Back on Blogger!

Its been some aweful time away from this blog! good couple of changes on Blogger.

I am reinventing my blogger space and shifting away from literal exclamations as i have discovered, just recently, that i suck as a poet :) This place will be become a gathering for all my random biographic thoughts; my imaginary shrink recommended.

Amman, Jordan is where i live right now, with my beautiful wife Nada and adorable baby boy Oun.

There are many topics that i am interested to tackle and hopefully will start sharing them over here.

Cheers

Untitled

What is death like?

Flashes in the dark?

a moth travelling into light?

A free-fall into the abyss?

Nothingness after and throughout?

Is it the waiting on a road to end?

Or a final stop before a refill trip?

All while flying in the wind?

Say the words that describe

The souls that have parted

Speak of the ones who transit

Thru cries, and robust thrusts

Who have shun their lingering

And resonate from their dwelling

In retrospect, in sarcasm:

“Live long before you die,

and perish before you reek;

For life as death is a moment,

That exalts when you peak!”

Say a word on climax;

For when this world makes sense

Is when a world for someone ends.

Once Incepted

Have you known a sleepy person in your dream?

An eager soul that hovers above,

Conspiring on your conscious

Preying on its imagination,

and willingness to dwell

Dear all its me, I cannot sleep!

I cannot dig deep, as of yet

Waiting on a kick out of here

And into another place

Where I have existed before

Where I used to sit my head on her lap

And live the lovely dream we once had

Where we travel the world around

And live two hundred years combined

Where we build us an eternity of things; 

Children, love and destinies intertwined 

All while, she lies in her place

I want to be where the lights shine from her face!

But I cannot as of yet,

Lying in the dark dreaming

Just to be let!

Mosques as a Media

Mosques can be excellent propagation centers. I believe pulpits are excellent platforms that can bring positive change into communities and the nation as a whole. According to Al Rai (Jordanian Newspaper), there are 6243 working Mosques and 772 under construction in Jordan with more than 2000 Imams. This is a great number of Mosques and Imams per capita; actually the highest in the region.

Anyone would realize that there is tremendous opportunity to be utilized here. There is a raw platform that needs to be structured further to influence change in communities. However the sensitivity of this approach, have the media people shy away. I think Mosques can be an effective Media to be considered by regulators, NGOs, Municipalities…etc to propagate messages that are Islamic. Just like an Islamic compliant Bank processes financial instruments or stock.

I believe that if the Ministry of Religious Affairs (Al Awkaf) addresses nation-wide concerns like; public health and smoking (46% of school children in Jordan smoke), littering, and Traffic safety by only the Imams Juma speeches, the messages would communicate to great success.

I would love to devise a nation-wide synergetic system that can assist in fighting our impeding social ills. 

The Good Citizen: Part III: Story of a Jordanian applying for a Saudi Visa

The Saudi Consulate seems to have made its mind about the documents it needs to issue visas. I can only wonder how they came up with their criteria. I am sure that they had the best of intentions as they matched visa-professions with the applicants’ educational certificates. Visa-professions are the designations of the applicants that appear on their resident permanent stamps imprinted inside the applicant’s passport. That’s how the Saudis categorize working foreigners when inside Saudi. i.e. Saeed the Programmer, Hasan the Technician…etc.

Probably the people who have put the requirements thought it is beneficial for the Saudi marketplace to only allow the crème de la crème of professionals, who have matching educational backgrounds, sanctioned for the top management visa-professions. In theory it adds up perfectly, but it is very challenging because not all visa-professions are available all the time. The main factor in deciding whether a person is applicable to his visa-profession is his educational certificate provided his visa profession is available (Saudis issue visas based on race and professions; i.e. company X has been issued 3 visas for Filipinos and 5 visas for Indians one of which is an engineer).

It’s also hard to understand the pyramid they categorize educational certificates with. But it’s easy to see with which eye they judge a person permissible for a managerial visa or not. For them, (Saudi Consulate clerks and officials) if you do not have a BA degree you don’t stand a chance to getting a managerial visa-profession. It is a fact that I didn’t appreciate. Why do they use educational certificates to qualify people for what they are? The consulate in Amman is a judge for what a professional can be based on a piece of paper. Don’t they have private enterprises in Saudi with free decision making venture capitalists? Can’t I hire a person for his abilities not awards? What if a person did not have a BA in Management but still had merit and was hired as a GM by a company, why is it a problem not to permit him his profession?

