Getting a visa v.02

Cheers!

How did your first few days of January go? Did you start going to the Church of Scientology? Did you become vegetarian? Have you finished selling the gifts you received and you don't want on internet? Any intersting and doable good resolutions for this new year?

Mine are: understanding the meaning of life, reading Hamlet without falling asleep, learning more and more Portuguese and Creole, and... finally getting my passport stamped.

Yeah, because my visa, the one I fought for a month ago, expired on the 24^th of December. How nice, it expired the very same day baby Jesus was born! Coincidence? Anywho, today is the 5^th of January and I still don't have my visa. Ahah!

Time to reveal the second part of the dyptich (stupid word, by the way, if you want my opinion).

You remember when I said that, at the beginning, I was reluctant to complain and make fun of Cape Verde. After having experienced such a warm welcome at the airport (I mean it: they could have guantanamoed me in a second, but did not), I felt grateful – but this feeling was not to last long. Because, my dear, those people are as crazy as any country. Ok, I actually mean the administration.

It is as bureaucratic as in Germany, and as messed up as in France. And that is not a compliment.

One of my colleagues, German, told me upon my arrival that I should be doing this and that to get a new visa, and that I should start something like 4 working days in advance to prepare everything. The list looks like something like that, classified in order of feasability:

- passport (+ photocopy)

- 1 picture

- filled form taken from the visa departement of the police station

- work contract (+ photocopy)*

- proof of residence: the original lease of the appartment I'm subletting + certified declaration of my roommate that she's hosting me (certified in front of a notar: 4€)

*actually, I had somehow luck... The work contract is supposed to be stamped by the lovely people (feel the underlying anger hidden in the sarcasm?) of the DIREICAO DAS FINANCAS, which is a place where incompetent people work/a pain in the neck/where you pay taxes - sorry for the repetition. The DIRECAO DAS FINANCAS will later be refered to as P.I.T.A. (Pain In The Ass). I was supposed to show my work contract, pay taxes and get the work contract stamped (proving I paid), but as I am officially here on an internship basis, my boss told me that was exempted. Don't call me a fascist monster, I understand the concept of paying taxes and giving back to the community – I wouldn't be working in sustainable tourism if I did not. And if I stay longer in Cape Verde, on a real job basis, I'll be happy to contribute what I have to. However, in this case, it meant one thing less on the to-do list! YEAH! So I just had to provide a letter from my employee saying I'm just doing an internship of 6 months. Piece of cake.

So. My visa expired on the 24^th. On the 18^th, I started worrying about me being abughraibed, so in the evening, I asked one of my roommate to get the lease, and also kindly required her to come with me in the morning to the notar (which happens to be on the first floor of the P.I.T.A.) The fun part starts there: she told me the other roommate had it, but she wasn't there now. It's ok, I had time. I'd ask her tomorrow. The following day, I went to get my picture taken. My colleagues had recommended me a photo shop: the very same that was closed for renovations, exactly this week. Aha! 

FYI, there are not many shops where you can get your picture taken around here. Remember this is AFRICA? So instead of leaving work for 15 minutes for taking those damn pictures, it took me 1h30 (time to run around, all stressed out, asking people in some weird gibberish made of Yiddish, Swahili and Portuguese, find another shop, get pictures taken, come back). Punctuality is not a quality that will be marked on my letter of reference, if I ever get one (provided they don't find out about this blog).

Back at work, I made photocopies of my passport and got the letter stating I was doing an internship. I also prepared a letter from my roommate, saying she was hosting me – she just had to sign it and go with me to the notar. So I wasn't doing that bad! I had most of the things. The rest wouldn't take long to gather. LOL!

I had written an SMS to my other roommate, asking her to bring the lease in the evening, which she kindly did. But as it turned out, the lease was in her name and not in the other one's name – too bad I had already printed out the letter I prepared... Ahah. She agreed to go to the notar with me in the morning, after I had time to change the letter and print a new one from the office (misuse of company assets is one of my best feature on my resume). This was on the 19^th in the evening – my plan was to go to the police the following day in the afternoon, with all the papers, and fill out the form on the spot. But of course... Life is what happens when you're busy making plans. By „life“ I mean food poisonning.

Didn't happen to me, though. My roommate was sick the following day and... how shall I put it... Couldn't leave home and proximity to the ladies' room. So she couldn't go to the notar with me. After the picture episode, I already felt that something might go wrong – but it was only only after the food poisonning episode that I knew for sure something was rotten (not just in my roommate's stomach). Still, I thought, no problem, I can still make everything on the 23^rd.

So in the afternoon of the 20^th, I went to the police to fetch the form and present the documents, for them to check if something was missing – I still had the entire weekend to look for it. Ahah! Gather documents on weekend? As if administrations were open on weekends!

So I fetched the form and showed my little dossier. The lady looked at everything, told me I needed to go to P.I.T.A. to get my work contract stamped (I bravely contradicted her, assuring her the other declaration of internship was enough – she grunted but spoke no more about it). She showed me the lease and my roommate's declaration and said something about getting a stamp on it. I knew I had to go to the notar with my roommate to certify her signature – but the policewoman also showed the lease. Of course I didn't understand what she meant. Do you think I ask her to write down what she meant so that I could ask other people? Do you think I was intelligent enough for that?

