4. Contrasts and the paper chase – Part II

Shiny new passport in hand, next job was to get my Kuwait residency visa transferred from the now cancelled one.  Under Kuwait law there's a few days' grace given for this to be completed, but I had a much more pressing deadline.   I was due to fly home to see Sharon over the National Day/Liberation Day holiday the following week.

Previous experience of dealing with officialdom in Kuwait suggested visa transfer would involve a LOT of paperwork, a LOT of carrying it from one place to another and a LOT of waiting.  And not only paper, but signatures and stamps (rubber and revenue - although residency transfer is supposed to be free), and lots of staples to keep it all together.

Accompanied by the endlessly patient Rana, our company driver and general assistant, to guide me through the process and provide translation where required, we head for the nearest Ministry of Interior office located in a complex below Kuwait's Liberation Tower (shown above).  We approach reception, hustle through the massed ranks and eventually attract the attention of one of the two Kuwaiti ladies behind the desk - unless enforced, queuing or even waiting in turn is an alien concept here.  I show my passports and Rana explains what we wish to do.  We're told we need to complete a form. 

This means going to another office where I hand my passports and civil ID card over to one of four guys sitting at computers – and one actually working a manual typewriter.   All seems to be going well till there's an exchange in Arabic and Rana starts to look worried.   It seems the guy's suggesting we need to have an original and a certified copy of the sponsor's (my company's sponsor's) signature.  No foreign entity or individual can do anything (or even be) in Kuwait without a sponsor.  Ours sits in Ahmadi, a town about 30km and a 45-minute drive south of Kuwait City.  Our sponsor is a subsidiary of the national oil company and therefore a government entity and it's already gone 3:00pm, their office will now be closed.

Rana suggests we try winging it, his rationale being that it's me who's asking for the residency transfer, not the sponsor.  After getting both passports and my civil ID photocopied by the full-time photocopier operator at 100 fils per page, we head back to reception where Rana enquires if the job can be done on the strength of my signature alone.   We're directed to the Manager. He turns out to be a rather nervous looking young guy in national dress sitting at one end of a large open area with a range of cubicles worked by mostly abaya-clad young women on one side and punters waiting to be seen by them on the other.  The nervous Manager rapidly concludes our enquiry requires yet higher authority and we're directed to his Manager.

The Manager's Manager is a uniformed guy with separate office round the corner.  Most Kuwaiti officials of this seniority seem to operate an open-door policy which means you have to hover within eyesight outside the door till they motion you forward.  This works and all seems quite informal, but also means they can be, and are, interrupted by anyone else who comes by with a problem, or to have a chat, a cup of tea and a smoke or whatever.  This guy seems quietly efficient though and after listening to Rana's explanation scribbles 'not required' (in Arabic obviously) on the form where the sponsor's signature should go.

Thus authorised, we return to reception where the papers are re-stapled, I sign the form and we are given a numbered ticket for their queuing management system.  We head back to the waiting area and… wait. 

Before too long however, we're summoned to one of the cubicles where a young, black-clad Kuwaiti girl with heavy black eye makeup starts keying in my new passport info.  Moments later there's evidently a problem and, though I'm sitting at her desk, she ignores me and beckons Rana forward with an imperious tilt of her head.   She's not happy about the absence of the sponsor's signature.  Rana gently explains the manager's manager had said, and confirmed in writing, that it was ok.  Not content, she heads off to his office to investigate further. 

She returns looking grim and I fear the worst.  But she flounces back into her seat, complains loudly to her neighbour while flourishing my form, which has a lot more writing on it that it had, then takes it all out on her keyboard.  I venture to think I'm home and dry, but no, Rana is summoned again.

While my passport is clearly new, she wants to know where it was issued.  I confirm it was the British Embassy in Kuwait and Rana translates.   But it doesn't actually say that anywhere in the passport, just that it's been issued under the 'Authority' of the FCO (Foreign and Commonwealth Office).   More keyboard thumping ensues and Rana retires only to be signalled forward yet again.

It seems the computer system says there's a KD10 (£23/$34) penalty to pay, on my new passport, which is only two days old.  For what she cannot or will not explain and try, calmly, as he might, Rana can't get any clarity. 

In the interests of getting the transfer completed, I decide to pay regardless and she prints the penalty notice, which we have to take to the cashier at yet another desk.   Rana tries to unscramble the issue here too, but only gets told something about the grace period for transfer being only five days – but my passport is dated Feb 15 and today is Feb 17!  I part with KD10 and we return to madam who thankfully has not decided to take another customer.  Rana valiantly tries once again to get her to explain the fine, but she simply shrugs and blames the computer system.  (Later, back at the office, a literal translation of the penalty notice reveals I've been fined for having "Transferred information while out of the country", whatever that means, even though my old passport and her own computer records clearly showed I hadn't left Kuwait). 

Deal done, she sticks the new visa in my new passport and then staples it – STAPLES IT – to my old one and hands it over.  I can't get out quick enough, terrified I'm going to burst at the injustice of it all. 

I suppose we could have gone back to the uniform to complain, but I feared that could have resulted in further 'difficulty' and perhaps an insistence on acquiring the sponsor's signature – at best.  I needed my passport and visa to be in order and with me to be sure of being able to fly the next week.  I suppose an afternoon of frustration and KD10 is not too bad for such peace of mind.