And so was my case as I didn’t have a certificate in the area of the profession that was granted to me by my employer. Even worst not only was it different, it was from a Greek Cypriot university that was not recognized by the Jordanian Higher Education ministry. The higher education ministry of Jordan publishes an online list of Universities for all students: http://www.mohe.gov.jo/RecognizedUniversities/tabid/67/Default.aspx and my university isn’t on it.

I had to take it to the Ministry of Higher Education and to the Foreign Affairs for attestations and to pay JD2 per stamp that said: “we are not responsible for the contents of this document”. It was funny to think that my unrecognized university certificate had to be attested by a governmental department that attests to nothing! My God, where is the logic in that? And how terribly stupid the system is; how come nobody is contesting this absurdity? I just wanted the document to be done, as required without problems. I then walked out of there with real contempt. It’s hard not to imagine that these departments but as pathetic revenue generators. They are an unscientific attestation bureaucracy that helps no one. If they wanted to really attest my documents why not have humans or educational professors from universities interview me and not office Zombies.

I went back to the Visa liaison office and he advised that I needed to create an additional one letter stating that I have worked in the capacity of the visa-profession I am applying for, for a number of years here in Amman. I assured him that I have not, but then he assured me that it is common practice and to forge a work experience document when it can enhance in acquiring the visa at the consulate. I hated to lie, and I hated the fact that now whilst in the middle of my application I am required to do just that. I called E. my friend who helped me (or tried to help me) in getting the Good Conduct certificate, and he confirmed he could do the letter for me. Of course it is a risk for him and say that he had employed me in the capacity of my required visa-profession. I soon collected it from his office and presented it to the Liaison office who told me that I have to go and attest it at the Labor Office in Abdali between Court of Justice and the Intelligence Building.

I walked into the Labor office on a very rainy day, after leaving my car and wife down the road. I ran all the way up with the work-experience-letter in my hand. I could not get my car where the Labor office was because it was a wrong pass and the other way around was jammed with cars. Gladly the letter didn’t get wet. As soon as I arrived the security guy told me that I needed to go to the third floor. That floor was so cold I could freeze in my place, even the faces were cold and nobody was smiling. However, and I should mention this, it was the best functioning office of all the other public offices I have been to. It was also the cleanest too. Not surprising at all, that the head of the office was a woman.

I had mixed emotions by now, one part of me admired the relative functionality and dynamics of the place and the other part just wanted out of there with what I came for. The Lady told me that it is impossible to attest my working experience letter without having a copy of the contract from the office of E. I told her that my working experience was years ago and the contract was not around anymore (2 lies). I despised myself as I started begging to have it attested. She passed it on to her manager who asked that at-least I should have a social security number they can refer to. In reality I have no social security number because of the fact I have rarely worked here in Amman, Jordan, I was almost always working abroad. I declined to have one and she then reluctantly said to her assistant that she should call the number on the letterhead to certify that Saeed Omar (myself) was once upon a time an employee at E’s office working in the capacity of the visa-profession I was asking for. My lying and the weather that day made me feel sick in the stomach. I have started to damn the day I thought of going to Saudi Arabia. I imagined the visa-process like quicksand, once it grabs your legs you just have to give in for the end result.

With that out of the way I had one last thing to do; the health check-up for the Saudi Consulate. This checkup is needed to certify that I have no HIV contamination and clear from all contagious diseases. The Liaison office deals with the Hospital of Palestine, an old hospital by the interior Round-about and Marriott hotel in Shmeisani. Believe it or not sticking 2 thick needles in my hand and sucking up 2 big tubes was the easiest thing I done in this whole troubling endeavor.

After all that was done I was ready to go to the liaison office and submit my application. I had to pay JD100 ($140). He told me that I needed to additionally certify a couple of copies of what I’ve done and I did that. He told me I will submit them by the beginning of the week and should get my approval by the same day. I was so happy that I suddenly forgot about all what I’ve gone thru. That weekend was a relief, and I and my wife could begin to think beyond getting the visa for the first time in 35 days.

However, the wind blew backwards. The state of jubilee was soon history and I was back on track with misery with a refusal from the Consulate on grounds of consistency of my educational certificate with the visa-profession. It was a Jordanian clerk working at the Consulate who refused to take the application altogether. After I learnt that from the Liaison office I started pitying the time I spent in pursuit of things and lost all hope because I was out of steam.

They had informed the office liaison that to make sure that my kind of experience and educational background was okay with my employer, and that he (my employer) needs to certify that to them. They gave us the Consulate numbers to make my employer call them. I immediately then thought; no problem my employers will call and sort it out. But the Consulate telephone kept ringing with no one to answer on the other end. 3 days passed and I call my employers to daily remind them to call and they called and called and called… and with no light in the horizon I had to revert to someone on the inside to influence the process of my visa processing. I will call him Shike.

Shike is one of those who have dual citizenships. His tribe has once upon a time lived happily with their cattle spread from the desert of Syria and Jordan southwards into Hijaz. They continue to be extremely respected and influential in Saudi as well as Jordan. Many Saudi Princes had married from them, and that’s a big power sign. Shike was a friend of a friend. I could only tell him my desolation after his working hours at the Consulate. He assured me he will do all that he could and in accordance to the laws in order to help me out. There was a certain confidence that he could.

And he helped me after a painful week of despair. I called the Liaison office and the manager told me to come and pick up my passport with the Visa stamp on it. I couldn’t believe that it could have been done finally and rushed to his office to collect my passport. To my sudden surprise I discovered that the imbecile printed the Visa on the old passport instead of the new. Now I started believing that there was indeed a Wicked Eye hovering over my fate wherever I went and whatever I did. As if in all sarcasm, destiny had it that I don’t be happy even now that it was finally over. It was over alright, but with a final punch in the face.

The following day, I went to collect my new passport after the over-worked clerk at the Consulate corrected their mistake without any of his superiors noticing. They took off the sticker from my old passport and pasted it back inside my new one. Then they sealed it again after adding a stamp. I was okay with that.

I thought I was done, and my mission accomplished. I thought of throwing a party and making duplicates of my Visa and frame them as portrays on my parents house walls. I called my employers and told them that I was ready to travel and travel I did on a hot day. I packed all what I owned some I have put in cartons to be shipped later and some in luggage to be carried with me. I planned my whole move to Saudi Arabia and have left nothing to chance. After all I already had a 3 bedroom apartment rented and semi furnished waiting for me and my wife to move in and begin a new life there.

I reached the airport and wave goodbyes to my mom, mother-in-law and wife. It was a direct flight to Dammam. We arrived on a clear early evening in Dammam King Fahad Internationally Airport. The airport was as I left it. The officers who wore army uniforms were exactly as I remembered them. The only difference was that they have implemented a new system of finger-printing. I thought I was okay with that since all was legal now on my side, the Saudi Consulate in Amman had issued me a definite entry visa. My turn at the passport counter arrives and I and the officer behind the counter share a couple of jokes while he was processing my visa. He has then landed the biggest shock of my life. He said I am blacklisted!

Quick flashes of memory throw me back at a time when my current employer had issued me a Visit visa. I over due on it by 2 days, and was caught on the Bahraini borders. It was a hell of a situation back then since I was held like a prisoner. It is an immigration issue in Saudi to overstay on your given visa. The officials like to hit with an iron fist for all violators; they think this can solve the problem of overstaying by foreign immigrants and pilgrims. The system is not contestable and incurs an immediate fine on the employer and a written statement signed by me that guarantees not to do it again. I had little in mind that this could cause a 2-year ban. Especially, when my employer has arranged for another visit visa soon after this has happened. How would I have had a problem with that since I entered Saudi immediately after?

It was a problem now. I was kept in limbo and confusion while he started arranging for flight back to Amman. I couldn’t believe my luck! I started calling my employer and they immediately understood the wrong-doing they did and sympathized with me, but they eventually could do nothing to get me out of there. And that’s when I had a nervous breakdown, I excused the officers around me to the toilet and locked myself in and cried so hard and so quietly for nearly 30 minutes. I then had ablution and decided to pray Istikhara (Istikhara is a special prayer where a Muslim prays when in need of God’s guidance). The shock has eaten me inside out, and the pain was so severe that afterwards I just sat beside of the passport counters faceless and emotionless for the remaining hours of the night; staring into nothing. The following day my employer sent me an e-ticket back home. And that’s where I am right now writing these lines.

