Monday, June 29 8:00
in point: I am in front of the Ministry of the Interior, near Lake Anosy, what, according to the Guide Routard, is shaped like a heart. The clerk said that the reception for the practice of visa is at the door 10 that I must go, in the building next door. What does not say is that open at nine. I sit and wait patiently and with an idiotic smile on his face, the result of biofeedback that I'm already doing some days in preparation for the "path of the fighter."
8:30: The building starts to invigorate employees arriving in dribs and drabs: ladies dressed with care, high heels and a trail of scent, officers starched in their blue robes. Take this opportunity to hand-copy the long list of nearly 20 documents (+ 7 photos) necessary to obtain permission. In a strange silence, it's already nine.
9:00: "C'est du drapeau the lever," he said. It all comes out and strutting and respectful, he expects the Malagasy flag is hoisted on the flagpole, the notes of the national anthem and the words of an anonymous official. Celebrated the ceremony, I am going to get back in the queue at the door. Here comes the computer installation specialists. It seems that during the night, and every evening, the office computer information is patiently moved and transported to a - I guess, safer place.
9:30: an employee makes his entrance, crimson lips, saucy hairstyle. Before contacting me, which of course are the first in line, looking absorbed a massive but unknown number of practices. French passport, and Chinese Comorian: immigrants who knock on the door of the Grande Ile. When he finally looks up, turns out to be - bien sûr - in the wrong row. I have to exit the building, go around and go back. Run.
I welcome a lady by the vacant look and a bit 'annoyed. "J'ai des doutes par rapport à la liste de documents, Madame" - I say. Rattles off a few monosyllables, it makes me doubt even understand that the (my) French, but between one thing and another, it helps me to cut back from the list of permissions a couple of entries. When all of my questions have been answered, I open up a broad smile, thank you profusely and walked toward the exit.
10:00: A quick assessment, it appears that the first stage of the journey and the Prefecture of Police Tzimbazaza. I decide to take a taxy, but maybe my intention is not explicit enough, given that the only kind taxi driver to give me directions to get there on foot. Tripped over a hurdle and fall flat on the ground. I get up and go along.
From the information gathered by two or three passers-by, I realize that the goal is not so close, so take a taxy-be, a public transport van. The objective of this first action is to obtain the certificat d'inscription au registre des étrangers de recensement.
In record time, are the police. My ego is pleased satisfied. Too soon - évidemment - whereas, to obtain the certificate, I miss: a request sent to Monsieur the Prefect, an authenticated photocopy of the passport and visa, a residence certificate with photo authenticated by the President of Fokontany, a photo ID and a letter from the university! Copy the list in hand, thank you profusely, I leave the race and readjust my goal, I find the president of Fokontany, or "mayor" of my area of \u200b\u200bresidence. Mounted on a taxy Analakely be in the direction of the market area, where they are housed. The headquarters of the fokontany is at the top of the staircase (Antananarivo means "city of a thousand hills"), just 160 steps away. I climb on the run, for fear of finding closed.
10:50: At the entrance, still all out of breath, make eye contact with a young woman who is stamping receipts. Let me explain what I need and I'll show you the certificate of accommodation issued by my hotel. He walks away. A little later to tell me that I have to go back the next day must submit the request to the district police. I insist that you kindly take care of me more or less immediately. His good heart will decide for you. After another twenty minutes, the President of Fokontany in person ask me to leave my passport to go to the president of the district, that one and only, can give the issue the approval certificate. For fear of missing an opportunity (And my passport), I volunteer to accompany him. We walk for a quarter of an hour, going up four floors, and do ten minutes of waiting we finally received, YOU! Carefully examine the dossier and competent. He shakes his head in disapproval: "Nooooo! Ya !!!": a problem simply states the hotel accommodation, mica to take charge of my expenses! I we need the certification of "prize en charge financière"! I am a bit 'I expected, but for sheer masochistic desire, I'm trying to follow my own logic (errore!). That is: it is clear that I am "invited" by the University of Antananarivo, but they neither pay me or give me a place to sleep. So if you ask me a certificate of accommodation for residence, by those who want to let me do but the hotel? I explain my version of things and you do not know of conviction or resignation, it softens. Unbelievable but true, gives us his blessing (I do not see why he could not do it by phone). The president and I share happy, fumandoci a cigarette on the stairs of the police department.
12:00: clutching the certificate of residence. C'est Le Bonheur!
14:00: Mairie du Ier Arrondissement. The afternoon is devoted to the certification and legalization of all the copies in my possession: passport, visa, card student, solemn declaration that I have never killed anyone etc. etc. The row does not take your breath away and the employees are friendly and helpful. There are at least 10, say, behind a rough wooden tables. Their sole job is to put the stamps, write names, you sign up for big logs, first with the black pen and then with the red pen.