Of course not! I just thought, hey my colleague didn't tell me about it – so what this policewoman is telling me must be wrong! Still can not believe how I could make it so far in life without being interned for deep and uncurable stupidity.

So the rest of the weekend went on fine – I didn't think much about the visa, knowing I would get it on the 23^rd. LOL

Just realised how long this post is... Do you mind I tell you later what happened next? Building the tension is one key element in order to attract and seduce blog readers, so you'll come back. I need better stats!

It'll be worth it... Unfortunately for me!

Sucking at getting a visa - part 1

Dear people!

Yeah, I know - I should be more regular in my posts, otherwise I'll loose the 10 people composing my readership. I haven't been writing the last few days because I had little time, but I'm blaming that on the blooming social life I have here (come on, who am I kidding).

Actually, at the beginning, I feared I wouldn't have much to write about, as Cape Verde is a very nice country, with adorable inhabitants – everything is pretty much great here, and I felt somewhat bad, if something was wrong, to complain about it and make fun of the Cape Verdeans. I mean, in Japan or Russia, it was much funnier to criticise, complain, or denigrate local traditions (probably because Japanese people are crazy and Russians are cavemen). Here, not so much. 

But days passed, and the euphoria of the first weeks was quickly replaced by rage, incomprehension, anger and despair, depending on the situation. Therefore, allow me to pick up a pen and use this blog as a catharsis (in order to avoid a 10-year psychotherapy).

Today's example: administration, mental breakdown and applying for a visa. This article is a diptych: it's in two parts. This part is entirely my fault; the other (that I'll publish in a few days), not quite.      

Remember when I said I suck at traveling? If you are an avid reader of this blog, you know that already. You also remember I was kind of stressed out before flying out to Cape Verde, because of all the cancellations and delays and stuff. Wait, I shouldn't be using this as an excuse: bottom line is, I am a lame traveler, and if there is a meeting point to misunderstand or a train to miss, you can count on me.

So. I knew I could get a Cape Verdean visa upon arrival at the airport in Praia, which would cost 25€. At the airport in Paris, some time before boarding the plane, I noticed I didn't have the 25€ with me; I asked myself if I should hit an ATM to draw money out for the visa and... I didn't. I simply thought, no need for that, I'll probably be able to pay with my Visa, or there will be an ATM in Cape Verde to draw money out there.

How stupid is that, may I ask? THIS is why I hate to travel alone – because there isn't anybody to draw me out of my lack of straight-thinking, lazyness or lethargy. Why on earth would an African country install wires and machines and spend a lot of money on equipment (devices for payments by credit cards are quite pricey)? Why did I think that, and why did I also assume there was going to be an ATM in the security zone, before one gets his passport stamped?

Of course, OF COURSE, you can't pay with a Visa at the airport – and there is no ATM between the airplane and the passport control. AH! I asked the security officer and tried to explain my situation... It never happened to me in any other country, but I can assure you that Cape Verde is the greatest place on Earth to be an illegal immigrant. Instead of yelling, calling me a stupid tourist (which I am) or organising a charter flight back to where I came from (what Mr Hortefeux would probably have done), the lady smiled at me (probably interiorly mocking my lousy Portuguese knowledge) and told me I could let my passport at the visa-booth, get out, go to the ATM located outside the security zone, draw money out, come back, pay my visa (and finally leave her alone). Great, thanks! I thought. So I did all of that – well, actually only the 3 first steps of the plan. Ahah.

As I got closer to the ATM, I couldn't help but notice the little flashing red lights on the screen. It was Sunday night, around 1am, and the ATM was out of order.

I resisted the urge to faint and approached another policeman instead to explain my situation – he told me I could go home (where I should have stayed, actually – but he didn't mean home, as in Go back to your country, you stupid European – he meant, go your hotel), draw money out in the morning and come back to the airport to pay for my visa and collect my passport. But I was supposed to take another plane to Mindelo at 7am the following day, I said – would the visa-booth still be open at that time? Yes, it will – I simply would have to go through the arrival gate, knock at the door and talk to the policeman. What a relief, I thought, what a nice policeman. Then he asked if I was German, which almost resulted in me pulling out his gun and painting the airport red. When you're all stressed out, jet-lagged and French, it's not a nice thing to hear.

Anyway. In the meantime, the driver the agency arranged for me (living the dream, bro!) had left – so I had to kindly ask / morally oblige a nice shop clerk at the airport to call him for me. The driver came back after a while, took me to an ATM and then to the hotel I'd be spending the night – telling me he would collect me the following day at 5 am. I barely slept during the night, totally stressed that something would go wrong (I don't mean just because of the passport: since the „incident“ in Santiago de Chile, I HATE going to airports). Of course, the driver showed up at 5:30. Ahah!

