The next day I went to ministry of interior again, with high hopes of getting my visa. I felt that not much could go wrong anymore, because I was helped by more or less friendly people, that showed their willingness to help me.
When I passed the security check I immediately walked up to desk number 1, as the guy had told me to do. The girl that had dealt with me was sitting there. She recognized me. The friendly guy was nowhere to be seen. When she was finished with the person in front of me, I went to sit down. She took the documents I had collected and asked me for my number. Number? I told her that her coworker had said to me that I didn’t need one, right under her eyes. She became rude and just kept telling me that I needed to get a number.
So I went to stand in line to get a number. The Palestinian man that had been standing behind me, and had a small chat with, also came up to the desk. Apparently she had told him the same. He was also taking by surprise that he had to take a number, it was not just me. He was clearly annoyed and started yelling at the people behind the desk. As I was silently undergoing their stupidity, he couldn’t bear any longer. Because I was in the same situation as him, he tried to help me cut in line and pressuring the Israeli people behind the desk to give me a number quickly. The numbers were just a hand-grab away.
When I went back to the desk, I was helped pretty quickly. The girl took a look at my receipts and for a moment she seemed to be okay with it. But then she exclaimed : “This is only for the last three days”. I couldn’t believe it… was she really the same person that had sat there yesterday and had clearly overheard what the guy had told me? I didn’t want to push my luck and try to tell her politely that that was what we agreed on just yesterday, and that I had explicitly told them that I was only able to provide them with receipts of the last few days.
She just ignored my comments and told me that with this she wasn’t able to give me a visa. I told her again that I was travelling and had just come back to Jerusalem. She asked me cynically: “So you only stayed in Jerusalem for three days?” She tricked me there, because when I told her that I had stayed in Jerusalem for three weeks in October, she just told me without any mercy that I needed to provide her with evidence of that. I told her that I couldn’t get her that, because it was a long time ago and I wasn’t whether the hostel could still provide me with that.
She obviously didn’t care. I had to get it. By then it was 11 and she told me I had to get back for 12, because after that they wouldn’t allow any people in. I looked her into her eyes, trying to find some sympathy and cried out: “Are you serious? I can never be back her before 12, it’s all the way up in the old city.”
I was incredibly disappointed seeing myself already returning to the ministry for a third day on a row, because of my bad luck with their closing hours. Half an hour extra would have saved me, and the day before I would have been able to make it as well. That’s when her steel cover began to melt a little and she told me that she could give me a special permission to come in after 12, but no later than one ‘o clock. She wrote something on a paper and she told me that she would inform the guards and that when I came back I had to address them and they would allow me to go in.
At the hostel, the staff wasn’t really happy with my request. I needed a declaration from them that I had stayed with them, which I obviously hadn’t. They were, understandingly, a bit wary about committing fraud for some girl they didn’t even know. I could have been a spy for all they knew. I could have gotten them in a lot of trouble. So they told me that they couldn’t do it, because if someone came to check their books it would turn out that they lied.
I wasn’t sure what to do next. I called my friend, he told me that he could help get a declaration from the other hostel without any problems, because his friend would definitely do that for me. I told him that I had already told the ministry were I had been staying. My friend asked me to give the phone to the manager, that was at that point trying to sleep in one of the rooms. I felt really embarrassed to walk into that room to ask him for this favor while he was half asleep. After a long time he finally agreed to sign the document and I couldn’t find words for the gratefulness I felt for these strangers that helped me out, putting themselves at risk, without anything in return.
Relieved that I would soon have my visa I headed back to the ministry. Again I was naïve for thinking that it had to be over soon. Welcome to Israeli bureaucracy from the top shelve. I arrived there at 12:30 and obviously the gate was closed. I addressed the security guards standing outside, expecting that it would get me in straight away. The young Ethiopian guys, however, were not really interested in helping me, but rather in having a nice little chat with me. I told them I was here before and that the girl had made me go out, but gave me permission to come in.
They had no idea what I was talking about. In reply they asked me where I was from and if I wanted to stay here. I told them I needed a visa now for three more months. “No”, they said, “that’s not what we mean. Do you want to stay here to live here”. I made clear that I had no such plans. They asked me why I didn’t want to live here. As a response I said that I already had gone through so much trouble just to get a simple three month extension that I really didn’t want to. They smiled “If you’re a citizen it is different”. It sure is…
After that they continued their bullshit talk, about going to Holland next week and other crap, and I played along, not wanting to give up my cover yet. I was getting a little impatient because they didn’t seem to make any gesture to get me in. I asked them again and they asked me the name of the girl. I told them I had no idea, because she didn’t say her name to me, but that she was behind desk number 1. That information was of no use for them, as if they weren’t people working in the same building as her, but just people passing by in the street.