15:45: I have everything I need: a pair of red tones accompanied by signatures and dates on each copy of the 7 needed for difficult procedure.
Tuesday, June 30 9:00 am: I return to the attack to the prefecture of police. Them are already opened. No postulant in view: a good sign? The policeman at the door makes me wait in the hall waiting.
9:30: I begin to wonder why I'm waiting, since there is none. And in fact, the problem is just that: the controller has not yet arrived. D'habitude comes around nine and twenty (already past), or ten. I'm going to have a coffee. On my return, the employee occurs, you should say, in all its power. Proudly presents the documents. Her (she is a) examine it carefully and then tell me that "Nooooo! Il ya problème !!!": missing a formal certification of my bond with the University of Antananarivo. But I have an ace up his sleeve: he drew a letter from my supervisor, in which, oui oui oui!, you mention my affiliation with the institution malagasy. Passed the first hurdle.
The unexpected is lurking, however: the dossier should be accompanied by the usual photo ID. I've got six, but I have not yet cut. The pull out and look around for a pair of scissors. The official shook his head scissors do not have any. I can try to find them in the office next door. However, up, down, north and south, in this prefecture of police, there are not just scissors. Even knives. "And how do you - I say - when you break something?" "Madame, we do not need to cut anything!" Replies the clerk angrily. "And if just we needed, we use the ruler "- he adds. "Then I'll try with a ruler" - say, subjected to its logic. Just then, is a nice all-rounder, who graciously gives me a pair of manicure scissors. Cropping, radiant picture. I pay the 10,000 Ar (about 4 €) stamp duty. The official wrote me a receipt: "It can take two days, in the afternoon." "But how, in two days? "Ah yes! - She does-the prefect there. Maybe come back tomorrow, but it is not known at what time. If your in a hurry, however, try a ride in the afternoon. Good luck. " I thank you profusely. The next day, at 15, the certificate is ready. Wednesday, July 1
I get the official letter of invitation, logo in green and two firmette, with the stamp of the University of Antananarivo.
8:05 Thursday, July 2: I'm ready to go to the Home Office with my dossier. "Tout dossier incomplet irrecevable East," warned the mandatory sign at the entrance. The office closes at 11. But I find myself on the taxy-be wrong, to wander for a gray and drizzly but Tana completely new, which I find residential areas with views, villas with lush gardens, a prestigious high schools, paved streets and neat red-brick churches. The market of Analakely, smells and swarming with human misery, is far down there. Of the lake, to Anosy, the heart-shaped, not even the shadow. However, my mind is calm and relaxed, take pleasure in the flânerie on four wheels. Sink in the spirit of "mora mora", I can go to events, slide the time without moving a muscle, in perfect silence, without asking when or why.
10:00: My Enlightenment suggests to me that if I keep wandering in that I run the risk of not getting rid of the precious paper burden. Jump down from a race shop and be taxy in taxy.
But when there is a choice, the "default default" is taxation. The taxy remains imprisoned in the famous and unavoidable "embouteillages" Tana: huge traffic jams and unavoidable. The inexorable passage of time. I still have faith and an idiotic smile on his face.
10:50: I am in front of the Ministry of the Interior. I sling the office of desires. The employee, the same as Monday, possibly because it is more meaningful now to close, I receive. He began to examine my file. There seems to be everything, but ... "Nooooo! Ya problem!! Madame la demande au Ministre! "- He shakes his head disapprovingly. But I've got, la demande! "The forms, Madame! La forme n'est pas bonne! "-" But why is it written by hand? "-" No no, that's not the problem. It is the form, Madame. " I have to write - and meanwhile, do with graceful, pulls out an example written by someone who knows what - SO! And that's when I realize that you forgot to introduce all the formulas learned, like "Dear Mr. Minister, I have the honor to address the demand for his supreme benevolence, bla bla bla ... I hope I can count on your generous consideration bla bla bla ... I'll send my most respectful and kind regards, etc.. etc. etc... " I copy everything quickly, in my best handwriting. Time is limited. The door closes, but while the woman is already written on a piece of paper the date for the withdrawal of the visa, or rather, the token of the payment that I do. I've done? "When your visa expires?" "On July 25, why?" "Then you can switch between three weeks" "But I have to go on mission in the province" "Well ... then move on Tuesday!" "And why not Monday ? "" Because I have many issues to be examined. " Unbelievable but true, I am extremely grateful to the high benevolence of this creature. Maybe Tuesday will tell me that my file is rejected. Please, Madame, do not give me bad news. I believe that the worst is over.
has passed?
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