Visa Extension Shenanigans

Bideshi 1 and I need to extend our visas in order to stay in Bangladesh legally until our August 7^th departure date. Because Jen is a Fulbright recipient with a scholarship to conduct socio-linguistic research from November 3, 2007 to August 2, 2008, we thought this would be no problem. Ha Ha Ha!

In Bangladesh everything is a problem. We know this, of course, but everything seemed to be going so well… until today.

We began the visa extension application process in early May. Jen’s visa which was initially granted so that she could attend the Bangla Summer Institute language program last summer expires (well, now has expired) on May 23, 2008. We had initially thought that it would be a good idea to take care of the extension at the end of April before going to Nepal. But time got away from us and suddenly it was a week until our departure date. By that point it was too late to risk applying for a visa extension because what if they needed to keep our passports for a week like the Indian embassy did?

So we waited until the beginning of May to apply for the extension. We tried to find some information about the process before going to the office – without much success. Several blogs mentioned that it was such a huge hassle you should just give up and go home. Our Bangladesh Lonely Planet guide book was not much better. It told us where the Dhaka passport office was located, but basically said that it’s easiest to apply for the visa from your home country. So we knew three weeks was probably cutting it close, but we figured hey, the worst they can do is deport us right? And would that really be so bad…?

We were prepared for the worst, but our first visit to the passport office really wasn’t so bad. We arrived at the office around 10:30 AM. As was to be expected, it was very crowded and not air-conditioned. There were five counters with various signs in Bangla and English explaining their various functions. We picked up our applications at Counter 3. Each application was two pages long and we were told to fill out three copies each. Three copies? Yes. Three copies each? Yes. We each have to fill out the same application three times? Yes, madam.

The application included the usual name, passport number, and nationality questions, along with questions about our local sponsor. In particular we were to provide the Name and address of persons in Bangladesh who will furnish information as to the applicant and also furnish financial guarantee for maintenance and repatriation if necessary. We were asked to provide those persons names and addresses and annual income!? How are we supposed to know that?

We did the best we could, then went to Counter 2. The woman there looked over our applications and mentioned that passport photos were also needed, one for each copy. Luckily we had anticipated this and had enough photos. Also, we need a copy of your passport, one for each application. We had those too. You’ll also need a cover letter explaining why you need an extension, she said. Well, we just happen to have this letter here from Our Sponsor, at the American Center in Dhaka. Perhaps this will satisfy the requirement. Yes, yes okay that will do nicely. (Whew, another narrow escape! We had not known we’d need this before hand – how would we – but luckily Our Sponsor had given us a letter three months ago explaining our purpose in Bangladesh for when we left the country to go to India, just in case we had any problems at the boarder.)

Finally, the application was accepted. The lady at Counter 2 scrawled something unintelligible on the front and sent us to Counter 1 to pay. We took a place in line at Counter 1 and waited several minutes. Just as we stepped up for our turn, a man rushed up from the side and shoved his arm in Jen’s face and pushed some documents through the window. Excuse me, we were standing here, Jen says. Oh this will only take a minute, he says. The hell it will, I’m thinking, he’s got six names on his application.

He continues to stand there with his arm in Jen’s face, shouting at the guys behind the counter. Jen says to me, plenty loud enough for everyone to hear, lines don’t exist in Bangladesh, huh? No response from the man with his arm in her face. Another minute passes. There is some problem with the man’s application. Clearly it will take more than a second. Finally, Jen gets in his face and yells, you can’t wait just one minute!?

Okay, okay, he says and goes to the back of the line. Slightly incredulous, Jen says to the guys behind the counter, lines don’t exist in Bangladesh, huh? They laugh and say, sometimes we have lines. I hear the guy behind me, who’s been standing there patiently the whole time, say, actually lines are good. There seems to be general approval that Jen has put the obnoxious man in his place.

We hand our application through to the guys at Counter 1. Okay, they say, that will be nine-thousand-thirty-nine taka (about $130). Come again? Nine-thousand-thirty-nine taka!!? For both of us right? No, no each. Total for two… (punch punch punch on the calculator)… eighteen-thousand-seventy-eight taka. We look at each other in dismay…Umm, we don’t have that kind of cash on us. Really!? They can’t believe it. You don’t have that much money? Nope, not today. Actually, we don’t usually walk around Dhaka with 260 dollars cash in our pockets. We’ll have to come back tomorrow.

Rats…things had been going so well. Still we figured, if we only have to go back once, that’s not so bad, is it? But $260 dollars, that’s a lot of money. How much would it cost if we just over-stayed our visas? We knew that the fine is 200 taka per day for the first fifteen days, and 500 taka per day after that. We started doing the mental calculations. My visa would expire July 19^th. We are leaving August 7^th. So 200 X 15 = 3000 gets us to August 3^rd. Then four days at 500 is another 2000. So I could save 4000 taka by not applying for a visa extension.

We pondered this for a moment. I wonder, when do you pay the fine? Do you just show up at the airport and hand over the cash? Or do you show up at the airport and get told that you have to drive across town to pick up such-and-such a paper and take it to the other side of town for so-and-so’s signature before taking it back across town to pay your fine, by which point you’ve missed your plane out of this godforsaken place? Surely it’s not that bad… On the other hand we really don’t know, do we? So maybe it’s better to play it safe and just apply for the legal extension.

