Officially an Abesha (kind of!)

I am now officially an Ethiopian resident – albeit on a temporary basis – and have the fabulous laminated green ID card in my wallet to prove it!

I have spent an exciting few days going from government office to government office (with a few trips to internet cafes in between to print things out), and at one point I actually started to give various departments marks out of 10 for efficiency (Ministry of Immigration and Ministry of Agriculture scored highest, if you’re interested).

Having a residence permit is important as it allows me to keep working in Ethiopia, but it’s also going to save the NGO I work for some money as I will now pay ‘Abesha price’ not ‘faranji price’. For example, there are two different prices for things like internal flights or hotel rooms; one for visitors to the country, and one for people who live in the country. Sometimes it feels a bit like it’s ‘you’re white, pay more!’ (and sometimes it’s implemented as such) but if you think about it, it makes sense – otherwise prices would either be so cheap tourists and visitors would be paying practically nothing, or even the best paid Ethiopian would be unable to afford their own country. As I am now resident in the country (and getting an ‘allowance’ in birr) I am allowed to pay Abesha price. Hurrah!

Anyway, back to the residence permit.

When my boss came to Ethiopia, she got the information and forms from DPPC (the department who gives the NGO permission to have me!) and gave them the documents they needed (including copies of my qualifications etc). In theory, all I needed to do was complete the form and hand it in to the Ministry of Labour and Social Affairs … but nothing could ever be that easy!

First I completed the form wrong. When it said ‘work experience’ I assumed it meant work experience before I got to Ethiopia … but it turns out it actually means work experience since I’ve been in Ethiopia. Then I discover that the letters collected from the Ministry of Agriculture (or of Rural Development, or something) weren’t authorized properly.

The whole ‘important documents protocol’ is something I’ve had to get used to here. When sending letters or important papers (or applying for residence permits!) signing an application is not really important. In fact, I get funny looks of the ‘faranji’s are weird’ variety when I submit a report with my signature on in Lalibela! What’s important to ‘authenticate’ your letter is having the letter number on there (how many letters has your office sent out before this letter?) and the letter being stamped with the organisation’s official rubber stamp.

So to solve the problems this time, I went to the Agriculture office, who sent me into one of the most terrifyingly efficient and organised offices I’ve ever seen, where they stamped and scribbled on my letters (I have no idea what it says as it’s in Amharic – it could be saying ‘this woman is a pain in the arse, do not allow her to stay’ for all I know). This pleased the woman when I went back to the Ministry of Labour and I thought I’d cracked it – only to be told I wasn’t authorised to submit the application on my own behalf. The discussion went something like this:

Important Office Lady: Do you have permission to collect this documentation?
Me: Well, yes, I’m applying for the permit myself
IOL: But you need permission from your organisation to do that
Me: They’ve given me the documents, and the country representative has signed the form like it says …
IOL: You need a letter from the Project Manager to give you permission to apply
Me: (desperately) but it doesn’t say that! My Project Manager’s in Lalibela and I’m in Addis!
IOL: You need a stamped letter.
Me: Well, I have the organisation’s stamp, it’s my stamp! So if I go and write a letter giving me permission to apply for this, and stamp it, that will be okay?
IOL: Yes, that’s fine.

So I did. They accepted it and I breathed a sign of relief. Then the lady (who, I suspect, was trying not to burst into tears every time I reappeared in the office, waving yet another piece of paper …) said ‘the permit will be ready in a week’.

What? A week! Noooo! (yet another thing I should have forseen …) I begged and pleaded and explained that I was returning to Lalibela at the end of the week and needed to become a signatory on the account before going back, so I couldn’t wait a week … and God bless the lovely office lady, she said she would get it done for the next day. Possibly only so she wouldn’t have to deal with me any more.

Then came my next surprise – the little green book I was picking up? Not my residence permit at all! Instead it’s my work permit, which I had to take the Immigration Office (along with another form) and apply again for my actual residence permit. Argh!

But it’s all good. The Ministry of Immigration aspect of it was much easier than I anticipated (and they didn’t send me off to get more pictures or anything, as they had a photo booth at each one of the desk – a very good idea!), and at 5pm on my last day in Addis I finally went to pick up my residence permit.

I am obviously very pleased I have the permit as it makes travelling around much cheaper, and it means I can be a signatory on the Addis Ababa bank account, which will help the NGO … but I have to admit, the most satisfying moment was when a café tried to charge me ‘faranji price’ for a juice and A. argued, slapping the residence permit onto the table as proof of my ‘Abesha-ness’! Does that make me a bad person? Probably!