The Terminal 2: Coming Soon

In 2004 Tom Hanks starred in the movie, The Terminal.  Tom Hanks’ character, Viktor Navorski, arrives in New York’s JFK Airport only to be denied admission to the U.S. because during his flight his fictional home country of Krakozhia broke into a civil war, making his passport invalid.  He is not permitted to enter the U.S., but he can’t return home either because he doesn’t have a legal passport which prohibits him from boarding a plane. The movie details Viktor’s nine month stay in the JFK airport.  The movie is loosely based on a similar predicament of Mehran Karimi Nasseri, an Iranian refugee who lived in Paris’ Charles de Gaulle Airport for 17 years.  (Yes, 17 years, that is not a typo).  I mention this because there is a possibility I may become Viktor Navorski very soon.

Back in October I wrote a blog post rejoicing about the fact I had finally obtained my Botswana Residence Permit, thus avoiding deportation for the time being.  Well, deportation is looking more and more likely every day now.

My residence permit expires one week from today, May 31^st.  I am currently out of the country with a plane ticket to reenter Botswana on May 31^st.  Even though I have 30 days left on my tourist visa I am told I cannot reenter Botswana as a tourist because my status has changed to a resident.  (Apparently once you become a resident you can’t become a tourist again.) However, in order to remain a legal resident I must get a permit extension.  I have been working for weeks now to get all the appropriate paperwork for the extension and still don’t have it.  And if you have been following my blog for any amount of time, you are aware that expediency is an unknown concept here, so reiterating the fact that I need something done now now doesn’t really help.  The challenge is that I don’t have the paperwork I need and even once I get the paperwork it still must be taken to the Immigration Office, which will likely take their time processing and approving it.  Queue a miracle here please!

Last night I was explaining my predicament to a friend back in the U.S. and as I was detailing my situation I realized how ridiculous this whole scenario truly is.  I have all my paperwork in order with the exception of a letter from UB stating that they support the extension of my residence permit.  Here’s a very abridged version showcasing the unwillingness of anyone to take responsibility and make a decision:

• Over a month ago I spoke to Person Number 1 at UB and told him I needed a letter. No1 agreed to write the letter. (I should have known immediately that something would go terribly wrong as nothing ever happens here that easily).

• After weeks of contacting No1 asking about the status of my letter I finally get an email from No1 telling me he is on vacation and forgot to write the letter.  No1 tells me to contact No2.

• I email No2 explaining my predicament, tell No2 than No1 agreed to write the letter but forgot, so now No2 is supposed to write the letter.

• After several days of not hearing from No2 I get CC’ed on an email from No2 to No3.

• No3 says he doesn’t know anything and refuses to write the letter.  No3 recommends No2 talks to No4.

• I get CC’ed on an email from No2 to No4.

• No4 emails me asking about the letter.

• I respond to No4 telling her No1 was supposed to write the letter but forgot and now No2 is supposed to write the letter.  I give No4 the information No2 is supposed to put in the letter.

• No4 emails No2 (and CC’s me) to say she (No4) refuses to write the letter because No1 already agreed to do it.

• No2 emails me back to state she (No2) cannot write the letter and I should speak directly to No4 and ask her to write the letter. (Please refer back to the previous point in which No4 emails No2 and refuses to write the letter).

Here’s the part that kills me: UB wants me to stay for an additional year to provide FREE LABOR as a Fulbright Scholar!!!  I can’t stay (for another week, far less a whole extra year) if you won’t give me a letter in order to remain in the country legally!

A month or so back I wrote about the arrogance of UB and how they are their own worst enemy.  I think this little letter fiasco is just another example of how if Africa wants to progress it needs to learn how to be proactive and take some amount of responsibility in formulating its own success.

In the meantime the jury is still out regarding my fate.  My dad is scheduled to arrive in a few weeks.  I know he can enter Botswana as a tourist visa.  Unfortunately he may also be vacationing alone and packing up my house in Gabs if I am living in limbo at the airport customs office like Viktor Navorski.  I’ll keep you posted.