This experience was ground-shaking for me, I used to think that everything and anything was possible in a world of my own making. I am a firm believer that if I wanted to accomplish something and I have the means to get it, I would get it. This was a case of so many hurdles in the way that now I started justifying why some people could not easily accomplish or at best be least motivated to do so. There are obstacles that some People put, consciously and unconsciously, in the way of those who just want to live and earn a living. Those very people live in ignorance of the pain and suffering they cause to others. While the blame falls on inefficient systems, these officers and clerks who are in direct contact are only blamed. I could see and feel with Palestinian citizens now more than ever before who have what I just encountered every day of their lives; Palestinians with Palestinian Authority passports, Palestinians with Egyptian temporary travel documents, and those of Lebanese and Syrian Travel documents; I FEEL WITH YOU!

It is also amazing I found out, how human resilience and suffering can be forgotten and can be pushed away as if they never happened. I am sure that this is the case with all of those who went thru what I went thru. Otherwise why haven’t there been any blog entry with about the same, why haven’t there been any news report about the empty circles that the Saudi Consulate imposes on Jordanian workers and professionals who ask for visas? It is because as soon as these Visa applicants get what they wanted they just move on and never look back or even complain. All of those I know just warned me in a friendly way that it is going to be difficult for you and for your wife to get into Saudi. They never confess outrage or disdain to the system. Worst even write and complain about it. Complain for the sake of complain is futile, what I am concerned with here is to give a proper service to those in need, not a disservice at the very vulnerable time of need. And I was vulnerable. I am afraid to admit that this is what we had to reap in return to our consent and nevermindness. Let me tell you that the Saudi system of applying for a visa in Jordan has at the very best been HEARTACHING and unfair to many, it has at worst helped people go in circles and revert to lying and forging documents for the price of an entry. Was all that was required from me, dictated by what the Saudi Consulate wants all Jordanian citizens to do, or is it just what the Jordanian officials and government do not mind them demanding for? Whose jurisdiction is it to state and dictate all visa requirements? Have they ever considered enhancing the system? I doubt it! Do we treat Saudi citizens the same way they treat us? I doubt that too.

I hope this reaches people in positions of power that are decision makers. I hope this humble blog-entry can make them review the processes and that can eventually push for relaxing the requirements for the Saudi Consulate and make it more humane for people to admit for visas and getting them.

Salam

The Good Citizen: Part II: Story of a Jordanian applying for a Saudi Visa

That weekend was the longest of them all. I was curious, agitated and anxious to know if things will be alright with my Good Conduct Certificate. Without it I cannot go to Saudi, and if I don’t go to Saudi I lose my employment contract along with my income. There was immense pressure from my family, wife’s family and of course my employers. As I will reveal in my painful story, I was fighting a war on 4 fronts; one too many with the different Government departments, another with the Saudi Consulate, my company and my family.

The war with bureaucracy was simultaneously taking place. However I chose to narrate the stories one at a time to avoid confusion.

I went to the Intelligence creepy building in Abdali to get my promised Good Conduct certificate as Shady has informed. Shady just asked for the slip and told me to wait for some time to search for it. Shady doesn’t move from his desk. It’s true that I never saw his face not even a glance. He shouts his orders to his little helpers, who seem to be responsible for the dusty wall of files behind their desks. The whole place smelled of old paper mixed with piss from the around-the-corner toilet, which I had to visit by now because of the long waiting. The toilet had 2 kinds of thrones; I chose the hole in the ground because the other toilet-seat seemed to have never been flushed. (I apologize for the unhygienic description but I would love to see this changing at our public offices, it’s just inhumane for the employees as much as for the citizens) I went back to the 70s styled waiting room to wait for Shady and the gang while looking for my paper, and moments after that, Shady calls my name. I felt like I just won the lottery. I just got the Good Conduct Certificate; which read: “for the purpose of travelling to Saudi, this certificate was given”. It sported a good smiley photo at the upper left of the single-paper certificate.

