Passport after passport

Hola peeps.

Flew into Kampala from Juba last week Wednesday, attended US visa interview on Thursday, that lasted less than 10 minutes, and was informed to pick up passport on Monday at 3pm. Showed up to pick up passport, and while those ahead of me were issued theirs I was handed a form to provide supplemental information, scan and email it back to an address. Okay…so after form is sent, what’s typical duration for receiving passport? Lady at reception had no clue. Why wasn’t I asked for extra information during the face-to-face interview or contacted prior to passport-pickup time? Nada. But I am not based in the country and have already moved flight once, not to talk of hotel bills; anyone I could talk to about this? Still no idea.

I walked away hurriedly and planned to find the nearest scanner so I could quickly complete form and send back to the embassy before close of business that day; maybe, just maybe, I’d have passport back the following day. Then, I scrutinized the form properly:

• Surname and Other Names: Easy.
• Names and DOBs of Siblings (Step, Adopted, Alive, Deceased): Easy.
• Social Media Platform and Identifier/Handle: Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. See why I never signed up for Twitter or Instagram and deleted Facebook account eons ago? One needs to be careful what one posts online. But hold on, I thought the ACLU sued against this? Didn’t I already answer this when I submitted my original application?
• Email Addresses and Phone Numbers for Past Five Years (Private, Work): Easyyy-ish. Wait, why do they need this anyway?
• Work History for Past 15 Years (Address, Phone Numbers, Title, and Job description): Okayyyy, now this is getting weird. 15 years?!!!
• Travel History for Past 15 Years Outside Country of Residence (Locations visited, Dates visited, Source of funds, Length of stay): Now I am getting a headache. How am I supposed to remember travel dates since 2004? I must have at least 2 passports that are long since abandoned. 15 years for goodness sake?! I have 3 passports with me and the furthest goes back to 2013!

After calming myself down by banging head against the wall severally, I cancelled a supper date and tried to remember older siblings’ year of birth and email addresses at previous jobs. Then, I printed a copy of CV as work history and set about tracking where I had been in past 15 years. I decided on constructing a table that would be divided into years and got only as far as 2007 before I decided on a break for dinner. Following a meal at a West African restaurant with pal David and a colleague’s cousin, whose spa I tried out on Thursday, I returned to hotel at 930pm and typed as much of travel history – in 10-font but it still ran to eight A4 pages - as I could remember until 130am. I made it so detailed, by including overnight transits, such that whatever poor sod’s tasked with reviewing it would get tired of reading and inform their superiors to cease requesting such folderols for future visa renewals. Woke up night receptionist at hotel and by time we were able to print, scan and email documents it was 3am. Trudged off to bed smiling at effort I put into travel history and new stuff I learnt. Never paid much attention to entry and exit stamps, but while reviewing pages of passport I noticed subtle differences for the first time. For instance, at the South Sudan airport, entry and exit stamps have same oblong shape but with ‘entry’ and ‘exit’ inscriptions; in Kenya, the entry stamp is rectangular while the stamp for exit is a triangle; Uganda also has a rectangular entry stamp but a circular exit stamp; the UK only has an entry stamp; Nigeria surely has the coolest, with both rectangular-shaped entry and exit stamps but with a silhouette of a plane landing for the former and a plane taking off for the latter. Yup, it’s official, I am a geek.

Woke up at 830am the next morning wondering if I was requested to provide additional information primarily ‘cos I am Nigerian? But I have Nigerian friends in Uganda who’ve renewed their US visas without hassle. Or is it ‘cos I am based in South Sudan? Met an Ethiopian acquaintance from Juba who received his visa yesterday. Or is it ‘cos I travel a lot? Surely that should be a boon and not an obstacle, right? Or could it be that I am a South Sudan-based Nigerian who happens to have multiple stamps on his passports? I really would love to find out. Efforts to contact the US embassy by phone yielded diddly, and just when I had determined to head over there and cause someone to talk to me, I received an email from them. Half-expected to read they now required a list of most frequently used emojis, instead I was informed my application remained under “administrative processing” and was offered the opportunity to pick up passport the following day if I needed to travel, until process is concluded. I jumped at the chance and got travel agent to purchase a ticket for last flight to Juba, as original return plane ticket wouldn’t afford enough time to pick up passport and make flight.

