Visa battles and settler pogroms...

As many of you know I went to renew my visa this week in Jerusalem. It was the beginning of two days of being exposed to Israel and Israelis, and I have to be honest: It weren't the happiest days of my life.

A warning from the start: this story won't be short, for the simple reason that it can not be. A lot happened in these two days and if you'll feel drained after reading this story, you'll feel similar to the way I felt when I finally came back to Nablus thursday night.

It all began on wednesday morning, I had spend the night at a friend's place in Ramallah, because I had an early appointment in Jerusalem. I rushed out of his house at 7:30 in the morning, to be at my 8:45 appointment. I was expecting to be back in Nablus that same night, because my appointment was so early in the morning.

In the bus driving through Qalandia checkpoint I was slightly worried, because my visa had already expired. The annoyed looking, gum chewing Israeli girl soldier checked (type American uninterested, arrogant "what evah" teenager)my passport and didn't say anything. Okay... next hurdle, one step closer to a new visa.

In Jerusalem I hurried to be in time for my appointment in the Ministry of Interior in West-Jerusalem. With a red head I had my bag checked by the guard and walked through the metal detector. I ran up the stairs and was exactly on time. Of course all the appointments were a little delayed so I had to wait for 10 minutes. It gave my time to rehearse the false alibi I had come up with, because mentioning one word about Palestine would mean exit straight away.

When it was my turn, the mean looking lady helped me in a very pleasant way. She told me that I was in the wrong place. To be more precise: I had made an appointment for the wrong place. She told me that I had to go to the ministery of interior in East-Jerusalem. I was completely confused. How could that be? I had come to the ministry before and when I explained to them that I wanted to renew my tourist visa they had rudely given me this phonenumber that I had to call. The woman I got on the phone, after randomly pressing a 'one' upon hearing a Hebrew spoken tape (how ridiculous is that... how many people that want to renew their visa are able to speak Hebrew?!), also failed to mention me that I should go to East-Jerusalem. Even after she asked me all the complete details: what kind of visa I had and what it was that I exactly wanted. Why??
Anyhow, the woman behind the desk was friendly and she tried to explain to me where I had to go. She wrote down the address on a piece of paper and gave me good directions.

At least that's what I thought. But when I was close to the place where the ministry was supposed to be I began to doubt. It was supposed to be close to the Israeli police station in East-Jerusalem. So I thought naively, that if I would just go there, these police officers would be able to tell... because after all they are police officers and the ministry of interior is not just any place.
After I asked one of them, he answered me vaguely, and immediately began greeting this other police man that was approaching. He just ignored me! When he finally turned around again, he addressed me in underdeveloped English. I told him I needed to get my visa extended and that it was supposed to be close. He and his colleagues wanted to send me to the American consulate. In the end they told me they had no idea and that I should ask a taxi driver. For god's sake?!!! A taxi driver?! I had even shown them the streetname on the piece of paper I got, but all of them stared at it like cows. These were Israeli police men but they didn't even know the names of their "own" (occupied) streets...
After this encounter an hour of searching began, where I was misdirected by both Israelis and Palestinians. Even the supposedly all-knowing Israeli taxi drivers didn't know what I was talking about. At that point I felt a little despair, walking around with my expired visa.

In the end a Palestinian man drove me to the ministry and I soon found out why I hadn't been able to find it. This was the 'Palestinian' ministry of interior. It wasn't just randomly based in East-Jerusalem. All people waiting in line were Palestinians, except for me and some Aruban guy who I had a little talk with in Dutch. I'm still not sure whether the Israeli police men really didn't know the place or whether they just didn't want to know the place.
And I've read before about how Israeli taxi drivers aren't able to find any streets in East-Jerusalem. The Palestinians on the other hand didn't know where I was going, because the nice Israeli lady had written the streetname in the Hebrew version of it.. which is not the original name it is known by, by Palestinians from East-Jerusalem. Damn... welcome to the fucked up situation of Jerusalem: two cities in one, or better said> two worlds in one city.

So there I was at 10:30, at the 'right' ministry of interior. Apparently the West-Jerusalem ministry of interior is only for Jewish people. I had seen an American guy there, but he was Jewish as well (as I could tell because he was wearing his kepa). The two ministries couldn't have been more different, and by that I mean not only 'population' wise. The entrance to the ministry resembled that of the toughest checkpoints. Honestly, I've never had this much trouble entering any checkpoint. To begin with before I could go wait in line with the other people, I had to cross a turning stile. The light was red and it was closed. The guard told me, after I tried to push it a few times to see if it was really closed, that I had to wait until there was space. According to him it was full now... but I only saw around thirty women (men and women have divided lines) waiting and there was more than enough space to join them. Mean while next to me, the men were walking through the turning stile one by one.. apparently for them it wasn't full, eventhough the line of men was three times as big as the line of women. Welcome to the random behavior of Israelis.

