Today was my last weekday off, so I took the opportunity to head to my embassy. I went for a few reasons… the first was simply to see it and see if it looked anything like the one in "Rules of Engagement" and the other reason is that I had two passports—my Peace Corps passport and my regular passport. I had to use the Peace Corps passport to get into Yemen because the other one has an Israeli stamp on it, and it was only good for three months after my service finished, and I didn't want to be with a visa in an expired passport.
So I walked to Hadda Street and hailed a cab. He said he wanted 600 hundred rials, I stood firm at 400. After I started to walk away he relented and I got in feeling smug. But the bastard got his own back. We got to the embassy; he pointed it out and kicked me out of his cab. I nervously walked up to the heavily fortified entrance holding up my passport. The guards told me that I had to go around. "Around" consisted of about a ten minute walk on a busy highway with no sidewalk and nearly every taxi or bus that saw me screeching to a halt and honking in hopes of getting a western fare. You see, this is why I hate taxi drivers.
I finally got to the place and they waved me in. I had to walk halfway back to where I had started and entered a line with a bunch of bored looking Yemenis. After waiting for about ten minutes, I realized that it wasn't a line, rather just a place to wait for something that wasn't going to happen. I asked the guard if I could just go in and he waved me to the door.
In the door, I handed in all my junk to a Yemenese woman wearing a matching headscarf and bullet-proof vest and was ushered through a metal detector to conciliate services. The embassy really looked like what you would expect. Big, modern, lots of guards and a big wall all around it. I went to the conciliate office and waited for about a half hour (for some crazy reason I had neglected to bring a book) and then someone came to help me. I had to shout my problems through a glass wall about a half foot thick. "I have two passports," I told them. "This one is my Peace Corps Passport, it has my visa", I opened and held it up, showing the visa, "but it is only good for another month. And this is my other passport, but it has this," and I showed him the Israeli stamp. He nodded and I slipped both passports under the window. He told me that he would have to speak with his boss about it.
More waiting. The power flashed off and the generator kicked in. Finally, I was called back. He told me that since my Peace Corps contract was cancelled, he had gone ahead and cancelled the Peace Corps passport. He gave me back my Peace Corps passport and I looked at it in horror. He had punched a few holes in the cover and put a big "cancelled" stamp in it. "What about my visa?" I asked.
"You will have to transfer it to your second passport", he said, giving said passport back.
"Are they going to put a visa in it, with this?" I asked, holding up the stamp.
"No," he admitted. "I guess you'll need a new passport." He got me an application and demanded $67 bucks. Fortunately I had planned for this and handed over the money. He then asked for two identical passport pictures. I had not planned for this, and felt like a real idiot since I had two spares in my desk at home.
"But what about my visa?" I asked.
"You'll have to put it in the new passport. You'll get it in a week."
"But since my current passport is cancelled, isn't my visa cancelled as well?"
The man blinked a few times, obviously not having thought that far. "Well, yes, theoretically," he stammered. "But if anyone gives you any problems, just call us and we'll sort it out." I thought about when I got arrested in Israel and the only support that the embassy gave me was a stack of outdated Cosmopolitans and a call to my mom. Needless to say, I didn't feel much better.
Anyway, I asked where there was a picture place and they told me that there was one to the left. "But you'll need to take a taxi, it's too far, you'll never make it."
"How far?"
"About half a kilometer." I wondered what would happen if I was arrested more then half a kilometer away from the embassy. I set out on foot and ten minutes later I found the place. I asked (in Arabic) for some passport pictures. I said that I needed them NOW, in ten minutes, and was the place digital? They nodded. First they tried to sell me ten. I talked them down to four. They told me it was 250 rials, and I paid the bill and they gave me a receipt.
"Where do we take the pictures?" I asked. The man shrugged and pointed at the lights. "No power", he said. I remembered that it had gone out an hour ago.
I bought some melting ice cream and sat outside to sulk and wait for the lights to come back and wonder if it would bankrupt the bloody embassy to provide themselves with a simple digital camera and printer along with their fancy useless generator.
When the lights came back on (I was lucky, it only took about fifteen minutes) they ushered me into a room and sat me down to photograph me. The guy snapped my picture and I looked at the camera suspiciously. "Digital?" I asked. He nodded as he pulled the lever to advance the film. I went back out and asked when my pictures would be ready. I was told to come back in about three hours.
"No, I need them now," I said. I was offered two hours and the very Yemeni "it's okay."
Another 250 rials on the table and they were able to wrestle up an actual digital camera and their photographer begrudgingly took my photo again. It looked terrible—I swear that he messed it up on purpose. At that point I didn't care. I ran them back to the embassy and hopefully I will never have to step on that particular patch of American soil again.
So here I am, in the Middle East illegally. Again. This morning I was legal and a trip to the US embassy changed all that. Thanks, guys.
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