So I made it to the airport around 5:45 – my plane was leaving at 7:05. I rushed to the arrival gate, and... It was closed. Aha. The security guy in charged didn't seem to understand much of my blabbering – or perhaps I was to stressed to express myself clearly? He wouldn't let me go through. Imagine this: you are in a foreign country outside the European Union - no wait, let's be even scarier: you're in an African country, you don't really understand its languages (offical/non official), you're supposed to board a plane (ticket paid by your future employer) within an hour, you don't have your passport with you and in case of a control, you can't prove that you legally entered the country. Now the right moment to have a stroke, if you planed to have one.

Anyway. Like I said in a previous post, I also have this ability to pull myself out of desperate situation I deliberately created. 

So I went to the information desk and found a nice lady, who called (or pretended she did) somebody, then she got up and left her desk while telling me to wait. I was counting the seconds before my flight to Mindelo would leave and considering digging a hole in the tarmac of the landing strip and burying myself in it, as, finally, the nice woman reappeared from the arrival gate and told me I could go through. Miracle!

Today's story ends on a good note. I found the passport-booth with a fat policeman inside, paid the amount of Cape Verdean Escudos (actually, a bit more, as the fat policeman didn't have change... Making me pay more than I should is probably the best way life picked to tell me I should be more organised... next time...), got my passport back, admired the little stamp they put on it – took a deep breath, and boarded my plane.

By the way, happy new year to all of you! 

Tourism

Dear beloved readers,

hope you've spent a nice weekend! Mine was not that extatic, considering I still don't know many people around here, so my amusement options are relatively limited (read: the highlight of my weekend was when I went to the store to buy vinegar). No need to pity me, I'm getting there, slowly but surely... Damn language barrier! Though I have less and less problems with Portuguese (which means the line on my resume stating I speak fluently will no longer be a massive lie) – and living with Cape Verdean people surely helps me get more and more of the Cape Verdean Creole.

Actually, the linguists among you should not get too excited, as this post is not about the lame differences between Creole and Portuguese (BORING!), but about what I'm doing here – before I post anything racist and derogatory, I feel I should set the frame here, and especially tell you why the hell I've moved from an industrialised nation to a third world country.

I'm doing an internship at a small and local sustainable tourism agency. Don't really know if I should mention its name, as this blog is certainly not a good marketing option... (Besides, I doubt they'll keep me in the team if they somehow find out about this blog) So let's keep it private. What should I say about this job? Any questions in the audience? Yes, you in the back.

What do you do?

You mean, besides serving coffee and making photocopies of my genitals when everybody's home? Let me think... Right now I'm translating stuff and getting to learn how to manage bookings – this is what I'll be doing „for real“. I also offered to write some articles to add content to their website (you know me, some Wikipedia infos, some patronising clichés about how we white help the poor black, and there you go), an offer that my bosses gladly accepted (but then again, they don't know about this blog).

You're an intern, are you exploited?

No, actually I left Germany because I didn't want to be doing an internship where I'd be exploited - I'm receiving a salary here, which is more than enough for daily life and a few bottles of grogue here and there. I work 40 hours per week (19 of which are spent on FB), for which I get more than 3 times minimum wage, not bad for a beginner, ey? Of course, it's better if I forget to mention the local minimum monthly salary is 100€. But ey, more than enough, as my monthly rent is less than 60€... No it's not a typo. Anywho, I could have done such an internship in Berlin for... 150€ per month. Nice vision of sustainable tourism, bro! If everything goes fine (read: if my bosses don't find out about this blog), they will hire me – the „might“ turned into a „will“. So no, I'm not exploited.

You work in tourism, do you exploit people?

No, I'm not Chinese. I see tourism as a way to develop a country and its society, while preserving local ressources. Sustainable, eco, green, responsible, call it as you wish! Unfortunately, tourism often overuses natural ressources, and does not necessarily mean that the profits will equally be distributed among all the actors. This sad situation is not as bas in Cape Verde as it is in Tanzania (by the way, if you're looking for a GREAT local tourism agency in Tanzania, check out www.fairtravel.com – them I dare mention, I don't work for them anymore (they already fired me) – I couldn't say why, possibly because the Cape Verdean government quickly gave tourism a legal framework in order to prevent exploitation. Anyway, bottom line: I want the locals to benefit from tourism – as long as I can keep my bank account in Lichtenstein.

Why did you have to leave, couldn't you have worked in tourism in Europe?

Well, I wanted to leave for a while, to check out other places, other cultures – in order to make fun of them on this blog – and also, because I was sick of the cold weather in Europe. I thought about Brasil, but it didn't work out that great (not that easy to get a long-term visa), I thought about New Zealand (NOT as a tribute to the Hobbit), on a working holiday visa, but I was too scared to undertake such a long journey alone. I don't mean the plane ride – I mean, the whole thing. Yep, I'm a sissy. Cape Verde always sounded nice, and I needed to brush up my non-existing Portuguese knowledge... So that's what!

Wait, you said you could have a long-term job if you wanted – so you're not coming back?

Wait, are your tears of despair or of relief? Anyway, ask me this one a little bit later. Too soon to know if I can make it that far away from loved ones...

Claire