Got to the embassy at the designated time yesterday and was made to queue up with those scheduled for a visa interview. Huh? Assumed I’d show up, be handed passport and head to airport. Instead, I waited for ca 20 minutes until I was called. Was asked if I’d wait for another 4 hours for administrative process to be concluded, so I’d pick up passport with visa and not have to return on another date. U what? Had no choice but to acquiesce to their request and cancel 255pm Uganda Airlines flight booking.

This was without a doubt the most expensive visa I’ve applied for. In addition to 8-night hotel stay, I moved flight to Juba thrice and had to be pay charges for the original flight changes as well as a separate flight cancellation. Plus, I had run outta clothes even though I made sure to pack for any eventualities. Thus, on way to the Entebbe airport this morning I had to wear shirt, socks and underwear inside out and doused cologne all over just to reduce stench of clothes. Good thing I had a jacket to wear over shirt so it didn’t make my weird dressing so obvious. Oh, I chose to wear pants back to front, ala Kris Kross; hey, if I am forced to recycle clothes I might as well go all out, right? In a foolish bid to curb my overpacking issue, I packed just enough toothpaste and dental floss to last a week. Isn’t that complicated, you ask? Well, not if you disinfect the non-writing end of a pen and unspool floss from its housing onto pen and squeeze out toothpaste into a Ziploc bag. Hey, y’all asked.

While passport was being handed over, I enquired of the lady behind the counter why I wasn’t informed a day after interview that additional information was required, or the reason why supplemental information was required in the first place. She gave standard, boilerplate answers that left me none the wiser. I really need to find out what issue is, especially as I am supposed to travel to Canada in January for equipment inspection and doing Europe twice next year, for Paris and Berlin marathons. Must I get a house, family and private plane in Kampala/Nairobi due to visa delays to be expected from being a South Sudan-based Nigerian who travels a lot? Ha.

Got back to Juba apartment 4 hours ago and immediately unpacked and took a nap. Thought about past week spent in Kampala and realized it wasn’t such a waste of time after all. Sure, the trip cost an arm and a leg, but got to experience new stuff I hadn’t on previous trips to Uganda, like:

• Live band at hotel on Friday nights, where singer unashamedly reads song lyrics off his phone. I get it may be hard trying to remember lyrics to a gazillion songs but surely there’s no need to recite the ‘La la la la la’ portion of Stevie Wonders’ My Cherie Amour from one’s phone.
• Banana Gonja chips. Same as plantain chips so no need to start panicking once my stash from Nigeria runs out.
• Massage where masseuse seemed to be enjoying her job a tad much. At start of massage I directed lady to concentrate on pain in right pinky finger (from trying out stunts on quad bike in Bali) and middle finger on left hand and left ankle (from football in Juba on my birthday last month). She spent a desultory 10 of the 90-minute massage on these problem spots and concentrated instead on auditioning for the role of Uganda’s Catwoman, using my oil-drenched back as a canvas, complete with meow sounds but thankfully no scratches. I wish I were kidding.

Tot ziens and God bless.

Yup

Hola peeps.

Off to Kampala in a bit and been counting down for past week as is my wont whenever I am due to travel out of Juba. 4 weeks back in Juba and getting back my routine, even met Life-is-tough guy at airport when checking in. Dude was disappointed to see me talking to a Life-is-toughER guy as he was naturally displeased to find someone else was encroaching on his turf. The latter even showed me a photo of what he claimed to be his wife’s breast with a sore around the areola, as proof he desperately requires financial help. Desperately need a segue to get that pic outta my head.

Oh yes, did kickboxing classes over the weekend and ran 20k+ 2 Saturdays ago solo in preparation for 10k race last Saturday. Broke record by completing the 10K race in 48 minutes, although timing during normal 4.8km runs after work is ca 1 minute below average (from before my departure from Juba in August), and back then I even ran with 0.5kg ankle weights on. Gonna need to do more long distance runs as I signed up for 3 full marathons next year. Yup, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or who/what I am running from, either.

