get done in the end. Thankfully after a few weeks of trying Sue managed to
get our contact at Home Affairs in Pretoria to correct the computer system
and I am now officially her husband. John, F*** O**.
The next job was to see if we could now get the Spousal Visa issued, so back
into downtown Joburg and to Home Affairs central. They seem to be slowly
dragging the building into the 19th century with a lick of paint here and a
new desk there. Perhaps the processing of red tape will also get a revamp.
As usual we went thru early and were in the building before 09h00 to try and
beat the masses, although it has been quite quiet on the last two visits. It
was a bit busier than normal but much to my surprise they had 4 people
dealing with collections, not the usual 1 or 2, so things moved on swiftly.
Soon enough it was our turn. I handed over the receipt and explained to the
semi conscious young lady the situation and that the marriage details had
now been corrected on the computer. She ambled off out the back to see. Five
minutes later she was back, not carrying the wad of papers we hoped she
would be. Oh no what now! Our fears were misplaced though, they were now
processing the application with the correct computer details, 'please wait
and I will call for your passport when it is done'. I did ask how long it
would take, she laughed. At least we knew we would leave there at some point
with the passport endorsed, possibly. Mercifully it only took 30 minutes or
so for her to ask for the passport, but then the next long wait ensued.
By this time the place was throbbing with people. One slight improvement to
the system was a helpful young man in a bright yellow fluorescent vest with
'Ask Me' emblazoned on it wandering around making sure that people were in
the right place and knew what they were doing. Or was he just trying to make
sure that everyone was seated and not ambling around, makes the place look
untidy. The dear old 'security' man who hands out the numbers to the queuing
masses was AWOL most of the time, so no change there.
Eventually, the young day glow man went out back and appeared with a bundle
of processed passports and announced the fact. It was like watching flies
descend on a cow poo. Sadly, mine was not in the pile, back to waiting.
Another 30 minutes or so later another pile of passports emerged, another
scrum. Nope, no joy. No but wait. The last passport, everybody gasped with
anticipation, could it be mine. My god, it was, like a shining beacon in the
dark. Ah, but the big question, was it correct.
Sue thought I was coming away empty handed again, but no I was clutching it
as if my life depended on it. After reading the permit 30 or 40 times just
to make sure, we were happy and left the chaos behind.
So, what did I get? Two years for Goode behaviour. The big test will be when
I leave the country at some point, will I get back in again?
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