Bureaucracy

When you live in Dubai, there is absolutely no way around the fact that dealing with bureaucracy and red tape is a part of your life. Maybe not everyday, but it is a constant when you are getting set up or doing anything involving resident visas, banking, driving, or really any unpleasant adult-like things that involve paperwork. So, for the past two weeks, my life has been consumed by dealing with bureaucracy. I FINALLY got my resident visa. YEA! But, with that comes endless driving around and visiting government entities and agencies and paying large sums of money at once. Not so yea...



So about two weeks ago we came to the conclusion that my derelict boss was never going to give me a visa (not to mention probably not pay me for February, but that's another story). He talked a convincing talk in January when I got back (he's really just a glorified used car salesman) and despite paying my January salary a week late, he put in a visa application for me sometime around the 1st of February. He said it would take two weeks, so I gave him two weeks and then asked what the deal was. The visa was not processed yet due to a 'title' technicality. That was my last straw. So, I told him I wanted my passport back and we talked to Jared's firm and re-convinced them to help me out on the visa front and sponsor me. They knew my situation due to Jared's sharing my continuous saga and agreed, but on the condition that we pay for it ourselves and that we do all the leg-work (or rather I do all the leg-work).



So now that I FINALLY had a sponsorship document, I began the process by going to immigration with all the paperwork to initiate my application. I had been to immigration before to file an extension to my visit visa in the Fall (in order to avoid a visa run since derelict boss still hadn't processed my visa) so I knew where it was and the basic layout. I asked for directions to the appropriate counter and was told I needed to go to the 'typing office' first to fill out my application. So I went into the "Ladies Only" door and was given a slip to fill out and then handed over all my documents to be photocopied and a fist full of cash. I waited for about ten minutes, then they handed me a very official looking "Resident Visa" application, along with multiple copies of all my documents. I went back into immigration into the "Ladies Only" room and took a number. I waited. Not too long, and then handed over my application and documents (along with another fist full of cash) to the abaya clad woman at the desk. She asked some questions and then stamped my passport with a "change of status" (ie, change from visitor to resident visa status). Then I could move onto Step 2.

Step 2 is to get a) a Health Card and once you've obtained that, b) a Medical Test (they don't allow people into the country and definitely not to have resident permits if they have infectious diseases, including but not limited to AIDS, Hepatitis, and Tuberculosis). So the following day I set off to Rashid Hospital (a government hospital) in Deira (old poor part of Dubai which of course is also a nightmare to drive in), and apparently the only hospital that issues Health Cards. I somehow didn't get lost and successfully parked, went in and found the information desk, which kindly drew me a map to the Health Card area (it was a huge maze of a hospital, which I could apparently just wander free in, weird). I found the counter, fortunately there was no line (it was pretty early in the morning though, probably around 8:30) and paid another AED 310, handed over my passport, resident visa application, and a passport size photo and the man handed me back a plastic card with my picture labeled "Health Card" about 5 minutes later. I planned to head directly for my medical test afterward (which also had to be done at a government clinic or hospital, although incidentally, not Rashid). The man suggested a clinic in a fairly easy location and showed me where it was on a map. Easy, or so I thought. I drove the 15-20 minutes to the clinic (Al Mankhool Clinic) and waited at the information desk. They directed me to another counter, but when I explained that I was there for my medical test, they pointed to a list of employers and indicated that the employer sponsoring me was not on the list. They rattled off the name of some other clinic and sent me away.

In the car, I feverishly looked for the location of the new clinic (Al Satwa Clinic) on my map and in my Resident's Guide. I couldn't find it anywhere, even with Jared on the phone looking it up on the internet from work. Frustration began to set in and I opened my trusty Resident's Guide up again and reread the section on "Medical Test" (which I had probably already read about 6 times). They listed two typical hospitals (both in Deira, the nightmare driving part of town) and I picked one that looked easier to get to on my map. I headed to Al Baraha Hospital (aka Kuwaiti Hospital) which was surprisingly easy to get to (easier than Rashid, that's for sure, and easier parking). I walked in the front door to information and was told Medical Testing was done "down that hall and in the building behind the little Mosque." Ok. I walk down the hall and out the door into a sandpit. Can't see a mosque anywhere, but continue across the sandpit (often used for parking in Dubai and this one was the same). Continue across the sandpit and finally see what might be a mosque (at least there was a pile of shoes outside the door, so that was a hint).