We caved to our law abiding inclinations and returned to the passport office the following day, cash in hand. We went straight to Counter 1 and paid. Then we took our receipt to Counter 4 and handed it through the bars. Come back on June 30, the man behind the counter said. June 30? Yes. June 30! That’s like seven weeks from now. Yes, madam. My visa will be expired by then. Yes. Won’t that cause a problem? No, no. No problem. Come back June 30. Do you need our passports now? No, no. Bring them back on June 30.

So we left. By this point we’d visited four out of the five counters, some of them more than once, but things actually seemed to be going smoothly. Though it only occurs to me now, Counter 5 which is labeled “Passport Stamp”, has been closed with a large plywood board each time we’ve been to the office. I did not realize it at the time, but clearly it was a portent of things to come…

The next several days passed uneventfully. Then we got a call from Our Sponsor from the American Center. A police investigator assigned to our case had been by to see her. She had confirmed that Jen had a Fulbright scholarship and was doing linguistics research. She said the man was very friendly, but apparently needed some photocopies of our current visas or something. So we should get in touch with him at such-and-such a number. Our schedule was a little busy that week. So we didn’t get on it right away.

Then, a few days later the investigator showed up at our house. Oh, shit! We don’t have the copies ready. Thank you, sir, for making this trip. Really it is very considerate of you, but so sorry, can you wait while we run and make some copies. No problem. I run off passports in hand and leave Jen to answer some questions about her work in Bangladesh.

While I’m gone, it comes to light that the investigator would like to have copies of more than just the visa pages from our passports. He’d also like to have a copy of the Fulbright award letter. So Jen sends Shohag, the darwan’s son, out with the letter to find me at the photocopy shop. Unfortunately, we must have passed in the street without realizing it because he never found me. So the three of us, me, Jen, and the investigator, are now waiting for Shohag. Eventually he shows up. Rather than wait for me to go out, make the copy, and come back, the investigator decides to go with me to the shop – it’s on his way anyhow.

En route to the shop, I tried to make some polite conversation. I asked the investigator where his office was. How long had he been doing this work, and a few other banal questions like these. We’d said on my application that I was learning Bangla, and I figured I’d better try and keep up appearances.

He was polite in answering my questions, but then he said, you said on your application that you are here to learn Bangla. But you are not affiliated with any institution. How do you explain that? Or at least that’s what I thought he said.

I said, I’m sorry I didn’t understand everything you said. He repeated himself. This time I know he said what I thought he said. I wasn’t sure how Jen had explained my situation, and I didn’t want to put my foot in my mouth. So I said, I’m sorry I don’t understand. He let it go.

Back at the house, I asked Jen how things had gone. She said she thought they’d gone well. The investigator had been very polite. He had asked a lot of questions, but just seemed to be trying to get the situation figured out. She thought that in the end he’d been satisfied.

So we didn’t think about it again until today. This morning we braved the flooding in our neighborhood and went back to the passport office and stepped up to Counter 4 labeled “receipt and passport.” The guy asked for our receipt. We showed it to him and he told us to go to Counter 3. Luckily it wasn’t crowded today.

The man at Counter 3 took our receipt and began riffling through an ominously large stack of papers. Not to worry, he soon found ours and brought it to the window. You have seven days to leave the country, he says, come back this afternoon and get your exit stamp. What? Seven days to leave the country, did he just say? I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t catch that.

Your application has been refused. You have seven days to leave the country. This is not right, Jen says, I’m here doing research. I have a grant through August 2^nd. My plane leaves August 7^th. I’m sorry, madam, you will have to talk to the Assistant Director. Please have a seat.

Not knowing what else to do, we have a seat. Ten minutes go by. Nothing seems to be happening. Neither of us feels like we really understood what the guy at Counter 3 said. So I get up and go back to Counter 3. Who am I supposed to talk to, I ask. What? the man asks. Who am I supposed to talk to? She hasn’t come yet, he says, we’ll call you. What is her title, I ask. What? he says. What is her title? The one I’m supposed to speak to, what is her title? Assistant Director, he says, we’ll call you. I go back and sit down.

Another ten minutes pass. It has been our experience that as long as you sit quietly and wait for something to happen, nothing will happen. So Jen goes back to the window. Excuse me, she asks, I just want to know what is going on. Why was our application refused? The police rejected your application. What? We spoke to the investigating officer. I told him about my work. He knows what I’m doing here. I’m sorry, madam, the police rejected your application. Can I see, Jen asks. He shows her a small piece of paper written in Bangla. She studies it for a minute. But this says I’m not doing research. Yes, madam. But I am doing research. By this point the Assistant Director has appeared.

Can you explain this, Jen wants to know. No, the problem is not with us. It is with the police. You must leave Bangladesh in seven days. But that’s impossible, Jen says, we have an apartment here. I have work to do. We can’t just leave. Then you must appeal this decision with the police. How do we do that? You’ll have to submit a new application, with a letter asking for the police decision to be reconsidered. A new application? The application that we already filled out three times? Yes. With more passport photos? Yes. Jen’s so mad she can hardly see straight. We leave.

Outside, we call Our Sponsor and explain the situation. She’s incensed. This is the first time in the history of the Fulbright program that a student hasn’t been granted a visa! Who did you talk to? I want names!

Good, at least we’ve got her on our side. So we go back into the office and get names. Again they repeat, the problem is not with us it is with the police. You must talk to the police.

Jen calls Our Sponsor and gives her some names and numbers. A few minutes later she calls back. What is needed is a letter from the Vice Chancellor at the Independent University of Bangladesh confirming that Jen is in fact doing socio-linguistic research. Apparently the police investigator has never heard of the field of linguistics and, despite his civil demeanor, remains unconvinced that Jen is here doing research. Arrrgh!!!

To be continued…