Today we went to get me a government ID card. Apparently you can do nothing in Egypt without this ID card, but I don't have one, and neither did my father. I can't quite tell if this is a new thing, but I think not--my uncle says it functions like a driver's license in the states, except that you can't use it as a driver's license. This was an adventure in Egyptian bureaucracy!
First, my uncle was resigned to discover that he had to come along as a male in the family to verify that I was indeed who I said I was. Because females cannot verify their own existence, being something other than fully functional, even with documentation. He finds this as ridiculous as I do, and professed himself reluctant to verify anything, particularly that I am his niece! I am bribing him with a Moroccan dinner on Thursday.
Then there was the paperwork. In addition to the passport and birth certificate, and also my uncle's government ID, they wanted proof my my education and my job. Which we got around by saying that I was a homemaker and uneducated. Annoying and untrue, but far simpler. If we had insisted, I would have had to acquire paperwork from every college and my job, had it certified by someone official in Wyo, sent to the Egyptian Consulate for approval, then the Embassy, then brought to the Ministry of Interior, who would have wanted it translated...and then verified....you see why we decided I was an uneducated homemaker. Just the thought of having my educational documentation certified by someone was enough to make me shudder, never mind everything else!
My uncle had arranged for us to meet someone there to help us. This man, named Osama, works for another man who is very high up in the Police (my uncle said like a general). The man does favors like this for my uncle, because he has a son who has a gluten intolerance and my uncle brings over suitcases of food for them from the states regularly. It is hard to find food for these kinds of intolerances here. Anyway, Osama was there to smooth the way through the process of getting a card. Now, you're probably thinking that this is like applying for a drivers license. Go to the office, fill out paperwork, stand in line, get your picture taken and pay some money. On the surface, yes. Except that you have to go to multiple offices, which are unmarked and on different floors and in different buildings. The Egyptians are amazing recordkeepers, and have been for millenia. This means they are very fond of documentation, and they like everything just so.
Our first stop was in the office of the first assistant to the Minister of the Interior, where we purchased the form (LE 70, about $10) and my uncle filled it out. We then got a stamp excusing my "old" passport and birth certificate. My Egyptian birth certificate dates from sometime in the 2000s but it is handwritten. Now they are all computerized, and handwritten ones are no longer acceptable. My passport, while still valid, is the old kind issued before the change in government. I was fascinated to discover this rendered these documents all but invalid! I mean--the revolution has only been around 2 years. Could everyone have already switched their paperwork in that time? 90 million people??
Once everything was filled out and stamped, we then followed another man from the first assistant's office down stairs to another office, then across the alley and upstairs to another office. I don't know what happened in the intermediate office, as we stood and waited outside, but something mysterious that allowed us to move onto the next. Apparently the man from the assistant's office job was to make sure there were no arguments with the stamp from his office, and to get us to the front of the line, which he did very efficiently (in brown elf shoes, Mark will appreciate that--although the best pair I've seen in Egypt so far were on my cousin Gina's husband. They were positively pointy! Elf shoes, for the uninitiated, are men's shoes which narrow significantly at the toe, sometimes to a definite square or point, and sometimes curling up slightly).
In the next office, where the first guidance on how to get a government ID (12 steps) appeared, a lady reviewed the paperwork and asked if I was really Egyptian, not naturalized. Apparently, only "real" Egyptians can have this government ID. My uncle and Osama assured her that my father was an Egyptian and I was therefore eligible. She then passed the paperwork to her boss, who verified everything, asked lots of questions, and viewed my uncle's government ID. There was then a moment of tense concern when they needed my signature, as they could not accept one in English, but...thank you Peace Corps...I was able to sign in my very schoolgirl Arabic. A picture later, and we were given a receipt and told to come back in 3 days. To Abbaseyea, which is of course across the city from where we live. But whatever!
We then went to the office which gives computerized birth certificates, but, hah! they would not exchange my ancient! birth certificate for a new one until I had the government ID, which I practically was unable to get due to said ancient birth certificate! Personally, I think they make these things up. This office was also fascinating. There were probably 50 men in there trying to do something, and I guess you could call them lines, but really, they were swarms of people pushing to get to the front window. Smoking, and loud talking and gesticulating all the way. My uncle said not to take pictures (I took one, below, but it isn't very good--people are crowded around the policeman's desk at the doorway) in case the policeman on guard decided I was spying or something. Spying on what? Lack of organization? It wasn't like there was signage, or anything of a secret nature going on. At the same time, better not to annoy the police.
