AND THE WINNER IS...

I came back to the Treasury today. I was supposed to find out whether the Deposit Saga would finish at last or not. I did, and it is a definite end. Is it a happy end, though? I want to maintain the suspense. To find out, you'll have to read through my story.

After work, I took off my flip-flops (the elegant ones) and put on my new shoes (the flowery ones). I checked my fancy dress for chalk stains and hopped into a taxi. At the Trésor, I asked for my friend Madame la Secretary, and confidently stepped into her office, nearly stumbling upon a huge bag full of money, which she was in the proccess of counting (and when I say a huge bag, I mean thousands and thousands of euros). She recognised me, informed her boss of my presence and told me he would see me tout de suite. Instantly suspicious, I answered that it was her who was supposed to take me to the person who would issue a cheque. I am counting the money, madame. Of course.

The tout de suite lasted forty minutes, during which around ten thousand euros were counted. After I reminded the Secretary that I was still there, blocking the entrance to her cubicle, she sighed, got up and went to see her boss again. He was ready to see me. I was not, however, led to the same cubicle-office as yesterday. Instead, Madame la Secretary took me to a different cubicle and a different boss. Not a great sign, I thought. But I politely sat down in the leather chair.

And then, all of a sudden, everything went smoothly. A person was called to bring my documents. I was asked to sign a form (I did, reluctantly, looking for a catch). And then the money was brought. I left the Treasury with 730 000 CFA, the exact amount we had paid in September 2009. I went out quickly, worried that something might still go wrong. Nothing did, though. We won. It's over.

Impossible is nothing! Luckily - these new shoes turned out to be extremely uncomfortable...

The Complete Deposit Saga consists of six episodes. The previous ones are:
1) Out of the Territory or how we gave it a try at the CEDOC;
2) The Odyssey Continues or how we stumbled upon the right track;
3) Show Must Go On or the neverending wait;
4) ...Et la robe doit dépasser les genoux! or our first time at the Treasury;
5) Call Me Josef K. or how I put on new shoes.

CALL ME JOSEF K.

After our first, slightly unsuccessful on my part, visit to the Trésor, we were asked to call the Secretary of the Director General on the following day. We did and, surprisingly, were asked to come in.

I thus put on my only closed shoes, which happen to be pink trainers, and we set off. I was, of course, stopped at the entrance and asked by a superior security guard if I knew how to read. As Jandro went in, the guard pointed to a specified list of clothes which are allowed at the institution, and instructed me to read it carefully, using the familiar form tu, which is unacceptable in an official conversation. I read, took my usual spot outside the building, and waited.

Jandro emerged not long afterwards, saying that Secretary A directed him to Secretary B, who, in turn, told him to come back on Monday, as her Boss was extremely busy. And this is where today's story begins. Jandro being away, I had to pay a visit to Secretary B on my own.

Dressed in an elegant skirt which modestly covered my knees and the black shoes I had dutifully bought on Friday, I stepped through the threshold of Treasury just before 10 am. The security guards scrutinized my feet and must have been satisfied with the huge flowers on top of my brand new fake-suede shoes. Following Jandro's instructions, I found Secretary B's office. She quickly sent me away to Monsieur C's Secretary. Apparently, it was Monsieur C, the vice director of Treasury, who was in possession of my dossier.

Asking around, I managed to find my second Secretary of the day. She occupied one of the many tiny cubicles, and so did Monsieur C (his was slightly fancier but as cramped as the other ones). I sat down in the Secretary's "office", while she explained to me that Monsieur C was a very busy man. I spent an hour waiting for him to find a minute to see me, meanwhile becoming intimate friends with the Secretary.

Finally, I was called in. I opened the door, hit a huge leather armchair, which was blocking the entrance, and squeezed inside. Even though I had never mentioned my name, Monsieur knew exactly who I was. He was indeed in the possession of the dossier but was missing some mysterious "listing", with which I could not supply him. He called me Madame Kaczynski several times and informed me that issuing a cheque would take 24 hours. I was to come back the next day and ask for my friend the Secretary. She would take me to the person who would hand me the cheque.

Stunned, I thanked him and left. The word "cheque" was still ringing in my ears. Was it possible that things would go smoothly from then on? Would I really receive my money tomorrow? My African experience is suggesting only one possible answer to these questions: I have no idea whatsoever!

...ET LA ROBE DOIT DEPASSER LES GENOUX!

The Deposit Saga continues. After five weeks and what feels like three thousand phone calls, we managed to obtain the necessary documents from CEDOC. Our dossier is getting thicker and thicker, and it's now inside a fancy yellow CEDOC folder. We have a valuable signature of the Big Boss, and should thus get our money in no time. However, wouldn't you be surprised if things were this simple? Wouldn't you be disappointed? Relax, no disappointment in stock today. Instead, I will tell you a story of incompetence, flip flops and how I have to go shoe shopping.

Stage two
We were informed at CEDOC that now we were ready to take our dossier to the next level, which turned out to be the Treasury. As the name itself suggests a place where money can be obtained, we were fairly optimistic. This morning, just before nine o'clock, we found out that fairly optimistic could easily be substituted with stupid and naive.

We arrived at the Trésor and were confronted by a queue of roughly thirty people. A few security guards (as usual, with their huge guns at the ready) were hovering about, so we asked one of them what one had to do to get inside the building. He, in turn, informed us that the machines were out of order and thus no work could be done. Wondering if the Treasury was employing state-of-the-art robots which did all the work, we asked if we could maybe talk to someone inside. He said yes, but insisted on the fact that no work could be done whatsoever. Robots got broken, yes, we get it. We entered anyway.

Money money money
Inside, there was a number of people queuing in the general direction of a cubicle, where three women were sitting, staring into space. Clearly, as no work could be done, no work was being done. People were just sitting and waiting. We approached the three ladies and politely explained our situation. Shouting from behind the glass pane, they told us that yes, indeed, it was here where we could pay our deposit. Now it was clear to us how unusual our demand was. We patiently explained the whole thing again. Another lady started shouting to us, which quickly evolved into shouting at us. Indignantly, she said she had no idea what we had to do to get the deposit back and that we should go to the Ministry of Home Affairs and ask them for a special document, which later we should take to the second floor in the Treasury.

We left the ladies in the state of extreme agitation, as we had made them work, even though the machines were out of order.

No flip, just a flop
Still full of positive energy, we decided to head straight for the second floor of the Treasury, happily ignoring the whole Ministry recommendation. We thus walked around the building and reached a parking lot. We continued towards the entrance and, of course, as all other obvious terrorists, were stopped by several heavily armed security guards. The one who talked to us was sitting at a desk, on top of which there were several coffee mugs and lots of snacks. Professional that he was, he leaned in his chair and began:

Mr. Big: Yes?
Jandro explains our business.
Mr. Big: The lady cannot come in.
Me: Why is that, exactly?
Mr. Big: The lady is wearing flip flops and they are not allowed.
Me: I wear these flip flops to official cocktails with ambassadors!
Mr. Big: Flip flops are not allowed. The gentleman can go in.

As Jandro disappeared behind the door, I was told to leave the premises. I couldn't even wait outside with the guards, as it was security zone, where accidents happen. I wanted to make things crystal clear though. I insisted:

Me: So, if I'm wearing sandals but not flip flops, can I come in?
Mr. Big: No, you can't. No sandals. Only closed shoes.
Mr. Big 2 (looks me up and down): And your dress should cover you knees!
Me: As in church, got it.

While I was waiting for Jandro outside, it struck me what great satisfaction it was for the guards to send me away. I probably made their day! And just so you know, I had made a special effort that morning, and I wore a fancy dress (which ended right above my knees), a matching necklace and elegant flip flops.

Epilogue
Jandro managed to pass our dossier to the secretary of the chief of Treasury. My charming boyfriend must have flirted away, for she gave him her number and we're supposed to call tomorrow. The experience left me thinking that I had absolutely no closed dress shoes to speak of. Conclusion: in view of the fact that Jandro is leaving for two weeks and I have several visits to Trésor ahead of me... must go shoe shopping! Soon!

The previous episodes of the Deposit Saga are: Out of the Territory, The Odyssey Continues and Show Must Go On.

SHOW MUST GO ON

You are probably dying to know what the improvements on our dealings with CEDOC are. Today we visited the place once again and, I'm proud to announce, I have news. This means that we have not yet been denied the money. Quite the contrary, actually. If it were Europe, I would already be planning how I would spend it. However, it's not Europe and so I stick to the wise Polish saying: Nie mów "hop!", dopóki nie przeskoczysz (do not say "hop!", until you've jumped, which in English has something to do with counting the chickens, I think). But I'm really getting ahead of the facts here. Let me start from the beginning.

As you know, last week we left our dossier with the Grand Secretary. The dossier consisted of a substantial number of documents, and I must say it looked very serious and important. Upon the Grand Secretary's previous instructions, we called her - several times - on Wednesday and Thursday, and we managed to find out that we were now expected to call a Monsieur A., who happens to be a - and here I really need a dramatic pause - a very important VIP. We called, were informed that he had been instructed to take care of us, and we fixed an appointment for the next morning.

We thus got up today, dressed elegantly, put on some make-up (me) and a tie (Jandro), and called Monsieur A. to let him know we would be in his office in twenty minutes. Apparently, this was all the time he needed to disappear, because, when we got to CEDOC, he had just left. We were, however, encouraged to wait patiently, which we did. Contrary to what we thought, le Monsieur came back around half an hour later. He was a short man, wearing the characteristic African suit (with the short-sleeved shirt/jacket), who kept pressing a tissue onto his huge nose, while he complained about his cold. He was very cordial and invited us into his office, which was what I've always imagined the inside of my head to look like: a gigantic - in a sense impressive - mess.

We sat down and waited. Monsieur A. had a lot of things to deal with but he did find a moment to send somebody to look for our dossier. We chatted about Gabon and the hospitality of its people, often interrupted by phone calls and people popping in and out. Finally, our dossier appeared. We were only to submit the original of our deposit receipt (which we were reluctant to part with but we did get a certified copy) and then I was asked to sign two copies of an official petition to be reimbursed the money.

Of course, this is not the end. The procedure continues as follows: CEDOC will urgently handle our documents as early as Monday. After they commence the reimbursement process, the CFO himself will call us and we will pick up our dossier with all the CEDOC authorisations. All this should happen around Wednesday. Afterwards, we will go to the Trésor Public (Treasury, is it?) and they will give us the money.

Clearly, if you start wondering how many things can still go wrong (our dossier gets conviently lost with the original receipt, le Trésor ignores us, etc.), I am still far from jumping from excitement. And since I'm not jumping, I'm not saying "hop!" as of yet, just to be on the safe side.

The picture comes from here.

LOST AND FOUND

Initially, I planned a series of posts on our eventful trip to Fougamou, but the most extraordinary thing happened to me today, and so I feel inclined to write it up and tell you the story, thus interrupting the travelling theme.

It all starts with me being an excellent housewife, never ceasing to look for opportunities to spoil her little Chouchou (that's Jandro, in case you're wondering). This morning, excellent housewife that I am, I decided to make a pizza for lunch. By now you probably suspect that I excel in pizzas, and, consequently, you can imagine what a wonderful prospect it was for Jandro and myself.

As I needed to pick up a few things from the supermarket, I took a taxi there and back and set to work. The pizza turned out - surprise! - excellent, and we were both in high spirits when Jandro asked me to give him some change, as he had none. I opened my bag to take out my wallet and... well, my wallet was not there. To make matters worse, I quickly established that it was not to be found anywhere in our flat, and the last time I'd seen it was in the taxi. Either it had been stolen from me or I'd simply dropped it - whatever the scenario, the result was that I lost my treasured, my one and only, my precious carte de séjour. The thing I dreaded ever since I came into possession of the invaluable document became reality. I was now illegal. I had no option but to beg for mercy at CEDOC.

We were advised that the best way of going about the begging was to report the robbery and show the report to CEDOC. We were thus on our way to the police station (me having my third heart attack of the day), when Jandro's telephone rang. It was the EU Chief of Administration's secretary, informing us that somebody had called him saying that... they'd found my wallet. They left a phone number and we called back, rendezvousing with the man tout de suite. Heading for the church where we were supposed to meet him, I received a phone call from the receptionist of my gym, who had also been called about my loss. Both my gym card and the Chief of Administration's business card were in the wallet, together with my carte de séjour and around 40000 CFA (60 euros).