With that done and out of the way, I had to move on with finishing my Army Exclusion Certificate.

Yes indeed the second required document was my eligibility into the army recruitment, and non objections of the various army departments in what seemed to be a statement that I wasn’t a defect soldier running away from duty. All Jordanians know that drafting to army is voluntary and not compulsory since the mid 90s. Moreover, I have issued a certificate from the army in 1996 that proves my exclusion from the whole process. I would have never not wanted to serve my country, on the contrary I always wanted to be recruited have I had the opportunity. But back in 1996 they printed for me a poorly designed light-green card that had my photo and number of exclusion. This wasn’t satisfactory with the Jordanian officials nor per the Saudi Consulate. I truly wonder why!!!!

This added no value to what the Saudi Consulate desired. They needed 2 sets of army certificates each issued in multiple areas and then again had to be attested in many other areas. It was during these times that I was fighting windmills and dealing with office Frankensteins.

It’s interesting how nobody prepares you for the details that one will encounter. The Liaison Office to get my Saudi visa just mentions these details on a scrap of paper, but never really tells you in detail the trouble that one has to go thru in order to get these documents done. For anybody reading right now, it’s HELL. At the same time no one around these public offices or army offices is concerned enough to tell you the whole process. You never see instruction boards detailing what you need to do and documents to bring. What are the procedures? Everyone is left to wonder and go in circles from one department to another, holding stacks of papers God only knows the purpose of. The office however informed me that I needed to renew my passport because it had older entries of Saudi other Visa-professions imprinted on them. He said this can create discrepancy as I am applying under another visa-profession type. And so I renewed my passport, after paying JD50 ($70). After that I was off to do the Army exclusion papers and from the first day, it was awful.

Destination was the Central Army Head quarters building in Marka which is located north of Amman, 30 kilos away from where I live. At the entrance the smoking soldier who is barely half the size of me asked: “what’s your mu3amala?” mu3amala in Arabic literary means ‘application’. However, it is a common description for a person’s entire misery in the process of it. I answered “papers for Saudi…” and before I complete a sentence he lets me in. Inside is a residential building that has been converted into a public office; a common governmental trend here in Jordan. I ask around for where I need to submit the papers and eventually I walk into the required office. Behind the desk is an officer hiding behind his moustache and heavy smoking. Around his big old desk a lot of ‘applicants’ are hovering over his desk with heads lowered to give greetings in a creepy manner. And because there were no lines and was chaotic, I was last to submit for my papers.

“Go get some stamp from ‘the computer’” that was what I was waiting for, along with a scribble of a signature on an application form I got from a kiosk built in the front yard of the same building. So I went back to the kiosk; a window in a metal cage that overlooked a man sitting in-front of a computer who was smoking heavily. The kiosk is called “the computer”. He tells me to bugger off for 30 minutes till he finishes typing my one-page one-paragraph hand written application. Truly these officers knew how to speak and greet citizens nicely. I came back after 35 minutes to find him away. For the remaining hour before closing time at 2:30pm I ask all officers for his whereabouts, but to no avail. The computer has vanished!

I come the following day early in the morning on the hopes that he still remembers me, but I did a terrible mistake. I shaved up my beard! The computer eventually recognizes only after cross checking with my ID card. He then told me to wait for 30 minutes. I guessed it is necessary to wait for that long in order to qualify for whatever paper I was doing at that time. I took the paper typed neatly with my picture widely smiling on its upper left. I am really glad they didn’t require immediate pictures. 

I went back to the Moustache guy. I gave it to him after chaotically fighting for my turn. He glances at it and signals that there are 2 mistakes. And just like a school teacher he picks a red marker and circles them. One mistake is the serial number wrongly copied from of my Army exclusion card. The other was a grammar mistake somewhere in the letter. This letter, I was trying to do, apparently was only the beginning. It is a letter to all Army factions and headquarters in the Greater Amman area to certify that my a** was not wanted for either army recruitment and/or for being wanted. I later got to know that the Saudi Consulate in Amman has required this amount of paper work for reasons known only to God. I went back to the computer and reluctantly admitted his wrong doing but corrected it on the spot and passed it down to me. The thought that I am still far from getting the paper I want, was very frustrating.

