Following a voice in the maze of Jamaican bureaucracy

I had to get my passport back. I submitted it to get a visa some weeks ago, things happened along the way, eg. the forms I submitted with it were lost somewhere, and though I was supposed to get it back last Wednesday, it still had not come back. However, I desperately needed to get it today. At noon, I was told to call the government office at 2 o'clock. At 2 o'clock, I called, and something was not working, so I was to call back again before 4pm. I called at 3:45pm, and the first thing she said to me was "I have bad news." "What's the bad news?" "She locked your passport in a cupboard, and we can't find her." And the office was closing in 15 minutes. She said they'd bring it to the airport tomorrow. I said, I must get it back today. "I will go to the office right now. Where is it?" 25 Constant Spring Road, she said, you have to go from Waterloo Road and turn around; it's after Courts (a furniture store).

So began my journey in the maze of Jamaican bureaucracy. Jamaican bureaucracy is notorious for being impossible. Impossible in that first, every person at every step of the way says "no" first regardless, in such a way that is hyper-authoritative that I always call "rude." Second, you go around different persons for days and weeks and months without any result. Third, they don't tell you everything that you need to do to get something done: you submit this paper and that paper, and later, they still tell you that you need to submit another paper. Etc. etc. As I hopped on my car and drove to the passport office, I prepared myself for the impossibility that was going to come ahead. I told myself, "It's going to be difficult, but don't get angry. Endure, and you'll get it."

With her direction, it was easy to find the passport office, but all the gates and doors were closed/locked. I got off my car to ask where to go, and the security simply said I could not park there. I asked again where I was supposed to park, but she did not say a word.

My phone rang then, and it was the lady from the government office. I told her I arrived at the passport office. She asked if anyone was there. I said, there were only securities. She wanted to talk to one of them, and so I handed out my phone to a woman security sitting there. "Excuse me ma'am, someone from the Ministry would like to speak to you." She glared at me and said, "I ain't talking to nobody." All right. I turned to a security man at another gate. "Excuse me sir, someone from the Ministry would like to speak to you." Thank god he took the phone, and told the woman security to let me in.

I went in, parked my car, went to the nearest door, which was locked. I banged. A male voice said, "the office is closed." I looked around to find where the voice was coming from, but couldn't see anybody. "I would like to pick up my passport." "You have to go that way." But which way? I still could not see the man. Then, suddenly, the door in front of me opened, and a skinny man was standing there, pointing to my left.

My phone rang again. I reported to her that they let me in but I had only managed to park my car thus far. She said "Good. They are cooperating." Right, right, that's one way to look at it. I went around to find another door. The door was open this time, but a woman in uniform was sitting at a desk, with a big book opened in front of her. She looked up and said, "it's closed." I consulted my phone, "there is a security woman, and she says it's closed." She said, "Tell her you need to see Mrs Jane Doe." I asked, "Mrs who? Jane Doe?" and just with that, the security woman moved her chin to let me pass through.

I went up a narrow stairway. There was a glass door, which was locked. I could see some people in uniform inside. I moved my mouth to say, "I would like to pick up my passport." A man moved his mouth that seemed to say "CLOSED." At that moment, I saw a young woman holding a passport that looked like mine. I jumped and banged at the door, saying "that's mine, that's mine!" She looked at me, and asked through the door, "What is your name?" "Paris Kingston." She said, "Oh it's you," and opened the door. The lady on the other side of the phone asked, "You got it?" I said, yes!

Jamaican bureaucracy is indeed impossible. It's so impossible to the extent that it's beyond caricature. But it's more like Matrix than Brazil, actually. You need the voice, the key to all these clues and codes that open the door and let you in.