After 15 minutes I was finally allowed through. I was finally allowed to stand in line with the other women, in this windy corridor. It made me wonder: How do they do this in winter, or when it rains? As I saw it, the openings didn't contain mechanisms to close in case of bad weather. In West-Jerusalem there was a security check as well, but it took two minutes of my time. Here the security check made me wait in line for half an hour. It was completely ridiculous. First I had to wait, until I was able to go wait in line, to be allowed inside to wait in line again, but this time for the thing I came here to do. And then I even forget to mention that inside there was another line for the information desk, the only place where you were able to get a number. The same paper versions we in Holland have in machines, where you just grab one and walk on.

At the security check I was asked to remove my shoes and walk through the metal detector. My bag was vigorously checked, but that seemed to be carried out completely random. I had my bag checked three times (because I went there three times in total)and every time they 'removed' different items from my bag, saying I was not allowed to take these items inside. However, the content of my bag was all three times exactly the same. The last time the girl checking me made me leave behind my eyeshadow... even though I had several other boxes of eyeshadow in my bag, and the first times no-one made a fuss about it. I guess she liked the color and just wanted to see if it looked good on her...

At the information desk I told them that I wanted to extend my visa. The guy gave me a form to fill in and a number. He told me that after that I had to go to desk number 1. But because he gave me a number I assumed (I don't know... is it that stupid?)that I had to wait until my number came up and then go to desk number 1. Otherwise why would he had given me the number?? So I waited. There were thirty people waiting in front of me and the progress in the line was dead slow. I had plenty of time to observe the people waiting and the Israelis behind the desks. It was quite funny to see the Israelis speaking Arabic with the people and they were treating them quite nice. I saw several smiling faces and it made me feel somewhat good to see this for once.
When I went to ask the guy at the information desk something, he asked me whether I had already handed in the form at desk 1. I replied that I thought I had to wait. He said that he had told me to go there and that they would call me than and that I didn't need to follow the number. Huh?! I was flabbergasted.
In the end the number was only to distinguish between the people who had handed in forms... who was entitled to go first, but the exact number didn't matter.

It felt weird to just go to desk 1 while they were busy dealing with someone and hand in the form. It seemed so disorganised. Around the desk around five or six people were waiting their turns, like vultures around their preys. It was a situation of fending for yourself and not caring about how long others had already been waiting there.

When I handed in my form, I was immediately addressed in Dutch by a man that was sitting next to the woman dealing with the applications. I was shocked, it was a bit creepy. I don't think he could have read that quickly from my form that I was Dutch... He was very nice and asked me some superficial questions, which I loved because they were perfect for my superficial alibi of being a stupid tourist.
He told me to go sit and wait again, until they would call me to the desk. So I did. In the meanwhile I had been in the ministry of interior for more than 3 hours already, without accomplishing anything.

When I was finally called, I was transferred to desk 2. The man who had all the time been sitting behind desk 1 transferred with me. I'm not sure whether he was interested in me, suspicious of me or just found it cool to practice his Dutch. Anyway, he was very very nice and made me feel like a normal human being. The girl sitting behind desk 2 was not that nice. She looked at me with a horrible look in her eyes.
They asked me a few questions, but I was surprised... I'd expected that they would have asked more questions and more difficult ones. It seemed to go quite well.
But then the girl told me that she needed evidence that I was staying in Jerusalem. I asked her what sense that made, since being a tourist, I don't have a permanent residence: that's what tourists do... they travel. I told her that I had only been in Jerusalem for 2 days because I came back from Haifa. She said that she didn't care about that but needed the evidence.

I was screwed, because I had already told them that I was staying in some hostel in Jerusalem. Now I had to get receits of the past days of that particular hostel. The girl also informed me that I had to prove that I was indeed taking a year of from college between my bachelor and master, by showing them a letter of the university stating that I would take part in one of their programmes. What?! I told them that I hadn't applied yet. But what do they need it for anyway?
The guy smiled at me and said that they really wanted to help me, but that their boss was just being difficult. It may sound stupid, but I actually believed him. HIM, not her... she seemed to want to make it as difficult as possible for me.
If I would give them the receits and a letter stating my motivations to stay in Israel, he told me, that would give me the visa straight away... I didn't have to wait in line again, I could just come up to the desk and they would give me the stamp.
I wanted to move quickly to not waste anymore time.. By then it was 14:10 and I had been busy since 8:45. I told them I wanted to go get the right papers straight away. They told me that it was not really possible anymore, since they closed the door at 3. Damn.. the old city was quite a walk away from there.

Afterwards I called my friend and he told me that one of his friends owned a hostel in Jerusalem.. unfortunately the wrong one. I didn't really know what to do. But he proposed to ask the guy if he could arrange anything for me at the hostel I mentioned. In the end these people from the hostels all knew each other very well and because of my friend they were willing to help me. I was saved!!
I had to wait two more hours, but after that I went to the hostel and got the receits that I needed. I was thrilled and thanked them from the bottom of my heart. But something in my head told me not to be too excited because with Israeli officials you just never know, even though they sort of promised to give me the visa... Unfortunately, the next day I proved to be very right on that... TO BE CONTINUED!!!