Little I knew that this was only the beginning of a Stamp-hunt journey that will take me on a journey all across every army office in Greater Amman. The Moustache guy told me that before going on doing the Labors of Hercules I needed his Chiefs signature. And after he did sign I had to wait for a week’s time, yes 7 days. I could only guess the reasoning; which I think they needed all army factions and offices to declare that I am a person without record. I just wondered why the 7 days wait if they had systems in place and had computers and shared networks, why!

After the 7 days I pass by Marka and the Chief tells me that I need to collect it from the “Qalam”. Al Qalam literary means “The Pen”. In older Arabic governance times this particular department represented the department where all writers write contracts and archive news and regulate policies. It is an unfair analogy though, since the Qalam I was looking at had no interest in writing anything nor say anything. I asked him: “where can I find my Letter..” he points down to a paper holder that had hundreds of Letters like mine put on top of each other. The upper left side had photos so the Letters had curved inwards in the Paper holder. I flipped through all the papers to look for my picture and I couldn’t. I tried again. After 15 minutes of searching for my photo I started searching for my name for maybe there could have been a mix up. No use. The Qalam said try the beginning of next week since it was a Thursday (Jordanian weekends are Fri and Sat).

On Sunday I went over there and found what I was looking for eventually. I knew then that I had to go and submit it to the Big Army Headquarters newly built on a low-land in a residential area of Na3our (I don’t know where it is, what it normally does and I don’t even know how I got there from where I live in West Amman). I thought the Letter I had in my hands was the most time-consuming matter of getting my exclusion certificate. It was to be the least troubling. I had to submit the papers individually to 3 Army offices around Amman (one at the University Street, and the other two are in Jbeiha and in Shmeisani). I did that in the course of that week and still had to give the final paper with the necessary attestations and stamps and wait again for another 2 weeks! I was devastated; I was speechless when I knew that from the officer, because by now I was in a hurry; the job that I was going to in Saudi Arabia could not wait any longer. The company was adding pressure as the days were passing by. Heck even the family of my new wife was continuously asking about when is it that I am going to travel; for them ‘next week’ was a permanent answer. My parents felt that it must be the Wicked Eye that is responsible for my misfortunes (In Islam, real misfortunes can be caused by human envy). Little they knew back then that I was still having a honey moon compared to what came after. But there was nothing else I could do, except ask for help. And so I asked help from Ismael.

Ismael is a driver of an ex Jordanian minister whose wife is a good friend of my mom. Drivers of ministers are all officers at the army and have ranks and positions within the army. They continue to drive ex ministers even when they’re out of office. I’ve read somewhere that Jordan has the highest number of ex ministers in the world, and it is true. You could see them everywhere. God only knows how many of their drivers roam the streets of Amman boasting and honking behind you even when their masters are out of office. It’s bizarre! Anyway, these officer-drivers do not see themselves as just driving Miss Daisy around town; they carry themselves highly and think of themselves as a one-stop shop for all governmental matters. That’s how I regarded him when my mother introduced him to me at our tailor-shop. He was with his wife and his little bugger child. He assured me that it isn’t a problem and that he wished that I told him before I applied my letter in Na3our. I reminded him that all I needed is to exhilarate the process from 2 weeks to ASAP. He told me no problem at all and that I shouldn’t worry about it; “it will be done before you know it”. After that he started showing his wife a couple of nice Soire dresses that can look very good on her.

One week passed and no word from Ismael. I phoned my mom at work and she phoned Ms. Daisy (ex minister’s wife) who phoned Ismael who assured that he was working on it. He rarely picked up the phone himself. And just about it was going to be issued normally (Sunday it would have been prepared) he phones me to go and collect it on a Thursday. He saved me a weekend and saved himself around JD280 ($390) for an Evening gown for his fat lady. Anyway, I go to Na3our (Army Headquarters) and walk inside the campus to collect my Army Exclusion Certificate from a middle ranked officer. Ismael later calls me and asks me if I can transfer JD12 ($17) Telephone credit to him in order for him to forward to the army officer for his help. it was no help at all and I told him to bugger off. It nevertheless got me the Army Exclusion Certificate finally.

