Butterflies and visas

There is a totally improbable theory that the wind created by the wings of a butterfly, as it flits from flower to flower, can ultimately trigger a hurricane at the other side of the world.

Well, here’s another story of cause and effect, and this one is real.

If the Congolese Government had not decided to abolish the old Electoral Commission, and establish a new one under different legislation; and

If that process had not taken far longer than it should have done, and the electoral commission had not come into being 6 months late; and

If the elections had not been characterised by flagrant abuses due to totally inadequate preparations; and

If the Congolese in South Africa had not protested violently about the elections at their Embassy in Pretoria, breaking windows and scaring the embattled diplomats; and

If, as a result the embassy had not been closed for three weeks, thus forcing us to get a visa for a family member from the immigration services in Kinshasa; and

If the immigration department in Kinshasa had not failed to complete the process in two days as promised; and

If the following day had not been declared a public holiday, at the last minute, to celebrate the Presidential inauguration, thus delaying issuance of the visa again; and

If the next day had not been a day for Christmas shopping or similar things that immigration staff have to do a couple of days before Christmas;

THEN we would not have been waiting for the visa until 11 hours before she had to leave home to catch the flight, namely 7.30 p.m. Kinshasa time.

How come it took so long? The document is a simple one-pager, normally provided within two days. The formalities, including $250 in cash, had all been complied five days before. Even after the document was completed, we heard, it was four hours before the boss signed it. He was there – that we know. Could it be that he wanted to show who was boss? That he was more important and more powerful than we? And that no one could tell him what to do?

Indeed the whole event seemed to be in jinxed, because at the same time that we were supposed to be driving to and from the airport the self-proclaimed President, Tshisekedi was going to take his inaugural vows at the main stadium. This, we were told, was going to cause massive riots, shootings, tear gas and mayhem.

We managed to get permission to use the Embassy’s armoured car to go to the airport, but it turned out that the convoy was not going to leave in time for our flight. Luckily our kind employers said they would pay for four armed security guards to accompany us.

When the day came, we took a route that avoided the supposed hotspots and we arrived in normal time – passing nothing more sinister than a few tanks and bored soldiers, but otherwise without any indication that anything might be wrong. All the security scares, once more, proved pessimistic.

But that was not the end of the affair. Apparently, the type of visa required that passports should be submitted to the big man at the airport who had, once more, to sign every one. And once more he was soooo slow, because, of course he was soooo overworked. And because of the large number of people from South Africa who needed one. So what could have been a quick stamp in the passport was, in fact, a wait for one and a half hours while we waited for him to condescend to do the necessary.

All’s well that ends well, but one wonders how the visa and passport people see themselves. Slaves to a system that overworks and underpays them? Or clever people who can manipulate affairs to their own advantage?

(Admission: at four o’clock on the day we needed the visa we asked the expediter whether the boss was holding out for money. We were so desperate we would have paid him something, but our man said that at this stage it wouldn’t help . . .)