I emphasized again how she had promised me to let me in and that she made clear that she would inform the security at the gate of my case. She didn’t and they didn’t care. And then they just went inside, leaving me behind, still thinking that were trying to arrange something for me from their little boot. After a while I realized they were just sitting inside doing nothing. The radio played the song ‘There can be miracles’ of Withney Houston and Mariah Carey, from the Disney film about Mozes. One of the guards sang a long, while I was sitting in the sun next to the security gate. I remembered the sentence of that story: Let my people go…. It kept repeating itself inside my head. I saw little Palestinian girls coming out of school, running by, happy… They looked at me with great curiosity. At that point I realized the complete absurdity of the entire situation I found myself in. Boundaries are fake, passports are fake, visa are fake and even ministries of interior completely sealed by security fences are fake. They are an illusion, that only exist because we believe in them, we believe them to be necessary and give them credibility. It was an absurd thought that this bad tempered woman that was inside the same building I didn’t have access to, was able to decide over my life. Without her permission, her ink stamp, I wouldn’t be able to stay in this land. How completely surreal that seemed at that point. I’m physically here, I’m standing on the land… How can some abstract notion change that. It is a bizarre world we live in.
After a while I guess the guards realized that I wasn't going anywhere... or they were just given orders to let me wait for half an hour. Anyhow one of them asked whether I had a telephone. I sure did. He told me I could maybe try to call the people inside: The association with ordinary people passing by in the street keeps coming back up. Professionality is some concept that still needs to be applied here. I told them I didn't have the number. What a surprise it was that they went inside to get it for me: wow, how incredibly thoughtful! When I dialed the number I was given two options: Hebrew and Arabic. I told this to the guards and they were like: "Just call again, press for Hebrew, the person that picks up will probably be able to speak English". So I followed 'their orders'. The phone rang and rang and kept ranging, but no-one answered. I informed the soldiers on this and finally they showed some willingness to help me. As if it was the easiest thing to do (and I guess it was) the guard took his portophone and contacted someone from inside. He came back to me and told me that they were now checking to see if I had the permission. Ten minutes later the light above the gate turned finally green.
But then I still had to go through the security and as told before they found new stuff that they wanted to confiscate from me(given back when leaving), even though they already had a plastic bag with my name on it.
After that I passed the 'number desk'... I just felt like resisting and I didn't take a number on purpose. 10 minutes later, when I was waiting, I decided to come back and get a number after all. I was tired and I could just imagine that girl sending me to get that stupid number. Not only was I tired, I was completely fed up with the sick games they've been playing with me. Welcome to sadistic Israel.
Finally it was my turn, AGAIN.. and I gave her the paper. I kind of knew that she had to have some comments on it and she did. She asked why the hostel didn't put a stamp. I had foreseen that. I had asked the hostel for a stamp, but they didn't have any. I had tried to attach the business card of the hostel to it, to at least have something, but of course... very unconvincing. I let her know that the hostel has offered to call them if there were any problems. She went away to 'consult' it with her supervisor. A long time passed. When she came back she told me that her supervisor was calling the hostel to ask why they didn't have a stamp....
Then finally finally the words that I had been waiting to here for two days now: We will give you the visa. BUT... (no....... no but's, I hate but's!) we will have to discuss for how long we will give it to you. And then she went away again. She came back with her supervisor and the supervisor began to ask me difficult questions, trying to catch me on a lie. The strange thing was that the girl and the supervisor were talking to each other in Arabic, between asking me the questions. After everything was finished they were talking to each other in Hebrew again. They apparently expected my Hebrew to be better than my Arabic. If only I really knew Arabic...
Then she started filing me in the computer and in the meanwhile she told me that they decided to give me the visa, but only for the duration of one month. She presented this to me as if she was doing me a huge favor, giving me something really big. 'This is our country and every day you spent here is dependent on our approval'. She didn't forget to mention that I had to renew it in one month and that I was not allowed to ever come back here again to renew my visa. At that point I couldn't care less and I was really hoping I never had to set foot in that building again.
I was the last person leaving the ministry and when I was walking through the corridors I couldn't help but mumble: Viva Palestine. Pathetic, but I felt the urgent need to express my beliefs right there and then. I felt if I didn't do that I might explode from all the lies that had been building themselves up inside my body.
Before I left they had saved me one last trick, even though I was given the visa already. I have to admit: "Well done there, in making people's lives as annoying as possible". The Dutch IRS has a slogan: We can't make it more fun, but we cán make it easier. This ministry seems to abide by the exact opposite: We can't make it more fun, but we cán make it more difficult.
When I had taken my bag from the exit and was walking away, it was only after a hundred metres that I realized that with these Israeli people I really had to check the bag they had just given back to me, to see if everything was in there. Was I surprised or not, when I found out that my eye shadow was missing? I don't know.
When I went back I told that the guard that my eye shadow was not in my bag. He asked me if I checked. I affirmed, but of course he just couldn't believe me for my word. He had me empty my entire bag on the pavement, until he was finally convinced. Then he went inside and got me my eyeshadow.
When I was walking away I was barely happy with my newly obtained visa, drained and amazed by this complete show they put up for me.
I went home and then had the most bizarre journey to Nablus ever... because of extreme settler violence, as if wasn't fed up enough already with Israel. More about that in PART III
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1 comment:
I really want to hear what happened next!
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