It turned out that a young Togolese man saw a wallet in the ditch by the road and picked it up. There was no money in it but he found two phone numbers which he subsequently called. He is not Gabonese, and so he knew what a nightmare it was to obtain a carte de séjour. Because of this, and because he is an honest man, he decided to take the trouble and find the owner of the wallet. He probably knew there was some money in it for him (we reimbursed the money he'd spent on the phone calls with 5000 CFA or 7,5 euro, which will also pay for a good dinner) but I will be eternally grateful that he didn't just give the pretty wallet to his wife, throwing all the unnecessary papers away.

All's well that ends well. And this particular experience makes me believe in people. And a little bit in the spirits of the forest. But that's a whole different story.

The picture comes from here.

THE ODYSSEY CONTINUES

It ain't over till it's over! In the name of this rule and driven by the strong motivation of giving our budget a boost of over 1000 euro, we decided not to give up in our struggle for the carte de séjour deposit, which we had deposited at CEDOC last year. The deposited deposit we now want back. And so the Odyssey continues.

Yesterday, after our Kafkian visit to the Visa de Sortie department of CEDOC (see previous post), we decided to go straight to the highest rank official we knew: the Secretary of Monsieur le General (also known as The Big Boss). Jandro had called her before, when we were applying for my residence permit, and he now decided to repeat the procedure. He bravely made the call and informed her that he, the European Union, had correspondence which he would like to pass on to Monsieur le General. He was told to come by the following morning, that is - today.

The said correspondence, which is actually our application for the reimbursement of the deposited deposit, amounts to quite a dossier. To be precise, it consists of: 1) my letter, in which I kindly ask to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 2) Jandro's letter in which he kindly asks for me to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 3) Jandro's boss's letter in which he kindly asks for me to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 4) the photocopy of the receipt we were given after depositing the deposit; 5) photocopy of my carte de séjour, obtained as a direct result of depositing the deposit; 6) photocopy of Jandro's semi-diplomatic papers; 7) photocopy of my passport.

Armed in all these papers and their copies we'd made just in case, we went to see the Secretary. This time we did not park our car in front of the entrance for regular mortal people. We drove straight into the internal parking lot, were stopped by nobody and entered a building which turned out to be much fancier than the regular CEDOC offices. It had red velvet carpets (with a sign that asked you to kindly wipe your shoes), doors opened with special buttons and men in tight suits who opened these special button doors for you, therefore questioning the point of having installed the buttons in the first place.

The Madame Secretary herself proved to be extremely nice. She smiled a lot, accepted our papers, filed them and even gave us a certified copy. Clearly, we kept introducing ourselves as European Union, otherwise we wouldn't have been granted the right to step on the delicate carpets. We are now awaiting an answer from the Monsieur le General, which is supposed to come next week.

And so, I would like to invite you to gamble with me a little bit: what do you think the answer is going to be? I give you three options:

1. We will be reimbursed our money without further ado.
2. We will be denied the reimbursement (if so, on what grounds?).
3. We will be granted the money but on the condition of delivering more and more papers, and thus the procedure will be stalled until the date of our departure.

What do you vote for? Let me know! Whoever wins gets a coffee as soon as we are in the same country!

The picture comes from here.

OUT OF THE TERRITORY

So, remember my carte de séjour? Inevitably, in view of our departure, The Merry Offices soap opera resumes. This time Kasia and Jandro go to CEDOC in order to fight for the 1000 euro deposit which they had to pay for her residence permit. They are still under the silly impression that if it's a deposit they can actually get it back. I am thus glad to present you with Episode 1 of the new season, entitled Out Of The Territory, which was originally broadcast today at 11 am, live from the offices of CEDOC.

Man (Jandro) and woman (Kasia) park their car in front of CEDOC buildings. She's wearing an elegant light green dress, he - a brown suit. She steps out of the car directly into mud, which substantially lowers the attractiveness of her delicate sandals. They cross the street and pass the security control.