Obtaining a Beef Permit

Remember when I said I finally got a mailing address and could receive mail?  I take it back.  Please do NOT send me mail.  If you decide to risk it and send me anything, I would recommend you send something small, that if I never receive it I won’t be upset, and neither will you.  If you are brave enough to send me something I hope it’s nothing with an expiration date.  My boyfriend sent me a postcard from Namibia, you know, the country right next door?  He sent it on October 23^rd.  I got it today.  Nothing like 50 days to receive a postcard.  If it had been a Christmas card I probably wouldn’t have received it until Easter.

If you really love me (Don’t worry, it will NOT hurt my feelings at all if no one loves me.  In fact if the roles were reversed I wouldn’t love me either.) and decide to send me a box you MUST have it tracked.  The biggest reason for tracking packages is because there is a high likelihood that customs will seize the package.  I’ve had two packages sent to me and customs seized both.  But at least if the package is tracked than the shipping company (normally Fed Ex) will contact me and tell me what hoops I need to jump through in order to get the package.

Recently my amazing graduate students sent me a package.  Once it actually arrived in Botswana it only took 13 days, three trips to two different offices, seven phone calls, and a slight decrease in my sanity to receive it.  When you send packages to Botswana you are required to list the full contents of the box on the customs declaration paperwork.  In my package there were a couple of t-shirts, a mouse pad, a few personal necessities I can’t buy here, and some beef jerky.  In a country where one of our primary exports is beef, customs threw a fit when they saw beef jerky listed.

Since I was “importing beef” I was required to go to the Ministry of Agriculture to obtain permission.  Despite the fact this was for personal consumption with no intent to sell, I still had to get approval.  I showed up to the Ministry to find about a dozen men all dressed in safari khaki waiting to talk to the one office clerk who was processing applications.  Being adorable, and obviously out of place, I took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with one of them.  It turns out they were all cattle ranchers and being that we live in a pretty small country, they all knew one another, which was why they welcomed making a new friend.  Since I had no idea what half the questions on the application meant, one of the ranchers helped me fill it out.  Then I had to go through a line of questioning.  Here was the conversation:

Clerk: We don’t import beef into Botswana.  What is this you want to bring in? What is beef jerky?
Kelly: It is the same as biltong (the name for beef jerky here in Botswana, but here it’s pretty gross).
Clerk: Why don’t you just eat the biltong we have here?
Kelly: Ummm… Here’s the problem, customs has my box and they need approval for the beef jerky, otherwise they won’t give me anything in the box.  Can you please approve the permit?  I’m not going to sell it; I’m only going to eat it myself.
Clerk: Well, how much beef jerky do you want approval for?
Kelly: One kilo.
Clerk: One thousand kilos….
Kelly: No, no, just one kilo. (clerk looks at me quizzically)
Clerk: One kilo? (looks at everyone else in the room and they ALL collectively laugh)
Kelly: Yes, as in, the same amount of food I will probably cook for dinner tonight.
Clerk: Well, this is a lot of work for one kilo of beef jerky. 

When he said that all I could think to myself was, EVERYTHING in Botswana is a LOT OF WORK!!  Need a faculty ID on campus?  That takes two weeks and countless visits to the same office.  Need to have a meeting?  Plan to spend your entire day there because no one will show up on time and then they will break for tea, so they can’t be rushed.  Need your residence permit? You will get it the last possible day you are legally in the country about an hour before they decide to deport you.

Clerk: Ok, I will process the paperwork.  You can come back in the morning to pick it up.

The following morning I excitedly woke up and returned to the Ministry to collect the permit.  Guess what happened when I got there.  That’s right, no permit.  I had to see a second person who questioned me and then informed me they don’t grant permits for fewer than 10 kilos of beef.

Kelly: Ok, then can I please have a beef permit for 10 kilos?
Ministry Director: No.

After another thirty minute inquisition the Ministry Director wrote me a note stating that I had permission to import the beef jerky.

 

I love Africa. There is no such thing as a dull moment here.  And in the end, my beef jerky sure was good.

