A Working Day

In many ways being in Africa makes me think of what it must be like in Jamaica- palm trees, fresh fruit, sultry breezes and people with beautiful accents encouraging you to slow down and rest a while… or longer. Jamaican stereotypes aside (I don’t know where the heck they came from as I have never been there!), trying to get something done in Africa- from booking flights, to getting something repaired to photocopying- can really slow you down and force you to rest a while. Generally, there will be a lot of paperwork and consultation with people in various uniforms… most of whom turn out to be visitors just like yourself but who, because they are wearing their work uniform, and lend an officiating air to the long deliberations about just what to do.

One day, I went to the National Archives to do some research. I requested a particular set of documents and happily sat down in the air conditioning (only 80 degrees rather than the 97 degrees outside) to wait for the documents.

After about 20 minutes, I did a little follow up:
--Did they have my request?
--Yes, madam.
--They were processing it.
--Yes, madam.
--Would it be much longer?
--No madam (ah, the politeness of it all!).

I returned with renewed good will to the air-conditioned library room… for another 30 minutes. Then I did more follow up.
--Were they getting the documents?
--Yes, madam, but the room is dark.
--Dark?
--Yes, madam so it is hard to find the document files because it is pitch black in that room and we have no torch.
--Why is it dark?
--There are no lights. But we are getting them and you are welcome to sit and relax in the library, madam, while we get these documents.
I decided to use another tactic- talking to someone else. I pretended I needed to use the toilet as a pretense of escaping into the ‘Staff Only’ area to find another person to talk to. I soon found Wendy.
--Hello, madam.
--Good morning, madam.
--May I ask you a question?
--Yes madam, you are welcome. (You are welcome to do just about everything in Zambia- another example of the politeness of the English spoken here).
--I have been waiting for my documents for an hour- do you know anything about this?
--Yes, the room is dark.
--Yes I have heard this. Why is it dark?
--There are no lights.
--It must be difficult for you all to do your work without lights.
--Yes, madam. It is difficult.
--Why are there no lights in a place where you need to read?
--The lights in that room go out when there is a storm (Please note here, dear reader, that it is the rainy season so there is a storm every other day, sometimes even two or three times in one day).
--Can they be turned on?
--Yes, they are just turning them on now (another note on Zambian English- ‘just’ is misleading because everything is ‘just’ being done, with the implication for us that it will be finished soon and the implication in Zambian English, well, I don’t think there is one as people ‘just’ use this word all the time.)
--How long will it take to turn on the lights?
--It will just be soon. You are welcome to sit down and wait in the library.
--Yes, thank you, I will be waiting.

Luckily, I had the computer so I was able to write the blog entry on Jackie and Billy. Another hour passed. I did more follow up with Wendy who was so far the most informative as I had learned from her what the problem was (the lights were out) and why (the storm).
--Hi Wendy. I am still waiting for those documents and it has been two hours.
--Yes, madam. I am very sorry for this problem. They are seeking a janitor from one of the other government offices to come and replace the florescent light bulbs. But he must do this in the dark as we have no torch.
--Oh, that must be difficult. (In my head: How many Zambian bureaucrats does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: With this task, it is futile to count either the bureaucrats or the hours on their time cards.)
--Yes, but they will just finish soon.
--Yes, surely they just will. I will wait in the library.
--Yes, madam, you are welcome to.

So I ‘just’ waited another hour while they ‘just’ replaced the light bulbs. Then, more follow up:
--Hi Wendy, it has been three hours and I know that these working conditions are difficult for you and your co-workers but I could have used this time for some other work.
--Yes, it is just difficult and we are sorry for the inconvenience.
--Yes, thank you. I think I will leave and do work elsewhere and return in the afternoon.
--Yes, you are welcome to do so.
--Yes (in my head, ‘no shit’). I will try to come again in the afternoon.
--Yes, just come then. You will find us here. (In my head: I would rather find you fixing the lights in the annex building).
--Yes, thank you. I will return soon.
--Thank you, madam.
--Thank you, Wendy.