Jandro: Uff, at least we got in.
Kasia: That only proves our clothes are fancy enough. And that they missed my muddy foot.

The couple enter a random building, as they know that, whichever building they initially choose, they will be sent to a different one. The air-conditioning set to -5 degrees, they wrap themselves up in their respective shawls and jackets, and begin their inquiries. As predicted, they are sent to the Visa de sortie building, where they ignore the long queue and seat themselves in the front.

Jandro: Let's talk to that guy.
Kasia: smiles sweetly, the way white women should to African civil servants.
CEDOC Officer: How can I help you?
Jandro: explains the problem.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.
CEDOC Officer: Oh la la, monsieur. Getting your deposit back is a very very long process.
Jandro: That is quite all right. We have a couple of months.
CEDOC Officer: But it is a very very very long process.
Jandro (not at all discouraged): Lucky we started getting about it as early as this.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.
CEDOC Officer: OK then. First of all, you need to get an exit visa. Then you have 15 days to leave the country. And during this time you can apply for the return of your deposit. But, as I said, it is a very long process and you will never make it in 15 days. Besides, you can only get your deposit back after you leave the Gabonese territory.
Jandro: So... how can she get her money back, if she's not in Gabon?
CEDOC Officer: You can get it back for her, sir!
Jandro: But we are leaving together!
Kasia: nods encouragingly.
CEDOC Officer: Well, then the European Union must shoulder the responsibility of getting the deposit back, as long as you are out of the territory.
As neither of them knows how to respond to that:
Jandro: smiles sweetly.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.

The couple leave CEDOC and go get some mangoes. End of episode.

Don't miss Episode 2, entitled: The Secretary Knows Best! Tomorrow at 10 am live from Monsieur General's Secretary's office!

The picture comes from here.

CARTE DE SEJOUR

Taaadaaaa! Pretty cool, huh? We went to the office and we got it, just like that! I'm official and nobody will deport me unless I go really bad. Big success, yes sir!

Oh, and just so you know - if I can't prove I'm a teacher or whatever, I have no profession. Obviously.

CEDOC 2 : KASIA+JANDRO 1

After all the elections mess when we had to stay home practically the whole time, we finally managed to make another trip to the glamorous CEDOC offices. It was about time, too - my visa expires on Sunday, September 13. This time we were smarter: we had called the boss' secretary or the boss' secretary's secretary... we had called a secretary and made an appointment with the General (they use military ranks out there, even though they're not soldiers).

The first obstacle (beyond which we did not manage to get last time) was the big gate and the two soldiers guarding it. We informed them of our appointment and they let us pass. The gentleman in front of us was not as lucky - they didn't let him in because he was wearing sandals and thus was not dignified enough to enter the building. Jandro was wearing nice shoes and a jacket, looking dignified as hell.

We waited in front of the Carte de Sejour building for about 30 minutes until it opened at 8:15 or so. Inside it looks a bit like a post office, which was a bit of a disappointment, I think I was expecting at least a Ministry of Magic kind of aesthetics. There were various employees stationed at their respective counters of which there are four types: Verification, Signing (don't ask because I don't know), Photo and Collecting, plus a cash register where you are supposed to leave huge amounts of money. All this guarded by angry-looking employees who are the very opposite of helpful and a policeman who chose the lucky ones to come inside.

We were interviewed by the General (or was it Captain?), who took all of our papers and frowned upon the fact that we're not married (according to the law it's impossible for me to get a carte de sejour: we're not married and I have no official work contract). But with a wee bit of goodwill everything can be solved. We went through all the stages: a lady at the first stand "verified" my papers (took her a while since her main occupation was chatting to her colleague). A gentleman from Signing signed and send us to the till. We waited while the big cashier finished talking on her mobile and accepted our money (don't even ask how much). A nice gentleman took a picture of me and took my fingerprints and said we could now wait for my card by the last stand.