I walked into a big white building with rows of typists and headed directly to the information desk. They sent me back out to pay. I go into the building next door which is labeled "copy center" and find the counter labeled 'cashier'. When it is my turn to go up an Emirati couple (dressed in full traditional dress) bust in front of me in line and start trying to push money through the window. I was sufficiently frustrated due to my morning of driving around and also start shoving my documents through the window saying, "Hey, I was first in line!!!" The guy serves the Emirati's first (typical here) and tells me I need yet another photocopy. I walk over to the copy counter and they photocopy my documents for me again. Back to the cashier counter to pay, then back inside the big white building and to information who sends me to the "typing area." Luckily I find a row with no one in it and hand my documents to the abaya clad typing woman. She pushes a few buttons on her keyboard and then picks up her personal mobile phone and starts talking. About 5 minutes go by of me sitting in front of this woman (who is supposedly helping me) while I watch her talk on her cell phone. I start staring her down. She points to the computer screen and says, "system down" to which I respond in a surely tone, "Should I go to another counter then??!" To which she responds again, "system down." I wait. Finally she decides her personal phone break is over and begins typing again. A couple minutes later she finishes typing and sends me across the hall to another desk, where a man takes two more passport size photos from me and puts various stamps all over the newly typed forms. He sends me to "Gate 3".



I walk to Gate 3 and I am pushed to the front of a line of men into an office with a fat Suddam Hussein-looking doctor who was busting out of his white coat. He looks at my paperwork and saying to me in front of the line of men waiting about 5 feet behind me, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you when your last period was?" Not only am I at the end of my frustration rope, but now I have no self-respect or dignity. I respond, "Began or ended??" He concludes that I am in fact, not pregnant, so sends me on to Gate 4 where a very nice man at the desk compliments my smile and says I have the same smile as the x-ray technician who x-rays my chest for Tuberculosis. They then send me onto Gate 5, where I am greeted by a kind woman who immediately takes my blood and gives me a receipt, telling me to come back on Sunday for the results. Breathing a sigh of relief I drive home from the hospital, concluding there is no more that can be done until I pick up my medical test results (assuming I passed!).



I wait until Sunday and then go back to pick up my test results. I go back to Gate 3, they direct me to a desk when a man scans my bar coded receipt and prints my medical test results. I figure I must have passed, although it's all in Arabic. I ask the guy where I can find a bathroom and he sends me back to Gate 3. The Gate 3 guy tells me where the bathroom is, and I then leave because I am dying to get to immigration to get the process over with. Unbeknownst to me, I didn't listen carefully enough to the man at Gate 3 in my quest to find the bathroom, because he apparently told me that I needed to see another doctor for another stamp ("Free of infectious diseases" Woo.) and signature before leaving. When I got to immigration I was directed back to the typing office to now have my visa application typed in Arabic + an extra AED 100 for immediate service. I pay AED 500 and wait 30 minutes and then head back to the ladies counter. After a short wait, the woman tells me that not only do I need an additional stamp and signature on my medical report, but I also need the application signed by Jared's office (my sponsor). At near my wit's end, I head to Jared's office for the signature, then head back to the hospital yet again (for the 3rd time) and the man at the Gate 3 desk says, "I tried to catch you to tell you you needed to the stamp and signature." However, he did not try hard enough, it would seem.



Finally, with all my stamps, signatures, t's crossed and i's dotted, I head back to immigration again. Within 5 minutes I am seen by a lovely woman who is chatting with me about how she's currently studying law and prints a resident permit sticker with my picture, puts it in my passport, and says, "Congratulations! Now, you're a resident." Having spent 6 days (my boss couldn't get me a visa in 6 months... ironic), approximately AED 2000 of our own money ($600 USD) + AED 1500 of my boss's money, I exited immigration with a newly minted resident visa/permit and a huge wave of relief rushing over me. No more being an illegal alien/visitor.



Over the following two days I jumped through bureaucratic hoops of fire in getting my driver's license (equally convoluted in process, but faster and less time consuming) so that when our very first guests arrived on the 25th of February (Jared's Dad and Linda) I was an official resident and could legally and officially drive in Dubai. Now, onto the bank account and health insurance... Let the fun continue!