oh yeh visa

Oh yeh. I have the visa. I have the visa. I have the visa!!

I am bona fide, happily allowed to work in South Africa... Finally. I am so pleased.

It took a while.

It took one more visit to my delightful local Home Affairs office.

The amusing thing about Home Affairs offices is that it truly depends on where you go as to what the requirements are. Oh sure there are general guidelines issued from Pretoria, but some offices might require another medical, some might not. Some might require another this, that or the other, some might not. No idea why. Probably because TIA.

It took a mountain of paperwork that I tried desperately to swim through and not sink in, which I have since failed to organise or file in any useful way.

After a winning smile and the tidiest pile of paperwork ever, all in order, the nice lady behind the desk accepted my application.

"How long is the decision making process?" I innocently ask. The answer may as well have been "How long is a piece of string?"

To which I always have an answer... "From the middle to the end and back again."

The answer actually was roughly two months but probably longer. So I prepared myself to shelve the visa thing somewhere at the back of my mind and settle in for a long, frustrating, nail biting wait.

And then. And then. A message less than a month later saying my visa was approved and ready for collection... oh yeh!!

shaken, not stirred

Another day, another visit to the nice people who would like to give me permission to work in this country I view as a second home. This time on public transport. Not a bus or a train. A minibus taxi. You know those white minivan 12 seater thingies. It is typically African transport with typically 20 people rammed into it on a good day. Up close and personal with every other passenger despite those instinctive reservations I have regarding the invasion of my very British personal space. Since there aren’t any other options, I have learnt to put up and shut up. With marginally gritted teeth. 

So in I a pile to enjoy a slalom drive dodging cows, goats, sheep, chicken, dogs, small children, large teenagers and even larger potholes. Travel sickness is just not an option since I wouldn’t be able to squeeze myself out in time. After 2 hours of what should be a 1 hour drive I squeeze out and wait for another taxi to take me to the main town feeling rather like a James Bond drink; shaken, not stirred. I miss the polite, stiff upper lipped queuing of the British; this is a free for all to get into the next taxi. Elbows out, head down and bundle!  

After another hair-raising drive I get the dubious pleasure of arriving at my chosen destination. The government office where decisions on life and visas are made. Since this is South Africa and not the UK, each office deals with things differently. So maybe I won’t need another medical certificate, another affidavit, another this, that or the other. Or maybe I will. Hopefully not. Then I can lodge my application, sit back, wait and try not to worry. 

Sadly I am mistaken. This particular office wants it all. All over again. So no. I cannot lodge my application. I must run around a bit more first, trying to sort things out that aren’t easy in the best of places nevermind in a rural village a long way from nowhere. Only then, with all my papers that this particular office desires of me, only then, can I lodge my application.

Another fruitless journey. Another hurdle demanded of me. Oh and the excitement of another hair-raising ride or two in a taxi from hell to look forward to before I get back to my little patch of joy. 

 Oh goody.

the great visa race

Tuesday was a fabulous day. 

I borrowed a bakkie (small van if you're English) 4 hours later than planned. Discovered only as I drove off that there were no mirrors whatsoever, only one windscreen wiper, no water to wipe said windscreen with and neither of the two doors with a lock that locked. 

Drove to one of the dodgiest cties in South Africa with one of the dodgiest bakkies I've had the misfortune to think might have been a good idea to borrow. 

Let out my inner racing car driver by saloming round potholes big enough to eat a small car while simultaneously dodging small children and cattle on a rural African road of note. 

Stopped nearly forever in a fuel station since once it was refuelled it wouldn't re-start. Spent a while rolling around the back of the fuel station where the lorries park trying to push start the evil bakkie. Finally got the bugger going again and then had to leave the engine running as I was too scared not to, while I popped to the loo. 

Got stuck in a psychopathic jigsaw of a traffic jam and realised that I might be a pushy Brit  driver but am way too polite for getting anywhere in this dodgy city. 

Only found out when parking on a small slope that the handbrake is deeply pants even with the car in gear and that I need bricks under the wheels to stop the damn thing rolling off on its own merry little way. 

Two hours after leaving my hut, I got to the visa office. Stared like a goldfish with mouth pouted into small "o" at the chains and padlock around the entrance. 15 minutes before closing time. 

Needless to say, I'm gonna have to repeat the whole experience again in order to lodge my visa application. 

As I said. 

It's been fabulous. .

the visa drama continues...

Well, I have been offered my first official job. 

Not just a job. More than a job. A career. A career enhancing kinda job. 

And therefore there are more bureaucratic hoops to jump through. I am so looking forward to that....

Converting my visa into one that kindly, happily, with pleasure, grants me permission to work. I don't have a lot of permission right now. Just to hang around here for a while. A good while. 

But now I want to be official. Now I want to work. Earn a liveable salary. Continue my rather. Stop. Start. Career. Make a contribution to life. To the economy. To myself. And my African family. Oh and get a bank account. Which will randomly allow me to do all those things with an official job. 

It sounds so simple. Get job. Get bank account so job can pay me. Contribute to life in this small community I have decided to live in. 

Simple?? 

I wish. 

Visa Hoop-ness Round 2. 

Bring it on!!

after the high season storm

Over Christmas and New Year everyone takes a holiday. Except me. And a few others. We work harder than we ever work all year in order to cater for the hordes of tourists that descend onto this little patch of Wild Coast.

We try to have a holiday too. It's known as "work hard, party hard". Which I discovered this year is an excellent policy when you're in  your early twenties... 

And then we pretty much all fall over in a little muddy, sweaty patch with a beer in our hands panting. Last year it rained for 11 days straight over season. This year it rained a bit less.

The world has returned to normal now. Season is over. The beach is back to being empty. The cows are back on the beach taking it over in their own unique way. The roads are empty of cars, enormous monster 4x4 things, stupid 4 wheeler bikes and random people asking random questions. And I've remembered what my friends look like. 

I like having it back this way. High season is fun, mad, crazy, busy, amusing, hot and bothering. But the energy and dynamic of the little place I've decided to call home for now is better out of season. Now I can breathe.