Thursday 3 October 2013

Hurry up and wait. Or, 'Welcome to the Middle East, more Limbo than the Carribean..'

This is not the blog I had hoped to write. Last week I mentioned that our shipping had arrived, hopefully all 19 cases of it, and was in Dubai awaiting customs clearance. Unfortunately, it is still there, still waiting to be cleared. Waiting is something you have to be happy to do out here, along with being patient, smiling when you want to frown, and it's maybe best not to learn the Arabic for 'What on Earth are you doing?!' lest it slips out.

Before you move out to the Middle East, one piece of advice that everyone gives you is 'don't be in a rush for anything, let things happen when they want to happen', but that is sometimes easier said than done. For example, let's take visas. People who arrive here with a job offer in their pocket pick up a temporary visa at immigration, the rest of us come in on 30 day tourist visas. We then have to wait until our spouses have got their full residency visas before they can start the process of sponsoring us (which local men find hilarious. 'your WIFE is sponsoring YOU?!?!')  So it goes, tourist visa, pink temporary residents visa, trip to Oman to ratify temporary visa, visit to hospital for blood test and to see two other Doctors who look at you, frown, then stamp a bit of paper. Off this lot goes and in the meantime the school apply for an Emirates ID card. Then there are two medical cards, one for the public hospital the other for private healthcare. Once you have all this you have to immediately apply for a UAE driving licence, then your two years are up and it's time to come home...

At each stage you find yourself in situations that amaze you. For example today I had to get a letter in Arabic from Dominique saying she was happy to allow me to drive, yes, she thought that was hilarious too. Now, we've been here six weeks but Domi has not learnt Arabic yet, so off I trot to the typist offices next to the law courts. These consist of a row of about 10 booths, each about 18' x 10' with a desk, computer and typist. After trying two offices without being able to explain what I wanted (I've not picked up Arabic yet either) the third somehow worked it out, typed it up, and £3.50 later I'm off to get it signed by my smiling wife, happy as she is 'allowing' me to be the chauffeur.

So off I go to the big police station that is the DVLA out here. First, queue for the reception policeman, quite a long queue, maybe twelve people all keen to get on with it, 'you from England', 'yes', 'you like football', 'yes' (I lied, I didn't think this was the place for my "I think football has been ruined by Murdoch money and is a game for overpaid pseudo celebrities who would trip over a postage stamp if it was in front of them" speech) so he shows me the photos on his mobile from his trip to Stamford Bridge, where he had the pleasure of meeting John Terry. The twenty or so people that were now behind me found it fascinating.... 'You number 205, go to desk 7 or 9'. After waiting for five minutes, I realise the number was pointless as the system was down and all those people walking past me were queue jumping. So I get to the front and after 10 minutes of the guy checking my paperwork and chatting to his mates he asks 'where your ID card', 'I haven't got it yet, I was told it wasn't necessary by people who have already done this', 'it is.. next...'. I left, quietly sobbing.

Surely nothing else crazy can happen today. So tonight we're waiting for delivery of our new sofa bed. My phone rings 'we outside 5006, open door'. We've had this before from a pizza delivery guy, we live in 506 so 5006 is already ringing alarm bells. I open the door to an empty hallway, 'no, you're not outside our door, you're in the Capital Hotel aren't you?', 'yes'... We live in a block four up from the Capital, a hotel infamous for it's tenth floor massage parlour, allegedly. I didn't ask why they thought someone in a Travel Lodge would want a two piece sofa bed and some bookshelves delivered. So I pop along to the Capital to find Laurel and Hardy (and this is cruelly added for comedic effect, when really I have every sympathy for these guys who get paid the minimum wage and have just a few words of English or Arabic but are thrown in to situations not of their choosing. Hats off to you, I will tip next time.) coming out of a lift with our goods, they were going back for the piano. The lift is in front of reception, did the receptionist wonder where they were going? After re-loading the van they follow me the 100 yards to do the delivery again, this time to the right place.

So I jest about the having to play the waiting game, as things do get done. Driving licences are issued, things do get delivered, so maybe I need to be less up tight and follow their lead? Long serving teachers tell us how things are speeding up, it used to take four months to get a visa sorted, it's now six weeks. I also remember how infuriating it used to be dealing with Government departments back home, this is a developing country, what's their excuse?

Footnote: I returned to the DVLA today and successfully got my licence. Once again he said to me 'you number 205'. What a coincidence I thought. Once again the numbering system for the queue was down so I ignored it, until the issuing police office said 'you pay 205 dirhams for licence', aaaahhhh.....

4 comments:

Unknown said...

J'adore les aventures du chauffeur de Dume!!!!!!! Gros bisous

Unknown said...

J'adore les aventures du chauffeur de Dume!!!!! Gros bisous.

Michael said...

Hey Les, looks like you are getting into the swing of things. I can relate to your feeling about time to get things done. The pace of life sees a little more relaxed out here too! Hope you manage to get your stuff from the UK soon!
M

Anonymous said...

Do you really think it would be less cumbersome getting all this for a new immigrant, let's say in England?... :)
Paperwork and government stuff are always hell to get by, wherever you are trying to get it!
As usual, I enjoy reading all your endeavours around RAK. :)
Cheers!
Emmanuelle