How to Make Friends with Immigration 101

     During my gap year, I spent the summer back in my hometown in Togo conducting interviews for the clinic. Because I was a Hope Through Health volunteer, I was able to live in the compound that was provided for their volunteers. There were several students from Harvard and MIT, a few Peace Corps Volunteers, and some other European volunteers. When I arrived, I met and shared a room with a person who I will call 'Roommate,' a college freshman sent by MIT’s chapter of GlobeMed. Even though I was fresh out of high school and the youngest person in the compound, I still had an entire childhood of experiences living in Kara behind me. This led to a few disagreements between me and the other volunteers, most of which I kept quiet on. 

     Roommate mentioned one night at dinner that she needed to get her visa renewed – tomorrow – the other volunteers casually assured her that she could simply let it expire and go later this week; that you just had to pay a small bribe and nothing horrible would happen. Now, when you purchase a visa at airport immigration, they give you seven days of legal presence and in that time you must go to a gendarme in your area to purchase a long-term visa for the rest of your stay. In case it needs to be explicitly stated, if your visa is expired, you are in the country illegally. 

     When I heard the volunteers’ suggestion, I mentioned that it really wasn’t a hassle to get her visa renewed tomorrow, we could just go and purchase them, and it could be done by the end of sieste. What I wish I had added is this: Complying with a culture of police bribery simply because you are white or are American or can afford it fuels corruption and contributes to the stunted development of post-colonial nations. This has never been and never is okay. But faced with a room full of ivy-league graduates and general adults, I didn’t feel comfortable voicing this particular opinion. So Roommate let her visa expire and when I went to get mine renewed on the second-to-last day she came with me to acquire her new visa. 

     We took taxi motorcycles to the Gendarme (national police) office and dismounted outside. I put my passport and wallet in my helmet and nervously walked in with Roommate behind me. Inside the Gendarmerie are about a dozen dozing men with guns taking their naptime. One of them showed us the room where the officer in question would see us. Already slightly grumpy to be missing his own nap, the Gendarme came in and sat behind his desk in the relatively bare room. Two other armed officers were also there. I began to sweat. 

     Although I had seen my parents handle situations like this before, I had never had to deal with an unpredictable governmental institution like this before, and certainly not while needing to prepare an excuse for the illegally-residing American I brought with me. I was, of course, also aware that I look to this man like any other white woman who arrives in Kara from *insert random western country here.* The process is fairly simple. The stone-faced Gendarme asked for my documents and if I had a photo for my new visa. I apologized and said I hadn’t. He informed me that I could pay the photographer (currently napping) about four dollars to take my picture and that the new visa would be about ten dollars. I agreed, and was all set. I motioned Roommate forward, and since she didn’t speak French, I explained to the Gendarme that she would also need a new visa. 

     He took a look at her papers, and looked up with a frown. “This expired three days ago?” 

     “Yes.” 

     “Why did she not come in sooner to renew her visa?” 

     “I’m not really sure, she apologizes.” 

     Eventually, the questioning ended and the officer pursed his lips in disappointment. “She will have to pay a fine of 150,000 cfa.” 

     This is about $300. I relayed the message to Roommate whose jaw drops open. She got very nervous and said she really didn’t have the money to spend like that. Hearing this, the Gendarme shrugged and had her taken to another room to wait while he completed the paperwork for my visa. 

     Completely silent, I stood in his office panicking, brainstorming of how to address this situation. The gendarme still sat, unamused, at his desk bent over the papers. I glanced around and noticed that he had a tiny electric kettle plugged in in the corner of the room. I glanced from the Gendarme to the kettle and back. 

     “Do you drink coffee?” 

     “Yes.” 

     “I noticed that you have a little kettle in the corner of your office so you don’t miss your afternoon coffee.” He looked up. 

     “Yes, I keep my coffee locked in this desk so nobody will take it.” 

     “What kind of coffee do you drink?” 

     “A special Ethiopian kind that my friend gets me.” 

     “Okay good, because Nescafé is really no good.” The Gendarme cracked a little smile, finally showing some interest in the conversation. 

     “Have you been to Togo before?” 

     “Yes, I grew up here in Kara!” 

     “Really? Where?” 

     “In Chaminade!” 

     “What?!” The Gendarme then administered the ultimate test that you can give a white person standing in your office. He greeted me in Kabiye, and I greeted him back. He broke into a huge grin, jumped up and shook my hand, realizing I even knew the handshake. The Gendarme was transformed from the heat miser to a smiling, cheerful man. We talked for a few more minutes while he finished up some signatures. He had his officers bring Roommate back into the room. He offered to knock her ‘fee’ down to about $20 and handed us our passports and new visas, waiving my fee for the photo. He sent me off with a Kabiye farewell and walked back into his office chuckling. I took a taxi moto home thinking about how I had earned my stripes thanks to coffee and knowing how to say hello in the local language.