Wednesdays, Fridays never die at South African embassy

FUNKE ADETUTU

This week’s article is a sequel to the one I did last week titled: In the name of the Father. I could not help but write more on my experience at the South African Embassy again.
I thought the High Commission would have improved on the visa procurement procedure based on the promise made by the head of the Lagos mission, Peter Malepe, at the South African Tourism workshop held in Lagos in June. But the efforts of the mission seem not good enough as several people who had been there had one or two gory tales to tell.
I still recall the how terrible I felt the first Tuesday I was at the mission to submit my application. The mission was already saturated with people. I later learnt from someone that some of them had been there several times yet they never had the opportunity to submit their application. A particular young man lamented bitterly about how he had been there for three consecutive Tuesdays. His category of application was never called.
Luckily for us, I would say. The mission’s door was thrown open at nine that morning. It was earlier than the actual time I was told by a friend, 10 am. That itself was a good sign that things were working the right way.
The consular officer who stood at the door wore a stern look that sent a cold shiver down the spine. “Deposit!” he shouted. The security guards at the entrance echoed the word to the hearing of the waiting applicants. “What does that mean?” I asked the woman who was standing close to me. “It’s for those who had been here before but had not paid the deposit required as a guarantee that they would come back to Nigeria after they arrive South Africa,” she explained.
“Medical!” shouted the consular officer again. I could make something out of this at least. The call was for those who were travelling to South Africa for medical treatment. After this group had been scrutinised, the next group was called. “Training!” the man shouted again. This time, many people rushed through the gate. I was furious with the people even as they rushed like primary school pupils through the gates. This angered the officer and he ordered that those at the tail end of the queue should go out. It was saddening that some Nigerians would never behave in a civil way. I can’t understand why they had to rush and be humiliated in like manner. On a second thought, I would not blame them since their past patience was unfruitful.
If you had been to the South African embassy before, you’d understand the kind of picture I’m trying to paint. The humiliation and inhuman treatment of applicants is disheartening. They stay out in the sun for hours waiting to be called in. There was even no hope that they might be since there was no proper order or arrangement for them to be.
And when I went there the following Tuesday, the consular officers simply called people in at random. He would just look at the crowd and pointed at the elderly, women with infant, and whitemen and women to come in. That’s just by the way. What happened that day simply showed that if you did not belong to any of these categories, you have no chance of submit your application, proto!
After I’d submitted my application, I breathed a sign of relief. But I never knew more shock awaited on the Wednesday I was to pick up my passport. I got there at 9am but the consular did not open until 10. There was still a rush that day as people were eager to get in. our receipts were submitted to the security officer who took them. We waited endlessly for our names to be called as the hours go by. The system was somewhat slow. The names were not called in alphabetical order as I had expected. The security officer would go in to bring the passports that were ‘ready’ to use his word. After I watched as people were handed either their receipt, forms, or passports with or without visa depending on the situation. After I’d waited for more than three hours, my name was called and my receipt was handed back to me. “It’s not ready,” said the security officer, come back on Friday.”
On Friday, I was there! It was the same old story. A young man was angry with the officers on duty when he was told to come back again. “I wasn’t to withdraw my application,” said the young man. This will be the third time I would be coming without getting my passport. The conference I’m going for in South Africa started yesterday and you are telling me to come back,” he complained bitterly.
That was the fate of an average applicant at the South Africa embassy. In fact I must tell you dear readers that I didn’t get my passport until I went back the third time on a Wednesday. The South African High Commission must put the right system in place very fast to ease off the stress and congestion at the embassy very fast so that the promise of come back Wednesday or Friday would be totally erased.