Before ID Part 2

The Tragedy that is obtaining a Kenyan ID card.

So day one went like this, spend x amount of shillings on passport size photos and since they are required by just about everyone including the guy selling you the dodgy meat, there goes at least 3 beers and some change. And it's not getting any cooler so these are necessary items for bare existence in this heat. So off to the District Officer's office, a term I use loosely as the structure although nice and new looking from the outside resembles the hallways of a city toilet. I shall refrain from calling out this location until the next time I'm truly pissed off....which will be really soon. So anyway, there's the main building and what appears to be a four room shack on the outside with and a mini kiosk that no doubt charges outrageous prices. So when you get there, there is absolutely no indication as to which door you are supposed to head for. There are posters that tell you the requirements for a national ID. Your birth certificate (original and copy), a parent's national ID (original and copy, I pity the fool that's an orphan) and/ or your birth certificate.....again, your school leaving certificate (high school diploma) and your parent's ID. You with me on this? Nowhere on this sheet does it mention you have to obtain an affidavit to explain why you have not been in the country since you were 17. Thanks to a diligent sibling, I obtained that before I made the great trek to the place that is an example of the government functioning at the absolute minimum effort required.

So I managed to flag down a self-important looking guard (not sure whether they're military or rent-a-cops) and he pointed me in the direction of a door marked which was in the shack attached to the main building. So I jump in line and it was as though people were waiting for me to show up because five other people immediately lined up behind me on a queue that had no more than 2 people. I shrugged my shoulders while discreetly rearranging my numerous documents which had grown in number in the folder that was securely if not practically attached to my body. By the way I was now carrying,

-2 passports, old and new
-2 photocopies of old and new passports
-Birth certificate (copy and original)
-8 passport sized photos (3 beers)
-Dad's ID (pried from unwilling fingers...now I know why)
-3 copies of an affidavit from my Kenyan attorney (I have more than one...and no job, no ID...sigh)
-500Ksh to register for the ID (the board was extremely vague about the fee so I carried more than this and in loose change as I didn't want to get caught in the "Hakuna change, rudi kesho!" trap. "There's no change, come back tomorrow." Very popular term here, substitute "change" for forms, film, boss, pens, beer etc. and change "kesho" (tomorrow) into weeks, months, years, decades.

While I was arranging my stuff, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to face this frightened teenager who asked, "Is this the line for the receipt or for fingerprinting?" I looked behind her and realized all the people who'd jumped in line behind me were staring at me intently like I knew. It was at that moment I confirmed that I was indeed in deep shit. So no one knew where we were supposed to be. I did the Kenyan dance of indecision and jumped to another queue (5A) which was much shorter and therefore I was guaranteed a swift kick in the butt in the right direction when I asked "Is this where I apply for my national ID." I was s told to stand outside the main building in a queue that ended at what appeared to be a permanently shut door with the title, District Registrar.

Hmm, promising, I thought. At least I was in a line that had been pointed out to me by a civil servant and not a dodgy looking guard/cop/still not sure what, chewing miraa (legal drug just looks like a twig). As I stood there, a heavily perfumed girl stood beside me, actually, practically on top of me. Ah yes, the Kenyan concept of space....non-existent, "what is this space you speak of?” I'd forgotten about it especially with matatus being better regulated and there was no overcrowding. Well, a queue manages to make for that. This girl was on the verge of climbing me; if somebody leaned forward, that signified a giant step had been taken so she felt the right to move close to me that we shared an intimacy I haven't experienced in weeks. I did the whole put your hands on your hips to stick your elbows way out so I was shoving right back into her and then I realized I was practically rubbing her and she still didn't move! So I did a little sideways step but planted a leg directly in front of her to discourage further fondling. The line barely moved as one person entered the office and an idiot cut in line (sent directly from 5C having by passed A & B therefore achieving the 'ignore all the minions and cut in line' status) The little bitch behind me cut in front of me and I said, "Wtf are you doing? Are you cutting?" And she mumbled that the line had moved forward, "To where?" I pointed? She kept quiet but didn't budge so I turned around and said, "Puhleaze, you cut me and I'll cut you." Rude yes, effective, absolutely not. She kept her distance for all of two seconds and we were back to being lovers. URGHHHHH