So I leave, breathing very hard and with the blood pounding in my ears because I am so frustrated that no one was willing to just be honest and say ‘this might take a while’. I decided I will go to the National Map Office to purchase good maps of the areas of Zambia where I will be doing my research:
--Good morning, madam.
--Good morning, madam.
--I am interested in maps. Do you have a listing of the maps you sell here?
--Yes, madam.
--Uh, well, may I see it?
--Yes, you are welcome to see it.
--Ok, where is it?
--It is there.
--It is where?
--It is just there. (In my head: of course it is ‘just’ there, but where is ‘just’ there?)

I turn around and scan the room. Maps rolled up fill every shelf behind the counter. It looks like chaos. I later learn that it is well systemized but not labeled. I finally note several maps of Zambia, each breaking up the country into different sized grids. I ask if they have copies of maps for my regions of study in the mid-sized scale:
--Which one do you want?
--Well, this one for example.
--We don’t have that one.
--Oh, ok, how about this one? And how much do they cost?
--We don’t have that one. They cost 20,000 to 30,000 kwacha per map ($5-7).
--And this one?
--We don’t have that one.
--Which ones do you have?
--The ones without an ‘x’ in the box.

There is literally only one box out of about 40 boxes without an ‘x’. It is for the most remote part of southwest Zambia and covers more of Namibia than Zambia.
--So you only have this one.
--Yes, right now we only have that one.
--What about the bigger scale maps- these three here?
--We don’t have those either.
--Do you know when you will get more copies of these maps?
--No, I don’t know when.
--Could it be in, say, three months or even within a year? (I have purposely suggested such an outrageous timeframe to avoid disappointment that they will not have copies before I leave Lusaka.)
--No, I don’t know. We have not had these maps for over 10 years.
--10 years! Then what maps do you have to sell?
--We have some tourist maps and the very smallest scale maps. (In my head: I would need about 60 of the smallest scale maps to adequately cover my research area).
--Ok, so there are no maps here that I need.
--Yes, madam.
--So is there any other place to buy such maps?
--No, this is the National Map Office.
--Without most of its maps.
--Yes, madam.
--So I cannot get maps.
--Yes, you can get maps. (In my head: HUH?)
--But you are out of them.
--You can just (‘just’!) order them to be printed for you for 150,000 kwacha (about $50 per map).
--That is expensive.
--Yes, that is expensive.
--Is there anything else that can be done?
--You can order a digital copy of the map on a CD.
--Ahhh… how much is that?
--That is 50,000 kwacha.
--That is not so expensive.
--No it is not so expensive. (Note to Jere LaPlatney: does this qualify as a ‘repto’? It seems to me that ‘repto’ing is a large part of the linguistic exchange pattern of Zambian English).
--So, thank you for telling me how I can get the maps. (In my head: why can’t people in Zambia offer information rather than having someone ask questions until they gather the information they need? Where are the skills of assessing a customer’s problem and then doing a little problem solving? Is this a cultural thing? Then again, it really just seems to be bureaucrats who do this and not, for example, our friends during our exchanges with them).
--You are welcome to buy maps.
--Yes, thank you. It is interesting that the government does not keep up its stock but I suppose the profit is better if they charge for each printing.
--Yes, it is just better.
--I will think about the maps and come back some time.

I decided that I would hurry over to immigration to top off my fantastic morning. I enter the building and go to the room where they process my study permit. It is the day I was told to pick up the study permit. As I enter, I am happy to see that my file is open on the desk and a woman is writing on some forms- looks promising and productive. We exchange the typical lengthy greetings as I certainly don’t want to be impolite to someone with such power over my future!
--You must be happy to see your permit being processed.
--Yes, madam, thank you. What day should I pick it up?
--You can just come back Thursday (two days hence).
--Thank you.

I eat lunch, return to the archives and am able to go through the documents I requested that morning. They contain nothing useful for my research but I dutifully check them off the list of colonial documents I need to read through in the archives.

