Players:
“our man” – an official in Khartoum
“Mr. Sudanese” – official in Sudanese embassy
Passport lady
Passport boss
The scene: Sudanese Embassy in Aswan
Sunday, 3 April: We are at the Sudanese embassy 8:30. “Our Khartoum man” told us before the weekend (Thursday) that the permission-for-visas fax was sent. Willie sees the passport lady in an office downstairs as we walk in, and she mumbles something of a fax which Willie understood to be that the fax came. She told him that we have to wait in front of her office. We sit in front of an office with a wooden door, in a frame of bleached out yellow walls decorated with dirt smears. On one wall, a framed photo with the ruins of an ancient Sudanese temple; on the other wall: the silhouette of a Sudanese man standing by a bright yellow sunflower; on the 3rd wall something that looked like a collage of I’m not sure what? 4 chairs line the wall facing the passport lady’s office and to the left of the chairs is the passport boss’ office. The floor is covered with a tired and worn-out carpet. To the right of the 4 chairs down a short hallway are 2 offices that we had nothing to do with.
9am: a young man opens the passport lady’s office. Willie is sure that they open at 9. The young man cleans the carpet and the office with a sickening-smelling deodorant cleaner that stings our eyes and makes us cough. The door gets locked again. 15 minutes later another official looking man unlocks the office, sits at the desk, makes a call and leaves again. Other “customers” have now appeared – all Arabic and they freely enter the office, do their business and leave. The boss man arrives; he does not look at us, unlocks his office where flip-flops are sitting under his desk. Several turbaned men enter his office and close the door. All 4 of us are patiently watching the activity whilst we wait for the passport lady who has not appeared yet.
9:45 am: no sign of the lady and Willie decides to go down to see where she is. He comes back with the disturbing news – he misunderstood her – no fax! Willie calls “Our Khartoum man” who tells him that “Mr Sudanese” official has told him that the fax was sent! “Our man” sends Willie an e-mail with the details of “Mr Sudanese”. Willie calls “Mr Sudanese” who tells Willie he will fax it in an hour. Willie tries to explain to him that our car needs to go on a barge in the next 2 hours and we desperately need the fax. He asks “Mr Sudanese” to speak to the passport lady who has since entered the scene. She speaks to “Mr Sudanese” and then takes the phone to the boss man who also speaks to “Mr Sudanese.” We have no idea what is said, because it is all in Arabic and no one speaks to us.
Phone back to Willie and “Mr Sudanese” tells Willie to call “our man” again which Willie did. “Our man” tells Willie to call him back in 10 minutes – he will try to speak to “Mr Sudanese” Willie calls him back in 10 minutes - this time to hear that “Mr Sudanese” wants more money before they will fax it! Willie calls “Mr Sudanese” again to try to explain our dilemma. The phone goes dead – out of minutes! We now realize that the chances that we are going to miss the barge are getting bigger and bigger by unsuccessful minute after another.
12pm: The passport lady and passport boss lock their offices – time for lunch. We are left without words as we realize our car will not be on the barge and we not on the ferry. The Brits call us. Willie explains our situation. They are still hopeful and say they will try to stall the barge loading…maybe we will be successful after lunch!
The waiting room is getting hotter, the photo-paintings uglier, the walls are closing in. Hugo and Andrej go find us something to eat. I start to feel sick and go to the car to be with Sammie. To have the phone recharged is a major operation – all of us in the car, fight the traffic until we hope to find a Vodafone. Before we do that we discover that there is an open internet line in the building. Willie speaks to “our man” again and he says he will pay “Mr Sudanese” and we can refund him when we come to Khartoum! (if …!)
