Visas, Bribes and a Fall From Grace

Through one of five small glass windows that line the narrow hallway of the Immigration office I bend down to the small circular cut-out to speak to the woman there who tells me to come back in an hour.

“You’re kidding!” I say.

She doesn’t say anything, she just stares me down. Typical West African service really.

I go back after an hour and have to deal with a man this time.

“What hotel are you staying in?” he asks me

I show him my hotel key which has the name on it

“That is not the hotel you wrote on your form” he tells me. “It is an offence to lie on this. You will be in trouble”

“It is the hotel I wrote on the form” I protest. I take the form from him and point to where I had clearly written the hotel name and address.

“I need to call the hotel and check you are a guest”

He leaves me alone in the tiny box of a room standing amongst piles and piles of unfiled loose papers. I am starting to sweat and shake – probably looking as suspect as he is trying to make me out to be, but really the Imodium has clogged me up and I’m worried it’s about to spill out my nose and ears.

He comes back in the room and tells me my passport will be ready to be picked up Monday.

“No way! No I have to have it now! I have to leave this city now!” I tell him.

He tells me he could process the visa today but it will cost more money. Ah ha! It all clicks into place in my sick-foggy brain and I realise he wants a bribe.

“So how much does it cost to process it quicker?” I ask

10’000CFA ($18 AUD) he tells me and I pay it.

He tells me to be back at 6:30pm for my passport and visa and I leave a little chuffed… I’ve never paid a bribe before and it all felt pretty novel.

I get back to my hotel, I am annoyed that I have to stay one more night in Cotonou as I’d planned to leave the city that day. I am about to sneak into my room when the security guy on the gate stops me and starts reading from a piece of paper.

“Give me your number” he reads in terrible English

“I don’t even know your name. We’ve never even spoken” I say to him “Why would I give you my number?”

He is obviously confused. His recent English lesson didn’t account for any response.

“Give me something to remember you” he reads off his paper.

I really lose it now!

“Want, want, want! Everyone here wants something from me”

I storm off in a huff

*

Back in queue in the small, airless narrow hallway of the immigration office I am approached by the man I paid a bribe to that morning.

“What is the problem?” he asks clearly agitated by my presence.

“You told me to come back at 6:30” I tell him

“So what is the problem” he repeats tapping his watch

Thinking we got the times mixed up and I was late I stammer

“But its only 6!”

“Exactly!” He tells me and brushes past into his little office.

How can I be in trouble for being early? I wonder baffled.

I stay at the back of the queue for a while letting others go before me until just before 6:30 when another man comes out of the office and says “He will do the visa for you now”

Now? I wonder. Why not seven hours ago when I was here last, or three days ago when I first saw him?

I am kept waiting in the hallway, watching the two receptionist huddled around a 1960’s typewriter dabbing at the document with a bottle of white-out. Finally I am called back into the poky little room, both men in there are scrabbling through various boxes of passports looking for mine. It is mildly amusing how disorganised everything is.

The man I had bribed earlier flicks through my passport before saying “Not ready, pick up Monday”

“I am leaving tomorrow!” I screech in a voice that could crack glass.

“Not my problem” he says

“Then give me my passport” I demand rudely.“I will leave this country now. I hate this place. I hate this city. I hate this country. Give me my passport! I am leaving now!”

I will be the first to admit that this definitely was not my most graceful moment.

He hands me my passport and stabs his finger into a piece of paper

“Sign” He demands

I snatch my passport back

“What am I signing?”

“Sign” he insists

“I want a receipt!” I tell him. He ignores me. “I need proof that I tried to get a visa so I can get back across the boarder and out of this hole”.

I know I was out of line. Insulting someone’s country is not something I’m in the habit of, but it was a build up of frustration from the last four days that finally reached boiling point, and boy was steam blowing!

The other man speaks for the first time: “You have a visa”

“But I didn’t get a visa” I pant exasperated.

He just shrugs and the other man is still waiting for me to sign. I flick through my passport and there is my Benin visa. What’s more is it is stamped from three days ago when I first handed the visa in. This prick had made me wait days, come back twice and pay him a bribe and the visa had been there the whole time! What’s more is this little act he just put up was to get more money from me!

I look at them both shocked. I am speechless. I pick up the pen and sign.

“Your number” he tells me

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Go!” he say