Visa Extension Shenanigans Part Dui

To all our concerned readers, no we have not been deported. Alas, Bangladesh is too poor to actually deport people. They told us we had to leave, but it was not possible for us to leave. So here we remain. Forever... Not really.

As I said in the last post, the problem was that our visa extension had been denied by the police, who were not convinced that Jen was actually doing research. When we asked the passport office folks what we needed to do to resolve the situation, they said we needed to file a new application with their office. That meant filling out another copy of the application form (yes the one that we’d already filled out three times) and submitting new photographs (the first three were no longer sufficient) and a letter explaining that we would like our case to be reinvestigated along with proof that Jen was doing research. Then we were supposed go to the eSpecial Branch police station in Molibag with a letter from the Vice Chancellor of the Independent University of Bangladesh (IUB), to affirm that Jen is actually doing research under the auspices of an approved research institution, and plead our case in person.

First, we got the letter from the Vice Chancellor. This was relatively painless. It merely required that Jen write a letter that said what she wanted it to say, email it to the VC to be printed on IUB letter head and signed. Then we had to pick it up in Baridhara. Which meant braving streets flooded up to the floor-boards of our little CNG baby taxi – turning around mid-stream when the water appeared to be getting too deep – but that’s really nothing out of the ordinary.

Then we had to get more photos and photo copies. The last time we had passport photos taken, the guys at the camera shop had said that if we ever needed more photos, just come on back. They have our pictures stored in the computer and can print more copies anytime. So I went over there on the morning after we picked up the VC’s letter. The guys recognized me and asked for our account number. I didn’t have it. Can you find me by name? They laughed. No we don’t keep track of names. Can you remember when you came in? Maybe two months ago…No maybe in February…I think it could have been February. You think? But you’re not sure? No,I really don’t know.

They were very helpful and started looking through the thumbnails on the computer, but I could tell we weren’t going to make much headway that way. So I asked if they had a phone I could use to call my wife. Maybe she would remember when we’d been in last. They thought that was pretty funny. You don’t remember? No. But you think your wife might? Yes. They laughed and handed me the phone. I called Jen. As luck would have it, she was able to find the little slip of paper that had our account number on it. I relayed the numbers to the shop guys. Oh your wife knows the number? Ha ha. They laughed at me again and quickly located our pictures. I asked how long it would take to print them. About half-an-hour they said. I started to leave, then remembered that Jen had asked me to inquire about prices for printing larger photos from a digital file. I turned and said I have another question. By this point I’d lost all credibility. The guy returned with, yes sir what is your question?, mimicking my overly formal Bangla. I asked about prices, got the answer and left.

In another country, in other circumstances, I might have been offended or insulted, or even emasculated by the mockery. But the idea that I should be embarrassed because I had had to call my wife for a piece of information was so foreign and backwards from my perspective that I really just thought it was funny. At least we can entertain each other…

Anyway, back to the real story. We got the letters and the pictures and the photocopies and went back to the passport office. At the office we went to Counter 3 to hand in our application. The woman there looked at our letter from the VC. This is addressed ‘To Whom it May Concern’ she said. It must be address to the Director General. I looked over at Jen and noticed the steam emanating from her ears. So you need another copy of this letter? Yes. Addressed to the Director General? Yes, we will accept this for now, but next time you must bring a letter addressed to the Director General. Jen managed to keep the lid on just barely. And what else do we need to do? You need to take a copy of this letter to the eSpecial Branch office in Malibag and plead your case with the police in person. We were expecting this, but couldn’t resist asking, Are you going to send our new application to the police as well? Yes. With this letter attached. Yes. But we need to take another copy of this letter to the police ourselves in person. Yes, you should talk to the officer who investigated your case and convince him to change his statement.

A few of days later Jen calls the man who had investigated our case. She explained the situation and asked if we could come by to see him. No, that will not be possible. He has been reassigned to Khulna. He will no longer be working in Dhaka. (Oh boy this could get interesting…) So who should we talk to now? He gives the name of his former supervisor. When should we go see him? Anytime. What should we bring? Bring proof that you are doing research. Anything else? No.

So the next day we decide to go to the eSpecial Branch office in Malibag. Before we left the house we got together all our letters and copies of everything we thought might be important and put them in a folder to bring with us. After about 45 minutes in hot stop-and-go Dhaka traffic we arrived at the office. We entered the room labeled ‘Foreigners Registration’ and went to the counter. Jen read a sign in Bangla. ‘Passport verification’ it said. Shit! I said. What?

Shit! Shit! Shit! I say Don’t tell me… Jen asks. I forgot the passports, I say. You’re kidding. Nope. She’s doing an admirable job of containing her fury.

Let’s just go, I say. Wait, let’s see if we can get some information, she says. So we go and talk to a guy. Jen asks if they need to see our passports. No, he says.

(What a stoke of fortune!) Jen explains our situation. Do you have your receipt from the passport office? Jen looks at me. (The receipt was in my passport.) No we don’t have it on us. Bring the receipt the man says. Then we will see what can be done.

We leave. It’s hot. Traffic is miserable and there are no empty CNG’s. I suggest catching a bus to Pharm Gate. We walk one way to try to find the right bus. Don’t find it. Walk back the other way looking for a CNG. It’s hot. There are no empty CNGs. Jen is not speaking. We keep walking. About half a mile later we come to a big cross street. Finally an empty CNG. We hire it and start the long crawl home.

The following day we get an earlier start, remember the passports and the receipt, and go back to the eSpecial Branch office. We find the same guy and give him our receipt. He disappears with it for 10-15 minutes and then comes back. We do not have your application. Jen and I look at each other. No surprise really. Jen explains our situation in more detail, asks if we can see the guy who was our former investigator’s supervisor. This guy is really trying to be helpful and goes to make further inquiries. Another 10-15 minutes later he comes back with some sort of hall-pass-looking-thing and says that so-and-so will see us now.

So we follow him upstairs and enter an office with about five men sitting or standing and performing various work related tasks. Jen explains our situation to the guy sitting behind the desk, indicating that she expects that he’s heard of us already. He doesn’t contradict anything she says, but it’s pretty clear to me he’s never heard of us before. Nevertheless, he wants to be helpful and listens to our story. He sends someone to check for our application again.

Meanwhile the men in the room begin asking us the usual questions. Where are you from? Colorado. Oh, Colorado is that close to New York? No. Do you have a mother and father? Yes. What do they do? We answer appropriately. Do you have brothers and sisters? We explain. In your country, what do you eat? And so on and so on. The funny thing is that nobody in the room seems to be listening, because each man goes around in turn and asks us the same questions all over again and sounds freshly amazed or appreciative or inquisitive at the answers. Jen, of course, is very accustomed to this from her time spent DOING RESEARCH!!! in the market. Someday she will be able to tell us what function this repetition serves. But that’s another story altogether.

Eventually a guy comes back to say they don’t have our application. Well that’s no surprise. But listen, Jen says, it’s a bit of a pain for us to make the trip all the way over here to the police station. We have this letter with us now. Do you think you could hang on to it until our application comes? Then you could just add it to the application (which already has a copy of the letter, but who’s keeping track right?)

The guy is very accommodating and says yes he would be able to do that. In fact, he says, when your application arrives we will begin a fresh investigation and send someone round to visit you and the matter will be resolved as promptly as possible. Ummm…if you say so…

To be continued…