Por fin, as they say in Spanish.

Last March I moved to Ecuador for work. Given the length and difficulty to obtain a work Visa and given also the fact that my father’s been working in the country for the past 5 years, we thought it would be easier to apply for a ‘Visa de amparo’. Basically, he would sponsor my Visa. No big deal, every country has this procedure. Ecuador however, adds a few interesting ingredients to the soup.

It took us a month or so to collect all the papers we’ve been asked, which is not much, you’d say. So, we went to the Bureau etc. etc. and opened the file. In April we were told it would take a month or so. Cool, it’s pretty fast indeed.

Two months later, still no word. Two weeks more and we find out my folder is collecting dust on a desk, waiting for the assigned employee to at least open it. Apparently, she’s not really into opening more than 2 folders per month. I start worrying, as one can stay in the country without Visa for 90 days max. Then I have to ask to post-pone the deadline and I get a few weeks more, hoping to have my position legalized before August 30, otherwise I would have to leave the country. Well, maybe I could go visit the ‘Museo del Oro’ in Bogotá (Museum of Gold), I’ve been told it’s really cool.

It’s all quite annoying because in the meantime I’ve found two jobs, one as intern at a horse center and one as lecturer at University. In the first case, I don’t get a wage but on the second case I’m supposed to get paid, but they can’t pay me until I have the Visa done. Basically, either I don’t get a cent, or those who would want to pay me cannot do it. Very nice…
Anyway, I spent more or less a week calling the lawyer virtually every day, hoping to hear good news. Ten days ago he calls to tell me the paper we needed to get signed had been signed indeed, but the officer revised again the attached documents and decided one of them wasn’t ‘very readable’. Thus, we had to start all over again. This time they even asked for additional documents, such as a copy of the renting contract of our house. (?!?)

Finally, yesterday morning I could go to the immigration bureaus to get the ‘censo’ and the ‘cedula’ (ID card), in this order. If you don’t have the censo, you don’t get the cedula. Fine. Censo first.

The officer types something on the computer and prints out a paper: “Check your data.”

I start reading: “Ehm, excuse me, but… I’m not married.”

Doing something else: “It doesn’t matter here. You’ll tell the other officer at the Registro Civil [nda. where the cedula is issued].”

Perplexed: “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah…” quite indifferent.

4 dollars and I have the Censo, woo hoo!

But I’m semi-happy. The worry starts spreading while we head to the Registro Civil: I may be asked for a ‘Certificado de Soltería’. Watch out people, in Ecuador they have Certificates of Single-hood. And I also start thinking they could ask for the data of my nameless ghost husband, how many times he uses the bathroom and if the above-said bathroom is rented, a copy of the renting contract.

As I enter the building, I feel I’m about to spend the next week in line there. It’s as crowded as a Superbowl Final match. Oddly, the office for foreigners is semi-empty, just about five people waiting. When it’s my turn, I’m asked the same info they have on a paper and then I’m taken the fingerprints. All ten. But no problem, I’m still single and I get out with both the freaking documents in my pocket. Now I just have to wait till the end of the month for the University to re-open and ask for my pay.

I’m so amused by the ‘married’ incident that I decide to spook my parents.

Phone ringing… “Haló?”

“Hey dad…”

“Hey, how did it go? Are you done yet?”

“Yeah but, listen… I had wanted to tell you before but… I’m married.” trying to laugh in silence.

“Huh? What are you talking about? Explain…” in a half-worried half-serious businessman-like voice.

“Yes well, ya know…”

“No no no. Explain better.”

“Haha, gotcha! I’m not married!” and I tell him the story, but apparently he didn’t like the joke. My mother instead was cracking herself up, telling him “Think of it that way: your daughter got married and you didn’t have to spend anything, haha.” I had always suspected that the day I’d marry or tell them I decided to marry Mr. X, Y or Z, the one to worry the most would be my apparently-non-caring-about-it father. The things red tape makes you think at.

Monday, Monday… La la… La la la la…

You gotta love Red Tape on Mondays.