When kids see you in the streets, they always shout “toubab, toubab.” An acquaintance told us what that word signified. In the past, the shilling-era English called their small change “bob” and the children took up the habit of asking for “two bob” (2 pennies). The saying remains to designate white people.
I got here three months ago, and after two renewals (each costing D500, or €13/£10.50/$16.70) it’s high time that I get my resident’s card. There isn’t really an appointment process but it’s better to know the system… and its components… if you don’t want to be there for four hours.
It’s always interesting to observe how things happen and there, a lot of things happened. Firstly, we have to find the “right” office up top on the third floor of the immigration building (top-right). From there, we were sent to another office on the same level. Every time with a few minutes to say hello and to smile because most conversations are done in Wolof, excluding us from them. Not to worry because we have our Baba (R. H.) with us who takes care of everything. We obtained the papers that we needed, paid D1500 and went down to the ground floor, or rather in the street because we find ourselves on the other side with Baba who fills out a form, then gives it to an open-air “office” (top-left). My God it was hot!
Next comes the presentation at the entrance at the bottom of the building, but a passport copy is still missing. “Obviously, the guy upstairs kept them.” Right, well we’ll have to go to the shop next door. Five more wasted minutes, we must now have been there for at least ½ h at 33 degrees in the shade. Back to the offices where we’re given a card that we’ll laminate ourselves (bottom-left). ‘Well there you go’, we say to ourselves, ‘the process has finished quickly’. Nope. After that, we’re sent back to the other side of the road where there’s a photocopier that’s held together with cellotape (bottom-middle) to copy the two sides of this masterpiece of a non-laminated card. Hmmm, should I now tell them that ‘Pascal’ is with an ‘l’ and now an ‘i’ … Pascai? … Let’s not, otherwise we would have to start from the beginning again.
Finally, we’re ready… but they’re not so we have to wait, where we can, until we’re called for. A good 20 minutes later, I can finally go into the office where they’re preparing biometric cards. I’m third in line, there are seats and the air conditioning is on so we’ll pull through… Well no as the two people have their turn, exit, and then come back with a flow of people who quickly fill up the room. They gesticulate, they speak loudly and actually, you never know if they’re speaking or if they’re arguing. A woman came in with her brat and a basket who seemed annoyed that the staff didn’t want to buy her fruit. Actually, seeing the long wait outside, there are always vendors selling fruit, water and fried goods that go by and by again.
At this point, there is still D1100 to give (D3000 in total) and I get a receipt that has been made out to SylviiceClaupe (bottom-right). Woops, so if the final card is based on this, I’ll have a very original name! The guy at booth 2 isn’t there so nothing advances for at least 15 minutes. When he finally arrives, he calls the names with such a strong accent that I’m not even sure if he’s calling mine or not. After four people who “overtake” me, I go to the immigration guy who is helping us and he goes off to search through the piles of papers on the different desks to find my form. There we go, I can finally get my thumbs “photocopied” and have my photo taken for the final card. They tell me “see you in 15 days” to pick it up, but seeing as though Pascal had it done three weeks ago and that he still doesn’t have it, they’re not going to see me again☺. So now we’re in order, not that we weren’t beforehand, but like this we can finally go round the country without having to take our passport out of the safe every time. Next stop; driving licence. Actually, can they do it with a provisional card or must we wait for the final one because they said that our one was valid for three months? ... To each day it’s worries!
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