Flash Forward: I return to immigration on Friday… only to be told to return on Monday. I return that following Tuesday first thing in the morning (9 AM) only to learn that they will not open until 9:30AM). I sit on a bench and wait with other people. We talk and synchronize our watches and at 9:28AM take turns going up to the office to ask if they are open yet, thus avoiding any single one of us seeming to be an annoyance. Finally, at 9:36AM we are let in. I ask about my Study Permit and am told to go downstairs to pick it up. I also ask about Sean’s immigration status:
--I am not a student but a researcher and I would like my husband to be able to stay during my research.
--Yes, madam.
--How do we do this? (Note, reader, that this is the third time I have asked this of the immigration officials and I continue to ask because I always get a different answer. The day I get one of those answers repeated is the day I will take that action.)
--You will need a Temporary Permit.
--How long can this last?
--It can just last for three months.
--(In my head: Reformulate the question, Kate). So, is it renewable after the three months?
--Yes, but there is another 1 million kwacha fee.
--But the initial permit is 2 million kwacha. That is expensive.
--Yes, it is expensive.
--I will be here until October and my husband is my dependent- a line item on the budget from my funding agency. How can he stay for the whole length of time?
--He cannot stay because he is only allowed 90 days in the country as a visitor per year and then can apply for a Temporary Permit and perhaps renew that permit.
--(In my head: ok, Kate ask again): But, then, what do you normally do for people like me who are researchers. We are not given Work Permits so we cannot get Visas for our spouses that last the length of our Permit and you instead give us Study Permits as if we are students and you say that students cannot support their spouses’ applications for a visa. So what do you do for researchers because our status is ambiguous?
--How long will you be here? What is the date you will really really leave?
--(In my head: I will actually be fleeing the country the minute I finish strangling your neck): I will absolutely leave by October 31, 2006.
--Ok, sometimes they can make a Temporary Permit last longer than the three months.
--Without renewing it?
--Without renewing it.
--Ok, can I have the form to apply for a Temporary Permit?
--There are no forms.
--You have no copies of the forms here in the Head Immigration Office of the Ministry of Home Affairs of the Republic of Zambia? (of course, the Map office has no maps).
--You just need a letter requesting the Temporary Permit.
--Do you need anything else?
--A bank certified check for 2 million kwacha, 2 photos and passport copies and a copy of your study permit.
--And a letter showing my research budget includeing my spouse as my dependent?
--Yes, and that.
--And a letter from my embassy confirming that he is sponsored and that they request that your office approve the permit?
--Yes, and that.
--And a TB test showing negative for TB?
--Yes, and that.
--Thank you, madam. (In my head: Wow, I could apply for a job here!)

Having heard yet another answer for Sean’s immigration status, I decide to stop asking about it because I actually like the answer this time. I decided to get the embassy to put some pressure on the immigration office as this often works wonders. I go down to get my study permit. Some 30 stamps, embossings, and signatures later, I am sent to go get a photocopy made down the hall. I do so and return the copy. I must now go back upstairs to a different office to get my passport stamped. More stamps and embossings and signatures. I ask:
--So, I can now just take this with my passport when I leave and reenter the country.
--Yes, madam.
--And that is all?
--Yes, that is all.
--And I don’t need to do anything else, just carry this with me.
--Yes, carry it with you.
--Ok, good because I will be in and out of the country quite frequently.
--Yes, so you must go to the immigration office downtown and get an exit permit each time before you leave.
--Oh, ok. (Glad I asked three times). How much is this permit?
--5,000 kwacha, madam ($1-2).
--Ok, thank you.
--Yes, you are welcome to Zambia. Thank you. Next!

I leave, exhausted by all the waiting. Bureaucracy is slow and tedious in the least relaxing way and this attitude seems to permeate many aspects of life here in Zambia.

Then again, there is nothing like the fast rush of an African market to make your head spin. When money flows, so does service. Go figure.