Rwandan Bureaucracy

It's been a week of excruciatingly painful journeys into the African bureaucracy. Who'd have thought extending your visa would be quite so complicated? It started on Monday when I attempted to have a simple letter stating 'Yes, Mary Greer works for the government' signed. Oh no. It took four drafts before the deed was finally done. On the third draft I was told that a letter could never be addressed to "Sir/Madam." Only "Sir" would do.

Documents in hand, I trekked to the Ministry of Immigration, took my number, and tucked into the final 100 pages of the Da Vinci Code. After an hour, I was told they needed a copy of my CV. I asked the officer if he was offering me a job. He didn't catch my sarcasm. I suspect they're used to irate Muzungu, and have grown immune to our dry sense of humour, and rantings against the bureaucratic machine.

On leaving the office, the sidewalk ended so I took to walking along the side of the road....not a crime in East Africa I thought, where the government has opted to supply every main road with one rather than two sidewalks. How wrong was I. I soon found myself being hissed at by two police officers, which I chose to ignore. Call me crazy, but hissing is not an acceptable form of communication in my book. I then found my way blocked by a soldier with a huge machine gun. "Ok ok" I said, turning around and hanging my head whilst passing the two amused police officers.

And so this morning, I forsook glamorous occupation at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for a morning at the Ministry of Immigration. All went smoothly, but not for the man beside me. Whilst venting our mutual frustration, he told me they were asking for his original degree certificate - seemingly for the same visa as mine. I suspect I may get a text (Immigration's preferred method of communication) informing me to return with more money and/or degree certificates. We shall see.

Last night I met with Joseph and a couple of people from the Royal Commonwealth Society, visiting Rwanda to organise the big youth conference in September, Nkabom. I feared I'd be in for a dry evening with some right old codgers, so I was pleasantly surprised to be met by two twenty-something girls with Masters in interesting subjects (Human Rights and Visual Anthropology). The RCS has most definitely made it to my newly formed list of places I want to work. After enjoying warm chocolate brownie (real cake, not just sweet bread) we made it to drinks at the High Commission...I'm becoming quite a regular. There we joined a rabble of Brits huddled around a projector screening the final leaders' debate. Our fellow Rwandans, Americans, and miscellaneous Muzungu couldn't see the attraction, and kept popping their heads in the room, and making disparaging remarks. Joseph lasted over an hour, but finally gave up. Next week the High Commission crowd will hopefully keep vigil for what promises to be an interesting election.