So while my new best friend and I shuffled forward and more people cut in line, I finally reached the nirvana that is the registrar's door and I was summoned in by a very dodgy looking man. "Good afternoon," I said, smiling warmly, batting eye-lashes. A little flattery gets you everywhere, I figured I'd go the helpless female route, didn't want to show the man I was pissed off and ready to do battle. He smiled back and asked for my documents. I fumbled through; reading out loud all the paper work I had gave up and just dumped everything on his desk. He picked up one of the passports, said my name and said, "But you do not look Kenyan....where are you from?" "Ummm, Nairobi, I've been out of the country, there's my affidavit" He then asked for my birth certificate, I gave hi the original, he shook his head and said, "I don't want this one, the copy please?" So I passed it to him still talking (I wasn't sure what I was saying, just pleasantly surprised that it was going really fast. Then he asked for my father's ID, I gave it to him and he shook his head again, "no, the copy please.”Ahem, sorry what?" (Refer to list of contents) "I need the copy of his ID." Which I didn't have of course. Then he asked me whether I had the passport photos, I said yes, he said color, I nodded eagerly, he smiled and said, "Black and white please, uncut." My face dropped and I started to gather my things and then he said I should come back next week and I asked in my oh-so-ignorant-thinking-I'm-still-in-the-land-of-the-free way, "Why can't I come tomorrow? I'll be here tomorrow." He looked shocked then said, ok.

So off I went, back to my dad's and dropped off all the documents you really don't want to be carrying around Nairobi i.e. all of them and he fell onto his ID card like it had just been issued. So off I went to town, did some e.mailing, back home, watched my nephew drool, Sopranos and then bedtime.

This morning I woke up with the optimism of a foreigner in Kenya and went off to do the black and white photos. The place I got the color shots done wanted 3 beers and some change again and they would only give me four pics and it would take two hours. I glanced at my watch, was approaching 10 a.m and decided to hunt for another place. Sure enough I found a quiet studio that would only cost me one an half beers 150 shillings and take one hour so I sat down, took the shot and wandered off in such of an ATM. As soon as my shots were done (by the way if you're skin is dark, black and white shots will define you as a beauty or a beast and let me tell you, I will kill the first m.f who asks me for my ID...when..ever I get it) Off I went, back to Dad's office, got his ID, ran across six lanes of death wish traffic and found myself outside the door again. The queue was the same; my lover wasn't there so she must have lucked out the day before. There were a couple of desperate looking youth....much like the idiot who stole that woman's money the other day but I saw my miraa chewing cop/guard/still have no clue what he is guy standing in the shade swinging his baton so wasn't too worried.

The line cutters were rabid today though and all over the place but I'd smartened up and brought a book so I ignored them and immersed myself in the thoroughly engrossing bestseller Malibu, by Pat Booth. Laugh and point now but it distracted me very well. So there I was for about an hour, being patient about standing next to a very smelly men's toilet and tightly locked women's and inching closer. Oh yeah, I'd managed to find another lover, not as obnoxious as the first but almost as needy. There were only two people in front of me and I was beginning to sigh with hope as my card suddenly seemed attainable. The only thing that worried me was that most of the people had passport photos that were uncut i.e., two pictures together instead of cut into individual shots. But they only use one picture on the ID card so while I was pondering this, the same dodgy looking guy came out and said, "All first time applicants come back on Monday, we're out of film."

Say what? Film for what? Was I going on camera? WTF! And half the line silently left. I walked out behind them, pulling down my sunglasses as if to protect from the glaring sun but was really to hide the deluge of tears that were already prickling behind my eyes. I couldn't believe it but as my friend J who I'm beginning to dislike says, "Welcome to Kenya" As I once again crossed six lanes of hell I whipped out my phone and started calling everyone to vent. I called Brother 2, “Calm down, we’ll try again on Monday.” Click, I hung up. I called Brother 1, “He he he, welcome to Kenya, this how things work…”Slam, I hung up. I got to dad’s office, went up and he wasn’t in thank God. I sat down and had a very angry cry while I sent him a text explaining yet another failure. I sent a text to yet another lawyer (I have no job, no house, no ID card but I have lawyers like I’m Trump) saying, “I want to sue the government on grounds of severe disorganization and gross incompetence.” To which he replied, “Pray tell why? I’m in Bangkok where the government almost always works and for the Rugby World Cup, Are you well?” “You’re Fired!” I screamed at my phone. Kidding, I did fire him though he just doesn’t know it yet.

I’m livid. This whole process is just indicative of how fucking frustrating it is to live here. I’m the one who wants to get into the hospitality industry; while training here, touting the qualities of Kenya not just as a place to visit but the vast possibilities about investing in it and the future Kenya has in a global market yet I’m having a hard time even liking the place because the government treats it’s own people like SHIT. I just want the ID card; do they want me to sacrifice a cow or something? URGHHHHH!! I can’t carry my passport around in this city. It’s the only ID I have and God forbid I lose it and have to go through the hell of replacing it.

Oh, to add to my misery today, I tried to publish this blog and the host site quit on me so it’s in blog purgatory somewhere. Oh well, I think one day I HOPE I will read this and laugh at my naiveté and shake my head but for now I’ll just be pessimistic. If I expect the worst, when it does happen, I’ll be prepared for it. Don’t forget folks, I still don’t have a Kenyan driving license. SOB.

Lol. I think I’ll drink eight passport photos tonight that should set me straight.