reached for a folder from where he pulled out a checklist for "volunteers applying for temporary residency". At least he had the right checklist, but the contents were something he had evidently never seen before in his life. The rest of the conversation involved him getting confused over the difference between "volunteering" and "working", him asking how we knew what documents to bring and being a bit surprised that we had them all prepared and filled out (thanks WUSC), and him thinking Canada was in the United States. And most of this took place in Setswana, as a conversation between the immigration officer and our co-worker, despite the fact that the immigration officer could speak and understand English. Our co-workers translations were extremely helpful, but so was reading the expressions on both of their faces as they talked.
Once he read over all our papers (or…flipped through aimlessly as we told him what he was looking at and why we included it), we thought he could then print us the papers we needed. Nope. We had to wait for another officer who could sign off on us taking an oath, but even after that we would have to wait for the power to come back on before all our information could be entered into the computer. After some more waiting, we took the oath with a second officer who had a much better idea of what he was doing (and even knew Canada was its own country, though he thought the majority of the population speaks French), and he looked over all our papers as well, much more thoroughly than the first officer. As we were sitting doing some more waiting, debating what would happen if the power never came back on, it finally did! Though by this point it was lunch time and we would have to wait till after the officers returned to finalize our applications.
To make the already long and hot day even better, we went to a little "restaurant" for lunch, where I discovered a lovely bunch of tiny maggots crawling inside my piece of chicken. Luckily, or unluckily, they were in the last piece I ate so I stopped eating and I don't think I ate any. Though I did not get sick after, I was definitely in a minor state of panic over my health and safety for a few hours afterwards.
After lunch, and, of course, some more waiting, they were finally ready to input our information into the computer. This simple process took probably ten times longer than we expected, because it involved us re-reading out all our answers to the fields on the forms we had already filled out, as the officer held the form with the information right in front of him.
To make the already long and hot day even better, we went to a little "restaurant" for lunch, where I discovered a lovely bunch of tiny maggots crawling inside my piece of chicken. Luckily, or unluckily, they were in the last piece I ate so I stopped eating and I don't think I ate any. Though I did not get sick after, I was definitely in a minor state of panic over my health and safety for a few hours afterwards.
After lunch, and, of course, some more waiting, they were finally ready to input our information into the computer. This simple process took probably ten times longer than we expected, because it involved us re-reading out all our answers to the fields on the forms we had already filled out, as the officer held the form with the information right in front of him.
A little digression…you know you have spent too long in the immigration office when the officer knows you well enough to give you a Setswana name. During this long process of inputting all our information, we took to chatting with our co-worker and got on the topic of Setswana names and meanings. Many people we meet ask if we have a Setswana name yet. Our answer is always, no, how do we get one? They say people just give them to you, but none of these people we talk to have actually given us one. In any case, this seemed to be an honour, to have a Setswana name, as name meanings are very significant here. Our co-worker began talking to the immigration officers in Setswana, and a few minutes later, the one officer had produced a piece of paper with our English and Setswana names written out. He had given Bailey the name Neo (pronounced nay-oh), meaning "gift", and I received the name Mmapula (pronounced Mah-pooh-la), which means "Miss rain". The name came from our earlier discussion about the origin or meaning of my name as he read my passport - Jordan is Hebrew for "flowing down", hence the River Jordan. From this, I realized that in Canada or in English we don't value name meanings as much; our names are more often from family members or based on our ethnic background.
Finally, 6 hours later, the information was all inputted, we had paid our fees, and they even took our fingerprints, which I got a bit excited about. We could be on our merry way back to Shakawe with our residency permits, and no longer have to worry about our passports expiring in 90 days (or what is left of it).
...Wrong again! We left Gumare empty-handed. The whole day was spent approving our application - it now had to be sent to Maun to be processed, and they would then send our final residency permit back to Gumare for us to pick up (hopefully before the end of the 90 days, or else we have to go back to Gumare to get an extension on the 90 days).
After a very interesting day, I re-learned that everything here takes time. Patience is required, but not just with people, which I believe I have, but with processes. And you always have to be prepared for the unexpected. So, there is still another day-long adventure to Gumare yet to come!
Finally, 6 hours later, the information was all inputted, we had paid our fees, and they even took our fingerprints, which I got a bit excited about. We could be on our merry way back to Shakawe with our residency permits, and no longer have to worry about our passports expiring in 90 days (or what is left of it).
...Wrong again! We left Gumare empty-handed. The whole day was spent approving our application - it now had to be sent to Maun to be processed, and they would then send our final residency permit back to Gumare for us to pick up (hopefully before the end of the 90 days, or else we have to go back to Gumare to get an extension on the 90 days).
After a very interesting day, I re-learned that everything here takes time. Patience is required, but not just with people, which I believe I have, but with processes. And you always have to be prepared for the unexpected. So, there is still another day-long adventure to Gumare yet to come!