With the Good conduct certificate and the Army Exclusion certificate in hand, now all I had to bring home were my Educational Certificate and a Health Certificate.

To be continued…

The Good Citizen: Part I: Story of a Jordanian applying for a Saudi Visa

Ever wondered how to get going when you are vulnerable in a police state? Well, wonder no more because I have been to hell and the house of Hades and back. Here is the perfected art of attaining, attesting and applying to get your Saudi visa in Jordan, so grab your favorite drink and lay back and learn it first-hand before you indulge. 

I have been told that I have to prepare three sets of documentations. The first is prepared thru and by the Jordanian intelligence; to check if I have been a good boy or not. The second is the Army eligibility certification. The Third is your educational credibility that needs to be presented in a manner that is OKAY and acceptable with our progressive educational departments.

First things first, are you a not-wanted criminal or God-forbid part of a banned political party? Worst even are you an Islamist who has been spotted in the proximity of another person who has been spotted in the proximity of another wanted person? After all it’s all 6 degrees of connections and possibilities are always high if you extend your imagination a little bit. The Jordanian intelligence keeps nothing to chance, and has not been wasting time the past couple of decades. They have been stacking names and databases of everyone and everything. I needed one certificate that illustrates that I have been an okay citizen. In Arabic it’s called "hosn seir wa soloook" (good conduct and behavior certificate) and in this adventure I got more than I bargained for. 

I entered the intelligence building in Al-Abdali after an hour or so of continuous detours in that area. At the entrance you are asked to take off your sunglasses and give up your mobiles. The smoking-reception man orders you inside towards the detection machine. I am inside and have no idea what is the process. I reach to another smoking-receptionist with a tie. He asks for my ID card while searching for his ashtray and hands me an application form. I guessed that I had to fill it up. He provided no extra info. After I did, he pointed ahead and said: “straight down the corridor, third office to the right”. I reach to the third office and ask who I have to meet to attain my Good Conduct Certificate, the man in the first window, who is on a higher ground, looks down at me and silently points to the third on his side. I reach to the man who probably deals with my likes hundreds of times a day. I will call him Shady, as I could only see his shade thru his window from a lower ground room. Shady asks for 2 stamps and 2 pass-sized photos. I ask where to get the stamps from and nervously yells “from outside, from library”. There is certain uneasiness to that place; the vague procedures and the not-knowing-what-to-do feeling can get on anyone’s nerves. The mere sentiment that one is dealing with people who could control his fate in any direction they feel like, is just scary. My feelings were not to be disappointed, because the surprise was just ahead! 

I walked out the same way I walked in and I headed towards the library down the street next to a dump. In the library was an old man watching the news and handed me what I needed without either looking at me or exchanging many words. Each stamp cost around 20 groosh if I remember right. I went back to Shady who had a voice of thunder and a dreadful face. He staples the paper to the stamps and photos and orders me to “go to “Qasr el Adel”” (Court of Justice) which is across the road. Shady probably staples hundreds of applications a day and says this sentence thousands of times a week, and has been probably doing this for years and years. I understand his frustration. I am assuming this considering his high motivational levels he demonstrated in our few seconds of encounter. 

It turns out that I needed to get another certificate to get this one. This other one is called "3adam mahkoomeyye" (No Sentence Records certificate). I reached to the Court of Justice after a 10 minutes fast stroll. I had no idea where to get this paper from and only got there after a while. The place is abuzz with thousands of lawyers who are moving in all directions. Smoke creates this looming shadow of a haze beneath the Court’s dome. It looked like a cloud. The office I was seeking is built outside the main building in a compartment that looked like a 40' cargo container. Inside of-course there were many people caught like me in the system; half of which were waiting and staring in silence, some with a cigarette in their hands. I asked around which window to apply to in my case, and some frantic little man pointed me to what seemed to be window number 7. Later I knew that the guy at window #7 is called W. Behind the counters there was a glass office that was covered with window-wrap with the color of light wood. All missing officers, some in uniform and others in civil clothing, got together there behind the covered glass-windows. They smoked cigarettes and had falafel breaks. I saw W. sitting there while enjoying a good loud conversation. I could see his teeth shine every time the door of that room opened and closed. Eventually he came to his window.