Was out of Juba for 2 months - longest I’d ever been away - and started missing the place after a while; never knew that would be possible. I didn’t run nor do HIIT during time I spent out of Juba but was consistent with 120 pushups on weekdays. You know those TV shows where walls of a house must be broken down in order to lift a morbidly obese person out, and you wonder how they coulda gotten so fat in the first place? Well, I have figured out how. I gained about 4kg while in Lagos, probably from all the ice cream and fried plantain. I swear to you I seemed to look the same throughout time in Lagos, maybe abs were not as defined as they once were, but I thought I hadn’t changed much from when I arrived in August. However, once I got back to apartment in Juba and looked in the mirror I immediately noticed rounder cheeks and extra weight around the gut. The 120-daily pushup routine likely explains how brain convinced eyes into thinking I hadn’t gained diddly. First HIIT exercise in 2 months was one I wouldn’t wish on an archnemesis; felt my heart was gonna jump outta chest. To make things worse I chose to go running with newly purchased 1kg ankle weights later that day. Thighs felt like they were placed in a vise and tightened. Took ca 5 days for thighs to return to normal but ChantHELLe messed it up again 3 Saturdays ago. Yup, I ached all over after a massage from Aminarrgghh’s fellow Ugandan partner in crime ChantHELLe. I get applying pressure on muscles but what masseuse class taught them to massage bones?! I walked outta that massage room hurting more than when I went in.

That wasn’t the case with massage I had in Bali in early October, when I went to Indonesia for business. Strolled not far from hotel and settled on a spot that looked tranquil. Was greedy and chose a mani+pedi+facial+massage combo ‘cos of the ridiculous price, even though I had had a mani+pedi a week prior in Nigeria. The receptionist at the spa said they were fully booked and asked if I’d not mind a male masseur. Didn’t wanna sound homophobic, so I said yes but made sure not to snooze during massage. The dude recognized knot in right shoulder and spent a considerable amount of time on it yet didn’t try to maim me, unlike the Ugandan sisters with hands of stone mentioned earlier. I reckon I was hypnotized to fall asleep during facial cos all I remember was a wet cloth on face then another wet cloth wiping face and being informed facial was done. Okay then. All in all, Indonesia was amazing and it made 3 weeks spent in Lagos waiting for visa – travails of having a Nigerian passport – worth it.

After I left Juba in August I spent a few days in Lagos then left for the UK, where I spent 2 weeks, before returning to Nigeria for a board meeting. Arrived morning of the 28th, took a cab home, changed into a suit, and proceeded to the office for the meeting. The 6-hr flight and all-day meeting wasn’t as stressful as the cab ride from airport to my crib though. I’da stuck with my stalker airport taxi ‘cos the guy whose car I entered seems to have been a member of a cult embarking on mass suicide pact, who chickened out at the last minute. The car was somehow configured with the exhaust fumes directed into the car and driver spent 45-minute ride dipping a rag in a bowl of water and wiping his eyes with it. Meanwhile, I spent the entirety of the ride with my head outta the right window of the back seat, like a dog keen to have the wind in its face. The next time I get a taxi from MMIA I must carry out an MOT test on the car first.

Before proceeding I must let y’all in on some breaking news: Miguel’s invited me to be groomsman at his wedding next year. Woah, so he’s going through with it after all; his fiancee must be some woman. Thought my groomsman days were behind me, sorta like being the oldest guy in the club, but since Miguel chose to get hitched this late in life I can’t say no. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in! So yayyy I now have an excuse to purchase a new suit. Hopefully the punk doesn’t settle on a morning suit or any fit I won’t be able to wear after the wedding, unless I choose to become the first Nigerian on Dancing With The Stars: Juba Edition.