Impossible! In less than an hour I get my carte de sejour! People wait for months, they must resolve to bribery, they falsify papers to prove they're married and me... I get it so quickly, so painlessly! In high spirits I rush to the little window when my name (or something to that effect) is called out, I show my passport, I take the pretty little card in my hands, I smile at Jandro, tears of happiness in my eyes, we both look at the card; me - a resident of Gabon!, yes, it's my name on the card! ...or is it? KATARZAYNIA KONIECKA, it says. Hmmm.

They told us to come back in two days (tomorrow at 10 am, specifically) and pick up the card with the name corrected. Apparently, it is impossible to correct it on the spot. They wouldn't give us any confirmation that we'd paid, any receipt, nothing. What did I learn? Don't wear sandals. And don't get excited until something becomes a solid fact.

TIA. This is Africa.

CEDOC 1 : KASIA+JANDRO 0

We got up at 6 am today, put on our best clothes and left home before 7 on a mission to find the infamous CEDOC (hope I spelled it correctly), the immigration office. We found it ok (road and sidewalk full of dust dust dust and me in my pretty delicate sandals) and took our place in one of the lines. It was 7:05 am and we were under the impression that the office would open its far-from-friendly gates at 8. There were already a lot of people queuing for different things (visas, passports and so on) and we confirmed with several of them that we were in the carte de sejour line. They were all African people from outside of Gabon and we were the only whites. Ladies in beautiful gowns mixed with smelly men in old T-shirts and rubber flip-flops mixed with gentlemen in European clothes mixed with women with babies clinging on to their backs. Mixed with two completely lost white people in their fancy clothes.

A man came out of the building and Jandro went up to talk to him. All he found out was that the Carte de Sejour Department was closed today and we may as well go home, thank you very much. The other people in the queue stayed, though, and we decided to hang about a bit more. A policeman in sunglasses (which are completely useless during the grey dry season) shouted and bossed people around. Jandro tried talking to another guy. This time he was asked if he had an appointment. Obviously, we'd had no idea that such an appointment was possible, not to metion essential.

- Do you have an appointment?
- No.
- I can't help you today.
- How do I get an appointment?
- You must come early.
- I've been here since 6:30 am! (A little lie but the official didn't know, right?)
- You must come earlier. People have been here since last afternoon. If you don't have an appointment, I can't help you.
- But how do I get an appointment?
- Must come earlier.

Right. It was 8 am. We called Jandro's co-worker who might know something about the procedure and she said that yes, we needed an appointment. The European Commission CAN get an appointment (apparently, not everybody can). So we left the queue, went back to the car and bitterly laughed at our naivety. We'll try to get an appointment for tomorrow. My visa expires in three weeks.

The only good thing we got out of it was a pretty picture of the sunrise as seen from our kitchen window. Oh dear, it's so grey today... I'm going to make some tea.

LANDED

I'm in Libreville, sitting in the huge white African living-room, overlooking the calm waters of the Atlantic Ocean. I can see the beach full of men in colourful T-shirts, playing football and bathing in the see. Tall palm trees, Toyota cars and posters of candidates for presidency. Grey, cloudy sky.

My trip from Poland was eventless, I made it in time to catch both planes, watched two films and there I was, in Africa again. I got off the plane and dutifully put myself in the "no-visa" line. In front of me some French people, behind a group of Scots. You see, the only visa I could've got outside of Gabon was a tourist one, useless if
I wanted to stay here. The procedure is thus as follows:

1) Long before my arrival, Jandro applies for a special paper ("Authorisation of Entry") and waits for it for a month. It costs money.

2) With a copy of this paper I present myself at the airport and queue in the "no-visa" line. I talk to one airport officer, who, through continuous use of the word "two" ("two two two"), informs me that I only gave him the first part of the paper and he wants the second one. I talk to another officer, who kindly ignores my question about the price of the visa and walks away. After an hour (I was third in the line), a photograph of my tired face is taken and, having left my fingerprints, I obtain my one-month visa. It costs money.

3) With my brand new visa I must now head for immigrants office (or something of the kind), where I will need to queue for God knows how long ("Remember to take a picnic basket. People get there at 4 am"), in order to exchange it for a very much desired "Carte de Séjour" (a sort of a residence permit), which lets me stay here legally for a longer period of time. This costs A LOT of money.

Ah, the things you do when you're young and in love... ;)