Avoided deportation for now, but that doesn't mean it won't happen later

For anyone considering a move to Botswana, let me share a few important details that may help with your move.  Americans, and citizens of most Western countries, are granted entry into Botswana without a visa for 90 days within a 12 month period. However, do NOT overstay those 90 days.

Each time you enter Botswana the customs officials examine your passport like a hawk.  This is when it pays to have a brand spanking new passport.  Those of you with well worn passports are doomed, that’s the truth of the matter.  And heaven forbid if you’ve had extra pages added (as I have) because then you might as well bring a good book to read while they go through your passport.

The last time I entered Botswana I got off a plane carrying about 50 people.  Since I know the drill, and I like to be prepared (like a Boy Scout) I carry a handful of entry/exit forms and have them already filled out before I even enter the terminal.  I was the very first person to enter the terminal from the plane- meaning I was the first person in line at passport control.  This is NOT an exaggeration: every single other person on that plane went through passport control and were already standing at the baggage carousel by the time they finally decided to stamp my passport and let me in.  I don’t really know what the alternative would have been; the plane had already taken off and returned to Kenya by the time they let me through.

Part of the challenge with passport control here is that the Batswana, and Africans in general, love rules and protocol.  And if you try to bend those rules the result is not pretty.  I have never heard, nor do I ever anticipate hearing the phrase, “Think outside the box” here.  It’s just not part of the culture. A rule is a rule is a rule.  No wiggle room.

So when they say you are permitted to be in Botswana for 90 days within a 12 month period they take that very seriously.  So serious in fact, that the customs officer took out a pad of paper, flipped through my passport and started writing down my entry and exit dates.  She wanted to make sure she gave me the exact amount of days I was permitted and not one extra.  All was going well until all hell broke loose.  She realized I had entered in July and then exited in August.  A debate ensued regarding the number of days in July.  I even sang her the song, “Thirty days hath September, April, June…”  She wasn’t convinced.  Someone was called to bring a calendar from a back office.  Then there was some confusion because I entered Botswana on August 24 and exited later that afternoon.  That means I lost one more day.

After listing all my entry and exit dates and consulting a calendar, the friendly passport control officer whipped out a calculator and began adding.  But, this wasn’t enough.  She called over another official for a second opinion.  From where I stood at Passport Control I saw the passenger who had been in the seat next to me collect his bags and exit the customs area!  I began silently repeating over and over again, “I love living in Africa. I love living in Africa.”

Since my contract with Fulbright is for a year I am required to obtain a Botswana Residence Permit to get around the 90 day entry.  I’m actually happy about this because it should make my travels in and out of the country significantly easier (i.e. no legal pads, calculators or calendars to consult).  However, I was starting to become worried about this because I applied for the Residence Permit back in August and as of last week I still hadn’t received it.  The Permit is nothing more than a sticker they put in your passport.  But I knew my entry stamp expired on October 25^th and on the 23^rd I still hadn’t received it.  I had no desire to be deported.  After asking around I was informed I could not be given a permit because the Immigration office had “run out of stickers.”

I began my PR campaign which may or may not have included a statement such as, “It would be hugely embarrassing for The New York Times to run an article about the Fulbright Scholar who was deported from Botswana after being INVITED to come here because the Immigration office ran out of stickers.  When exactly did the sticker supply start running low?  I applied for this permit 88 days ago, so does that mean no one has received a residence permit sticker in the last 88 days.  Did you deport all of those people too?”

Miraculously, my PR campaign worked and the very next day, with one day to spare on my entry stamp, I received the Residence Permit sticker.  Hooray!  Queue the music: “Celebrate good times, come on...”

Wait a second! Stop the presses!  Upon closer examination my permit expires on…. May 31^st.  That could be a bit of a challenge considering my contract doesn’t end until June 30^th.  I’ve already contacted Immigration about the oversight.  Now all I have to sit back, relax and wait until May 30^th when I should be granted my extension. “I love living in Africa. I love living in Africa.”