"what do we have here" I gave him the application paper. "give me your ID card". He punched my "rakam watanee" (my national Jordanian number), and quickly turned faces. He left with my papers to his superior desk, who was smoking. By now I was following W. with my eyes everywhere he moved. I got worried. I also started analyzing all facial expressions to assess the situation. W. disappeared and signaled me to wait every time our eyes crossed across the vast number of people in the room. Only after 3 hours did I feel the need to ask for a friends help.

E. is my childhood friend and has never left the country, unlike me. His network of friends reaches the tops of people. What is also unique about E. is that his connections reach downwards too, which is more useful sometimes. He quickly told me to speak with Mr. Tall at the same office. E. also called Mr. Tall himself and told him to take good care of me. Mr. Tall immediately came along and greeted me and I told him where we at with things. He assured it won’t be a problem and to give him 2 minutes to assess the bottle neck. He came back in 30 minutes and told me that yes I do have a problem, but it isn’t really a problem!

E. phoned me back and assured me that Mr. Tall will sort out this problem. He told me that he might ask for money and in that case alone hand him the amount he asks for. It was kind of peculiar for me, as I have never offered baksheesh before, especially in this kind of manner and situation. And as said, Mr. Tall approaches me while W. eyes gazed in the distance, and asked for JOD 50. I hand him JOD 60 instead. I think I did that to emphasize they just rid me off the bureaucracy. He then asked me to head to the Arabic Police department and to call him from there.

I reached there at 2:30pm and the officer roughed me up for being late. All officers and governmental clerks love to leave on time. He was a Jordanian in a Jordanian police uniform, who I will call X. I wonder why it was called the Arabic Police, I don’t know know what it’s function was. I expected foreign officers with foreign uniforms. I had to come the following day.  

The following morning, I started calling Mr. Tall the moment I reached to the Arabic Police headquarters behind the Four Seasons hotel. Around the 10^th call attempt he finally answered. He told me to head up and check with X, and I did. The building looked like an old villa refurnished with big painted pictures of our King on its entrance which had an outside stairs towards the second floor. X remembered me and told me to wait. A couple of hours later in the smoke-filled waiting room, a low-ranked old officer asked me what was it that I was doing there, for a second I didn’t know how to answer. Then I started telling him the process of which ended me up there, he look away with indifference and lost interest in the conversation. It made me feel more uneasy. I still didn’t know why I was there. By that time, I was feeling scared that there is something that is making X delays me that long. And even worst that Mr. Tall sent me here. I started thinking what if someone had sued me for something, or even maybe it’s because my uncles and aunties are Hezbollah recruits since my mother is from the South of Lebanon. I started wondering what it is that got me to the Arabic Police. I was thinking I was doomed!

Minutes after that horrible thought, X showed up with what seemed and smelled like a falafel sandwich stuffed in his face. Falafel is quite common in these public offices. “your paper is done from my side” I asked if there were any papers that I needed to get from his side or dispatch back to the Court of Justice. “no need” he answered, he answered briefly.

Off I went back to W. and Mr. Tall. They gave me the paper and Mr. Tall by now was fond of the usefulness of his interdepartmental connections. I was sent off back to Shady again. Shady took the papers and gave me a slip of a handwritten paper that indicated when I should visit next. It read a week’s time.

I visited after 7 days. Shady angrily threw it back at me and told me to look at the date scribbled badly on the long slip of paper he shove thru his window a week ago.

I came back on the exact mentioned date. Shady took the effort to ask for the documents on the phone, and he searched for the documents around his desk. He couldn’t find them. He told me to come back in 2 days.

I came back in 2 days, which was the last day of the week. I handed over the slip to him and greeted him nicely; I thought we bonded by now and that might help to ease the process of my application. He made me sit and wait. In 15 minutes time, I heard Shady on the phone shouting at a certain Ahmed who seemed to be placed on another floor of the creepy-looking building. Shady was really upset about the fact that Ahmed didn’t send him the applications he requested. Shady got real angry to the extent that the guy waiting in the room with me seemed scared by the extreme yelling and cursing. Shady calls my name loudly, I came to the window and he throws the slip in my face, “come back on Monday”, I didn’t dare discuss what for or why am I being delayed.

To be continued…