Visa extension, the second.

Tuesday, December 3rd

8:15 am. Today I am meeting Sophia and Nandini, another fellow student of ours, at 3rd Circle. We want to make good use of our free morning today: visa extension. Even though the second extension is usually more complicated than the first one, at least today we won't have any trouble with the police - for this extension we have to go to the Directorate of Residence and Borders. It is located a bit further away from the center, at the same level as the 8th Circle, so we want to leave as early as possible today - you never know what might happen.

The traffic is not an obstacle on the way, so we arrive at our destination pretty soon. We enter the premises through a gate and find ourselves between two containers. "Women" is written on the left one, "Men" on the right one. Gender separation, even in the most inexplicable places, is nothing that surprises me anymore. So we enter the left container, which is sparsely furnished: a scanning security arch, like the ones at airports, and a desk. Behind the desk sits a woman who has placed her phone on the table and is watching a video at full volume. Even though she obviously notices that three additional people are standing in her container, she doesn't make an effort to take her eyes off her phone. Sophia, Nandini, and I look at each other and then try a "Good morning" in Arabic. After a short while, the official looks up and says in our direction, "Close the door!". We follow her command and then stand in the same place, unsure what to do next. "Come!", follows the next command. Alright. We step through the security arch (which is either just a prop or simply doesn't work) and approach her desk. "Give me passport!", we silently follow this command as well. The official now enters our personal data into a list and takes breaks in between to watch her video. Obviously, she wants to make her position of power clear with every move she makes. And show how little she cares about our affairs. When she has completed everything, our passports are still lying on the table while she is once again absorbed in her video. We look at each other again. Again, unsure what to do. After a brief clearing of our throat, she only replies with a "Go!". Haven't had such a profound conversation in a while, I think to myself as we leave the container with our passports.

We walk across a large courtyard and enter the next building, where we find ourselves in a large room. In the middle, a huge waiting area with empty rows of chairs, surrounding the walls, countless counters. In contrast to the unpleasant atmosphere in the container just now, an official now approaches us directly and asks us what we need. So shortly afterwards we find ourselves busy with filling out a visa document with a pen and then have to briefly walk across the courtyard into a small room where we are supposed to make copies of our passports. The woman operating a very old photocopying machine there is as uncommunicative as the first official in the container earlier and hands us extremely dark passport copies for 10 cents each. If all the people with visa matters have to make copies of their passports here, a considerable sum of money surely comes together every day.

So now we are first sent to the first counter, where it turns out that Sophia is expecting a different process. Because she has traveled to Israel in the meantime, different procedures apply to her, so she is referred to a different counter. And Nandini and I also have to go for another round - not surprisingly, our dark passport copies are not readable enough. It doesn't help to say that we had the copy made here on the premises. I remember Markus telling a similar story about his visa extension two days ago. It's not unlikely that there is a sales strategy behind the photocopying woman. However, we refuse to pay her a second time, which she just lets pass, and shortly after we are back at the first counter.

And now everything fits: surprisingly fast, and surprisingly uncomplicated. In one to two weeks, we have to call them, and with a lot of luck, our visa for the next two months will be ready by then. Sophia joins us again and tells us that she has to renew her visa at a police station again. When she asks the official at our counter again for precise details, he can't really help her at first, which is clearly due to the language barrier. After a few unsuccessful attempts at explanation, he asks for Sophia's passport. We see him put a stamp there and write something. Then he hands her the passport back. "You have a visa until February!"

Wow. I am sure he is not authorized to do that. But it can be that simple. Who gets a visa here, when, and how is truly arbitrary. This really makes me think about how many of all these administrative processes are actually necessary. Anyway - for now, we have done everything we could, and we take a taxi back.

Before I go to Arabic class at the university in the afternoon, there is something that I have been putting off for a long time: cleaning the house. And the girls weren't exaggerating. It takes a good 3 hours to wipe all the glass surfaces, shelves, and countertops, sweep the countless square meters (unfortunately, we don't have a vacuum cleaner), and finally mop everything. But it was really necessary. The maid who used to live here with our landlords in this apartment was surely busy cleaning every day.

On the way to the university: a view of the Citadel in the evening.