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…
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