Immigration2

The next morning, we left home and after a 15 minute drive we arrived at Mike's brother's home where we left the truck parked for the day. After a short walk to the train station, we caught the train for the hour long ride to the city. Once there, a 5 minute taxi ride saw us at the Immigration offices. It was 8.30am and we had come in early, wanting to be among the first in the queue. How na�ve we were!
   Locating the building, we went through the front door. Here, as it is a federal building, metal scanners awaited us. Mike emptied his pockets and a security guard pounced on Mike's key ring. A small, and I mean small, pocket knife was attached to the key ring, this dangerous weapon could not be taken into the building. Options? Take it outside, or have it confiscated. Without hesitation, Mike surrendered it, not wanting to cause any delay. My bag passed through the scanner without comment. On asking where we needed to go to lodge the Parole application, we were directed outside and told to take the side entrance.
   Outside and locating the side entrance, we found a room with a maze type barrier and a queue of about 100 people. While attempting to join the end of the queue we were stopped by a young security guard. The guard asked where was our place in the line. I said that, as we had just arrived, our place would be at the end. He pointed outside and said that the end of the line was out there.
   Looking to where he was pointing, I nearly fell over. There was around 200 people standing outside! I had noticed the queue on the way into the building and had thought it was city workers waiting for buses...duh!
   Trudging outside, we took our place at the end of the queue. We were not prepared for this. It was now raining and this were had not prepared for. We had dressed for the cold, not the wet. Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out the newspaper that we had read on the train. Covering our heads with the paper at least stopped the rain from dripping down our collars. We stood like this for 4 hours, slowly edging closer towards the door to the room we had first tried to enter.
   A consolation of sorts while waiting outside was another new sight for me, though I really could have given it a miss. Opposite where we were standing was the Federal Court and at times a van would pull up and prisoners, male and female, handcuffed and shackled, would be led into the court. I would wonder what crimes they had committed for them to end up that way. I had never seen anyone shackled before even though I had lived alongside a prison when young as my father was a prison officer.
   At long last, we were among the people herded into the room. By now, we were cold and feeling utterly miserable, but at least we were out of the rain. The room contained the maze type barrier popular in most waiting areas, and slowly, ever so slowly, everyone was shuffled along, making their way to the next obstacle. Those in charge have never heard of personal body space, or, if they have, they discount it. The constant cry was "Move up closer to the person in front of you". Packed in like sardines, the room soon became steamy with the wet coats all drying off.
   Remarkably, people kept their humour despite the conditions. I suspect that most were like me, knowing that to complain would be pointless. Firstly, you would have to find someone who would listen, and secondly, to do so, might well be used against the complainer in some way. An hour in the holding pen, (I had dubbed it this name within minutes) and we were through to the hallway where the metal scanner waited for us. This provided no problems, and, (we couldn't see beyond this point), we thought that there would be someone ready to take our application once we entered the next room. Wrong!!!!

Another maze barrier room containing around 60-70 people, another wait, more shuffling. Close to an hour later we could see the counter, we were nearly there! Hearing the officious "Next!", I took a deep breath, approached the woman and explained what I wanted. She looked over the papers I had with me and asked about a receipt. (This turned out to be the acknowledgement of our applications, we had not seen mention of requiring this receipt to be presented). Unsure as to what she was asking for, I asked for an explanation. This was given, curtly, and we were sent on our way. Nothing, but, nothing, would be done without the receipt!
Home again and the next day we contacted the lawyer. The receipt had not arrived at his office and until it did, the Parole application could not be filed. Eventually, over a week later, it arrived so we could go through the process again......lucky us!!!
This receipt gave the processing time for the different applications. The application for my work permit stated that the processing time was " 90 days, on or before Feb 28th". This was good news, I could start looking for employment in late February, after all, I had it in writing as to when the application would be processed.