Sometimes it’s not just the language difference that gets to you. It’s the not understanding the system.
In the past few days, Bill and I have been working on the last few steps toward getting our residence permits. We were given a list a few months back of documents we needed to gather, in order to apply. One of the last things on the list was a set of photos – like passport photos, small, on a white background. Bill had his taken a while back, so the other day I drove myself to the place he told me about, to get mine taken.
I found the place, a little hole-in-the-wall shop with a glass front. Right away I don’t know what to do – there is a door, but then there is also an opening in the glass front – which do I use? I enter through the opening and find myself in a narrow space that runs the length of the store, with a very large counter in front of it. There is one man working behind the corner at a computer; he doesn’t look up, or greet me. There is another man, sitting on a chair on a raised platform with a white sheet behind it, which I gather is the place you get passport photos taken; he doesn’t look up, or greet me. There is a woman sitting on the one chair in the narrow passageway, a young Senegalese woman, dressed in a pretty mbu-mbu; she doesn’t look up, or greet me. I stand there for a few minutes, and finally decide to say something. I say (to no one in particular!) “I am in need of passport photos.” The man sitting behind the huge wide counter doesn’t look up, but kind of grunts something, so at least I know he knows I’m there. The man sitting in the chair eventually gets up and goes over to talk to the man behind the counter, then leans on the counter, looking out at the road.
Eventually, the man at the counter says, still without looking up, “Sit.” (I assume he means the chair on the platform.) I go up and sit on the chair, but no one comes over for awhile. Now I feel a bit like an idiot, sitting up on this high place, staring out at nothing. The Senegalese woman gets up and leaves the store, without explanation. After a few minutes, another woman comes in and the man behind the counter takes out a small cardboard box and dumps it on the counter. In the box are about 30 different little tiny baggies, with passport photos inside them, tied with a knot. He searches through them until he finds hers, and she pays and leaves. Ah, a transaction is witnessed… someone pays and receives photos – perhaps this will also happen to me today.
Since I’m up on the platform behind the counter now, I can see the backside of the counter. What looks like a huge counter from the front is really just an empty shell – I think there is maybe one drawer, but the rest of the thing is practically empty with just some rubbish lining the bottom. The second man, the one who was first sitting on the chair, begins to make conversation with me. He asks where I’m from, and when he finds out I’m from the US, he starts asking me technical questions about how to get a student visa to go to America. How many photos does he need, what are the steps he needs to take, and why, by the way, is it so hard to get a visa to go to the US?
Finally, the man behind the counter stands up and comes over with a very old looking camera. Apparently it has no zoom lens, because he holds it closer and closer to my face until I feel like I may end up being cross-eyed in the photo! He snaps the picture, and then returns to the desk. I ask him if I should wait, or if I should return another time. He says it will take about 10 minutes, so I walk across the street to buy some bread while I’m waiting. When I get back, the second guy is looking at the photos the first guy took of him – why it took so long for him to get his photos, I don’t know – and he seems to be having an argument about the size of them. He looks to me to back him up – “Aren’t these photos too small for a visa application? I thought they were supposed to be larger!” – but I have no idea what the requirements are! I tell him I’m pretty sure they are fine. He pays, the guy behind the counter writes out a very long receipt, and gives it to him, but the second guy wants the receipt stamped. (They are very big on stamps here.) Then, finally, I get my pictures, and my own lengthy, handwritten receipt. It costs $4, for 4 pictures. And I leave.
Now that we have all our documents together, it’s time to apply for the visa. Yesterday Bill and I went to meet with a man others have recommended – he’s supposed to be able to help you with the process. After waiting about 20 minutes, Bill calls him, and he says he’ll be right there. We wait about another 25 minutes, and finally he gets there. We drive to the police station, and follow him inside. There are doors everywhere, and lots of people, but we are glad to have our guide, since there is no indication of order that we can see. We go to one office, our guide greets the official behind the desk, they chat a bit, and we leave. What was that all about? No idea. We go to another door, and wait in a short line outside it. There doesn’t seem to be a recognizable order to the line, either. Some people suddenly leave the line. A woman in uniform comes and begins to ask people what they are there for. Our guide is on his cellphone, so when she asks us, we tell her we are there for our “carte de séjour.” (That’s the residence permit.) She shakes her head, looks away dismissively – and says, no, that’s only done Friday mornings. (It’s Wednesday afternoon at this time.) Our friend gets off the phone, leaves the line and just walks into the office ahead of others waiting in the same line. He starts talking to an official behind a desk, and we see the official begin to write on some form – that’s a good sign! Eventually we also skip the line and go to join our guide – when we get into the room he gestures to us, sure, sit down. The official asks for our passports and uses them to fill out some information. He then takes us over to another desk to be fingerprinted. They don’t use an ink pad, but roll some black dust on a piece of glass, and we use that. Then back to the first desk, where he writes down some more information. When he is done, our guide tells us we can leave now – but the paperwork is left with the official behind the desk. (We retain our passports, of course.) Our guide walks quickly down the sidewalk and we follow him – we don’t know where we are going but we are getting used to that now – to a little kiosk where they make copies. He copies the page of our passports with the entrance stamp to Senegal. And finally, we’re done.
When will we get our visas? No idea. Bruce just got his about 2 months ago (he applied two years ago) and it is only valid until April. Will we have to go back to the police station? Who knows. And this is how it is every time we have to do something official – sign up for a course at the University, begin electric service at our new place, pay for our post office box at the airport… lots of standing in lines, being directed from one window or office to another without apparent reason, and having lots of papers stamped. Most errands take multiple tries before the thing is accomplished. We are confused a lot of the time.
I just hope they find the photos acceptable – otherwise I have to go back to that photo place again. 