Miguel’s invite came at the wrong time, when I am trying to get over the SARS (Strange Attraction to Remarriage Syndrome) bug. Now I am so keen to secure a credible date for the wedding – so as not to end up with an unfavourable scenario like for mate’s wedding in Nairobi next month, as detailed in last blog entry - I have taken to using Positive K's I Got A Man lyrics as daily morning affirmations. Problem is I no longer recognize myself. I have become…how do you say…desperate? On Monday, bumped into a girl I’ve been flirting with for a while and after small chitchat she said, “see you later” and I replied “when?” U what?! Almost punched myself in the face after those words spewed outta my mouth. What made it worse was precisely 18 hours prior I came across this chick I had had a similar exchange with 2 years ago, only in reverse. Back then I recall thinking to myself how sad she was, after she asked, “when?” See what I have become?! See why I need that kick from Coach to the head?! Damn you, Positive K! Not so positive for my ego, are you? The desperation must be obvious ‘cos during dinner (after 10K race) some guys in my running group tried setting me up this cute half Italian-half German girl, just ‘cos we sat next to each other. I politely rejected their efforts at playing Cupid and went all out during kickboxing class the next day I. Told Coach I was ready to begin sparring with those that train for kickboxing competitions. Also suggested I’d be keen to go on the wildlife hunting trip he had been proposing for the past 2 years. Yup, anything to get the SARS bug outta system. Okay, time for another segue.

Primarily visiting Kampala for a visa interview appointment ‘cos most embassies in Juba don’t issue visas. Then, there’s the added complication of holding a Nigerian passport. Ha. What I didn’t tell y’all last time was that in addition to my providing a police report to the Indonesian embassy in Abuja, my hosts, from whom I intended to purchase an expensive equipment, had to face a 10-man panel in Jakarta to convince them of their reasons for inviting a Nigerian over. To make matters more interesting, the panel, consisting of immigration and police officers, only sits on Tuesdays and this affected my travel schedule. What’s one to do, eh? During the frustrations of waiting for the Indonesian visa in Lagos I researched acquisition process for those $150k Antiguan passports that allow one to travel visa free to most countries. Then again, if I had one of those I won’t have been able to enjoy my Lagos crib for over a month, or register for a national identification number, or experience Lagos traffic in all its glory. Yup, I may have bought one too many packs of those plantain chips sold in traffic.

Once I finally got to Jakarta, my host took me for a meal in the mall next to the hotel and it was like Russia all over again, with folk wanting to take pics and little kids staring extra hard at a black guy. It wasn’t as bad in Bali, and almost felt hurt no one approached me while doing the touristy thang at the Uluwatu Temple. Didn’t help that a group of 3 tall black guys were there at same time to steal my shine. Now I know how Life-is-tough guy felt earlier. The locals musta assumed they were basketball players or something ’cos they kept asking for photos, and the guys were being extra grandiloquent about it too. Punks. Need to go back to Asia if only to get my black swag back.

Need to get full beard back as well. Had beard chopped off before I left Lagos and usually I’d have a full beard by now, but all I have is some sorta facial covering. Yes, it’s a beard but no longer the expanse of facial hair I’m typically associated with me. Have I finally reached my hebetic peak or has my regular use of Johnson's baby powder finally caught up with me? Could it be associated with new insecticides I purchase? One insecticide leaves hand greasy, while the other leaves hand so moisturized I have unconsciously noticed myself rubbing face a few times with it after spraying room. I must look so different without full beard an acquaintance I met at a conference late last month couldn’t recognize me at first. Street kids at Juba airport I sometimes see while running in the evening have gone from calling me abu digin (bearded man) to abu sala (bald man). Even drycleaner who gave me a South Sudanese name Thon Deng as he probably couldn’t spell Tunde, recently wrote Tut Deng on invoice when I dropped clothes off over the weekend. Yup, I am truly junubi now as drycleaner has given me both Dinka and Nuer names. Speaking of, I really should dive back into learning Juba Arabic seriously.

Doubt my daughter’s noticed difference in facial hirsuteness as we spent last FaceTime conversation with her practicing some song about a black cat winking (?) on her keyboard. It was one of those keyboards with different numbered instrument settings, and she spent almost 45 minutes asking me to choose a random number so she could try the black cat song with different sounds. Yup, I am back to not wanting another kid just to make her jealous. Oops, time to board the plane. Wonder if I’d my baby girl to play my new favourite song next Sunday? Sure beats punk Positive K.

Tot ziens and God bless.