Paperasse

Taking cues from its former colonial power, Senegal has in place a bureaucracy almost as asinine as the one I encountered in France. No surprise. But here, insisting on the formal where the informal reigns is futile. And so getting my residence permit renewed in Senegal was in no way like the organized, if complicated and unending process of doing the same in France.

Here’s how it went:

March 10:
PCVs receive a text message reminding us to renew res permits. For my stage, expiration dates are coming up; get on that.

March 14:
Deciding to head to Kaolack to get this out of the way, I make the mistake of sleeping in on a travel day. I’m rewarded with 6 hours of crowded, squishy transportation during the hottest part of the day. And my first bus broke down twice en route.

Why Kaolack? I’ve been informed that the office in my region’s capital hasn’t opened yet – no further explanation. And Dakar is a more expensive trip.

March 14, p.m.:
Upon arriving at the PC regional house, I’m told by 3 other volunteers that I am doomed to fail. The guy who signs off res permits is a dick; he won’t do it before the actual expiration date. And no one knows where the office is anyway, not even the PCV (M~) who lives in Kaolack.

March 15:
Tempting fate (my permit expires the 22nd), I head downtown to find this mysterious office and confront the evil troll guarding my legal status to be in this country.

M~ and I navigate trash heaps and construction pits before stumbling into a jail – no joke – which we then realize is exactly the building we need. We run as fast as we can past the incarceration area to an admin doorway. There, we find the Troll quite literally guarding the hallway.

I explain my quest, wave my soon (so soon!) to expire permit in his face, and get hit with the verbal equivalent of a cascade of arrows: each tip a sharp Wolof phrase insisting the renewal can’t and won’t be done before March 22.

Smiling, I pull out my two secret weapons: infinite patience (public transportation in a developing country requires it) … and a hand-written note to the Kaolack commissaire from my counterpart.

Residence permits can’t be renewed until the very day they expire?
“I understand, really, I do,” said in every language I know. “But can I please just speak with Mr. Fall for a moment, briefly, just to say hello? You see this note with Mr. Fall’s name and phone number? My counterpart will be furious if I don’t. Just to say hi. Salutations only, I swear. Nuyoo rekk.”

Eventually the Troll, weakened by my insistence on saying hello in a country where greetings are so important, caved. I was shown to Mr. Fall’s office where, a moment of name-and-note-dropping later, I found myself waiting while he went back out to smoothly request the Troll’s assistance in such a minor bureaucratic task. Seconds after that, I was in possession of the prized residence permit, renewed to the end of 2010.

I thanked Mr. Fall effusively and quickly snuck out the side door so as not to disgruntle the Troll again.

Just like that. Easy.

Telling this story later to my host-sister E~, she said, “Wow. You’re work like a Senegalese person now.” Yikes. Come December 31, 2010, though, I know how to navigate this bureaucratic mess again. Step 1: head to Dakar…


As an aside, I spent a lovely 36 hours in Kaolack. Post-adventure, M~ and I visited the local artisanal market and spent the rest of the day catching up in a restaurant. Nice.