1pm: Lunch is over and the passport lady and passport boss are back. Willie skype-calls “Mr Sudanese” who tells Willie he will fax the permission in 5 minutes. 10 minutes later: no fax. Willie calls “our man” again and he asks Willie to call him back in 10 minutes. Willie calls him back in 10 minutes. He says permission was given, but now it is only a transit visa – we will have 5 days! (That is ok - all we want is the fax) 15 minutes later – no fax – we cannot get hold of “Mr Sudanese”; “our man” cannot get hold of “Mr Sudanese” either. He has turned his phone off for the rest of the afternoon and the evening. No contact. Willie goes to the passport lady to ask if there is a way that they can help us – maybe call the Sudanese embassy in Khartoum – it is from them that the permission must come. She informs Willie with an emotionless face that they can do nothing – they do not call – they can only give us visas if they receive the fax! “Come back tomorrow.”
3pm: We have to leave the Sudanese embassy, because they are closing for the day.
We miss the barge, so that means another week in Aswan till the next barge and ferry go! All 4 of us are drained and tired. We buy an ice-cream on the river walk; we have a quarrel; we are fed-up with everything: with strangeness, with strangers, with beggars, with hawkers, with peddlers, with interferers, with hasslers; we have hit the wall!
We decide to stay in the hotel where we were going to (if our car was on the barge) – it is cheaper than our campsite in Cairo and we do not have the energy to deal with finding a campsite, unpacking, cooking food, packing up again. All we want to do is what Albert Hamilton sings: “go out, damn it, close the door, don’t slam it, let me be alone awhile, to give my nerves a rest!” We want to close and lock a door, lie on a mattress, fall asleep and not be harassed by thoughts of visas; unsuccessful calls to and from Sudan; mounting frustration and feelings of helplessness - just for a couple of hours.
Later, when it is cooler we discover an ice-cold, beer glass size, green, sugar cane drink – sweet, sweet… which we have with popcorn! An extremely sweet ending to a bitter, bizarre day!
4 April, Monday
I go with Willie to the embassy, but sit in the car with Sammie. His presence calms me and I do not have to look at the ugly walls and doors on the first floor that freak me out. I try to read, but it is unsuccessful; I try to write the blog, but have no words; I try to look at my e-mails, but my eyes do not work. All I want to do is collapse under the strain of the incredible uncertainty…and I cannot get a grip on it however much I want to…
Willie comes back to the car at 12pm. It is lunch! The situation looks grim. No fax, no idea what the deal in Khartoum is. We return to the hotel.
Willie and I take Sammie for a walk. I stay at the hotel and crash into a semi-comatose state. Willie returns to the embassy for another afternoon of: calls from Willie to “Our Khartoum man” to “Mr Sudanese” to promises of faxes sent; to no faxes received; to copies of receipts faxed; to news that faxes of copies of receipts mean nothing; to more calls; No-fax-No-help.
Willie comes back to the hotel after 3 tired and dejected.
5 April, Tuesday
Another day…Willie takes the car for an oil change and from there goes to the embassy again. No news, no fax. He speaks to “our man” who tells Willie that “Mr. Sudanese” has told him that the fax was sent. It is not a transit visa anymore, but a month visa. It is the strangest, most confusing situation and one does not know who to believe, what to believe. Hope soars with news, but then plummets, crashes and dies after a few hours when what was said or promised does not materialize. How long does it take for a fax from Khartoum in Sudan to reach Aswan in Egypt? Willie begins to wonder if they hand carry the faxes…?
Another warm afternoon in the Sudanese embassy and then at 2 pm:
The passport lady appears to tell Willie that she has received the fax and that he must come back the next morning!
6 April, Wednesday, Aswan: We have our Sudanese visas in hand after almost 3 agonizing weeks of emotional yo-yo-ing, uncertainty, helplessness, frustration and stress.
I receive the following message from Ruco, our oldest son in the States, who has figured from my e-mails and face book updates that I am an emotional mess:
"hey ma chillax - dis net "another day in paradise"
Reading those words was like taking a strong dose of some kind of medication – chillax…added to Hugo’s question: “What is the worst that can happen?”
It is time for me to stop and enjoy this day of today in paradise!