Department of Home affairs

Despite all the travelling that we have done over the years; we’ve had very minimal trouble over paperwork. Some people seem to have real difficulties obtaining visas, but I think with a British Passport we are in a fairly priveleged position and usually there are no hitches. I remember being in Singapore on the first occasion that we were flying to Australia and being told that we would need a visa to enter the country. ‘No we don’t I somewhat arrogantly protested, we’re British.’  ’Oh yes you do,’ said the patient lady behind the desk and of course she was right. But even there we were fortunate. It was a Saturday and she told us that if we weren’t British then we would have had to wait until Monday morning to go to an office for the visa, but as we did have British passports she could apply for us online. I’ve been a bit more careful since then. When we arrived in Australia and they checked our passports I was taken aside and asked to wait. This could be an alarming experience at immigration, but I was assuming it was due to our late application for the visa. As it happened the immigration computer had thrown up some match against my name which raised questions about my identity altogether. Perhaps I was an international terrorist. However after some time I was told that they’d checked me out and I as free to proceed.

Here in South Africa we are issued automatically with a visa on entry to the country and which is valid for 3 months. If you want to extend your stay, which you can do once, for up to another 3 months, then you have to apply for an extension at least 30 days before the original visa runs out. This brings us to the South African Department of Home Affairs which does seem to have achieved legendary status here in Cape Town. Various horror stories are told of complex administration systems and hours of queuing, which as regular followers of this blog will have learned is something I do have views on and have even preached about!

Anyway at the present time we are, as South Africans like to say, on a mission. Some told us we could renew our visa at a local office in an area known as Wynberg, while others said that we couldn’t do that and would need to go to the city centre office. A friend actually rung the Wynberg office for us and was told we could indeed apply locally. Joining the queue about 7.15 we surged into Home Affairs at 7.30 and after a few false starts found the correct office. A wait of only 15 minutes and we were in. Yes, we could apply there, but they would need to take our passports for up to 6 weeks. We didn’t really fancy that, but our journey wasn’t wasted as we were given application forms and then to our surprise a list of other documents that we would have to supply. This included confirmed air tickets proving that we would return to the UK - that’s certainly fair enough, and you’d think would suffice. But no, also bank statements, a letter from someone who would guarantee to pay our fares if Home Affairs wants to deport us, a letter from us stating how long and why we want to stay longer (despite already putting this on the application form) and 70 pounds in cash please.

So on Monday we were down at the city centre office with all the documentation, at the earlier time of 7am and in a much longer queue (these are becoming deeply sanctifying experiences). The slightly worrying feature about this queue was not simply its length, but the way people were carrying books to read, packed lunches, portable loos and camp beds….well slight exaggeration. Once again at the magic hour of 7.30 we surge into the office, up flights of stairs and into a room where people went confidently left or right. Being new to this it took us some time to work out we needed to go left and having lost several positions as people charged past us we sat in a row of chairs waiting our turn. Severe notices attracted our attention with warnings not to throw our chewing gum on the carpet or action would be taken. To be perfectly honest chewing gum would have improved the carpet. Also the staff could be heard behind closed doors loudly laughing as no doubt they planned administrative pitfalls for the customers. Eventually staff began to emerge like champions ready for battle and each time someone was called to the counter we shuffled up the row of chairs - not I might add without a few disputes. But we made it to the counter pretty quickly, our papers were stamped with a machine the size and ferocity of a guillotine, we paid our 70 pounds and whispered to each other - ‘this is going to be easy’. However the lady then told us that we needed a receipt for the money and she wouldcall us when ready. 45 minutes elapsed before we were called to the counter again to recieve the receipt which she had written 45 minutes earlier; but no matter we were about to get our visa extended. Then the fatal words; ‘You can come back next Friday for the result of your application’.

In Ephesians 3 Paul speaks of the ‘administration of this mystery.’ Was this prophetic of the Home Affairs Department? Anyway as yet, we don’t have the visa; we are still on a mission.

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