By the time this was over, and thank heavens we went early as the traffic was horrendous on the way back, I was ready to retire for the day.
First, my uncle was resigned to discover that he had to come along as a male in the family to verify that I was indeed who I said I was. Because females cannot verify their own existence, being something other than fully functional, even with documentation. He finds this as ridiculous as I do, and professed himself reluctant to verify anything, particularly that I am his niece! I am bribing him with a Moroccan dinner on Thursday.
Then there was the paperwork. In addition to the passport and birth certificate, and also my uncle's government ID, they wanted proof my my education and my job. Which we got around by saying that I was a homemaker and uneducated. Annoying and untrue, but far simpler. If we had insisted, I would have had to acquire paperwork from every college and my job, had it certified by someone official in Wyo, sent to the Egyptian Consulate for approval, then the Embassy, then brought to the Ministry of Interior, who would have wanted it translated...and then verified....you see why we decided I was an uneducated homemaker. Just the thought of having my educational documentation certified by someone was enough to make me shudder, never mind everything else!
My uncle had arranged for us to meet someone there to help us. This man, named Osama, works for another man who is very high up in the Police (my uncle said like a general). The man does favors like this for my uncle, because he has a son who has a gluten intolerance and my uncle brings over suitcases of food for them from the states regularly. It is hard to find food for these kinds of intolerances here. Anyway, Osama was there to smooth the way through the process of getting a card. Now, you're probably thinking that this is like applying for a drivers license. Go to the office, fill out paperwork, stand in line, get your picture taken and pay some money. On the surface, yes. Except that you have to go to multiple offices, which are unmarked and on different floors and in different buildings. The Egyptians are amazing recordkeepers, and have been for millenia. This means they are very fond of documentation, and they like everything just so.
Our first stop was in the office of the first assistant to the Minister of the Interior, where we purchased the form (LE 70, about $10) and my uncle filled it out. We then got a stamp excusing my "old" passport and birth certificate. My Egyptian birth certificate dates from sometime in the 2000s but it is handwritten. Now they are all computerized, and handwritten ones are no longer acceptable. My passport, while still valid, is the old kind issued before the change in government. I was fascinated to discover this rendered these documents all but invalid! I mean--the revolution has only been around 2 years. Could everyone have already switched their paperwork in that time? 90 million people??
Once everything was filled out and stamped, we then followed another man from the first assistant's office down stairs to another office, then across the alley and upstairs to another office. I don't know what happened in the intermediate office, as we stood and waited outside, but something mysterious that allowed us to move onto the next. Apparently the man from the assistant's office job was to make sure there were no arguments with the stamp from his office, and to get us to the front of the line, which he did very efficiently (in brown elf shoes, Mark will appreciate that--although the best pair I've seen in Egypt so far were on my cousin Gina's husband. They were positively pointy! Elf shoes, for the uninitiated, are men's shoes which narrow significantly at the toe, sometimes to a definite square or point, and sometimes curling up slightly).
In the next office, where the first guidance on how to get a government ID (12 steps) appeared, a lady reviewed the paperwork and asked if I was really Egyptian, not naturalized. Apparently, only "real" Egyptians can have this government ID. My uncle and Osama assured her that my father was an Egyptian and I was therefore eligible. She then passed the paperwork to her boss, who verified everything, asked lots of questions, and viewed my uncle's government ID. There was then a moment of tense concern when they needed my signature, as they could not accept one in English, but...thank you Peace Corps...I was able to sign in my very schoolgirl Arabic. A picture later, and we were given a receipt and told to come back in 3 days. To Abbaseyea, which is of course across the city from where we live. But whatever!
We then went to the office which gives computerized birth certificates, but, hah! they would not exchange my ancient! birth certificate for a new one until I had the government ID, which I practically was unable to get due to said ancient birth certificate! Personally, I think they make these things up. This office was also fascinating. There were probably 50 men in there trying to do something, and I guess you could call them lines, but really, they were swarms of people pushing to get to the front window. Smoking, and loud talking and gesticulating all the way. My uncle said not to take pictures (I took one, below, but it isn't very good--people are crowded around the policeman's desk at the doorway) in case the policeman on guard decided I was spying or something. Spying on what? Lack of organization? It wasn't like there was signage, or anything of a secret nature going on. At the same time, better not to annoy the police.
By the time this was over, and thank heavens we went early as the traffic was horrendous on the way back, I was ready to retire for the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment