After two weeks, it had taken seventy two phone calls, twelve unanswered emails and one false alarm fedex delivery before I was finally informed by the Embassy of Ghana in Washington, D.C. that my passport was missing and that it seemed that it had never even arrived on their premises.
The unsuspecting woman who was on the phone to deliver this news to me was not pleased when I yelled about the disorganization and lack of accountability at the Embassy. I even hung up when she told me I needed to be patient. I surely could have delivered that feedback in a more diplomatic manner.
Directly after that phone call I dolefully canceled my flight to Accra, Ghana.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t give up just yet. My next step was to call a passport expediting service.
The agent at RushMyPassport, Ken, said that they could get a new passport to me in 24 hours, but that an expedited visa would take at least a week, as it still needed to go through the Ghanaian Embassy. With the issues I had already encountered, I was reluctant to send my passport through mail again. I knew it was very unlikely for my documents to be misplaced a second time, but I also knew that it wasn’t so unlikely that the processing or mailing could be delayed.
“I’m sure it would go very quickly if you just walked into the embassy in Washington, D.C. and demanded a visa in person,” he added with a chuckle.
My eyes widened and sparkled with an idea. I thanked Ken, told him I would be sending in my passport information that afternoon and hung up. My next phone call was to Leslie, my professor in Ghana. She endorsed and encouraged my plan and I made two more calls; one to my parents to give them the 411 and one to my travel agent.
I suddenly had a one way ticket from Portland, Oregon to Washington, D.C.
Two days later, on July 1st, I left on a red eye flight to Washington, D.C. new passport in hand and bags packed for a Ghanaian adventure. At 8:45am I arrived at our nation’s capital and was picked up by my uncle* who so wonderfully drove me directly to International Road. I hopped out of the car and into the sticky D.C. air with my backpack full of visa application forms. After thanking my uncle, I said I’d see him at dinner time, and I swung the car door closed.
I trekked up International Road, which is lined with embassies. I knew I had reached the Embassy of Ghana when I spotted the golden gate adorned with Adinkra* symbols.
I marched through the promising gate (I’m sure I was walking normally but my determination made it feel more dramatic), and was stopped by a guard who, by the look on my face, I suppose, guessed that I was looking for visa information. “Yes I am!” I blurted emphatically.
He pointed over his shoulder to the line of people seeping out of the door behind him.
Sigh.
To the end of the line I went.
There seemed to be a fair amount of frustrated people coming and going as I waited. Those who I had a chance to speak with in line were having issues with their visas for reasons ranging from needing a visa faster than the Embassy was willing to process one, to filling out forms incorrectly on the first few tries. For the next fourty five minutes, I inched my way inside and closer to the window behind which there was a small room with a clerk dressed in an emerald ensemble sitting at the counter.
Emerald. Like the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. This woman, behind the glass window of her stuffy office, would either be my wish-granting wizard and gateway to Ghana or the way to a summer without ruby slippers.
Finally, with five people left ahead of me, I was able to hear each customer/clerk interaction. Three of the five had my same impossible request: to procure a visa in 24 hours. They each had their reasoning and they were each told by the emerald clerk that the Embassy did not and would not offer that service for any case.
The pit in my stomach grew each time I heard that answer. My peers in Ghana were starting their internships that day and it appeared that I wouldn’t be able to join them for at least another week. At what point did I need to draw the line and say that the cost outweighed the benefit?
As worry laced through my mind, I suddenly found myself at the window. I placed my visa application and passport in the clerks outstretched hand and remained quite for a moment as she shifted my papers around.
She pulled a form out of my pile and droned, “I need a copy of this. Please go make one at the FedEx down the road.”
I’m not sure what it was about this request that made me snap, although I think inadequate sleep and extreme frustration had something to do with it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I exclaimed instantly and before I knew it I had sputtered my entire saga and concluded with a melodramatic punchline about “flying across the country just to get a visa”.
She let me finish my rant and looked at me with inquisitive eyes as she asked, “What is your name?”
“Daryl Mogilewsky.”
Her eyebrows rose and she let out a slight, “Oh.”
She picked up the phone and made a quick incoherent call. A few moments after, another woman appeared and took my forms from the clerk and left. She then asked me to take a seat for a few minutes. With the hope that good behavior from then on out would get me a visa quickly, I complied.
Two more people came and went to the window and as the third walked up, the phone in the window room rang. The emerald woman answered and her eyes darted over to me, phone pressed against her ear. She lifted her hand and motioned for me to come over.
“It’s for you.”
I was ecstatic. This was it! Whoever was on the other line was going to tell me that they would have my visa ready before the end of the day. Or so I thought, until I put the receiver up to my ear and heard,
“Daryl? This is the woman you hung up on last week.”
Hot damn. I didn’t see that one coming.
“Oh, hello….I’m sorry about that.” I squeaked. “Do you have any news on the status of my visa?”
“You know, Daryl, you should be kind to the people who are trying to help you. You came all the way here and look, you are still dealing with the same people.”
“I know, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I…”
“When you call you shouldn’t hang up.”
I knew that hanging up on her was not to most courteous thing I could have done, but I had apologized. While I knew I hadn’t been in the right, I also thought it wasn’t the place or time for her to be giving me a lecture on how to be a nicer customer.
“Yes, I know I didn’t handle the situation perfectly,” I said, “but when this Embassy went two weeks without responding to my numerous, desperate attempts at communication, you must understand that I was feeling enraged. You should also know that I meant what I said when I called the communication system in this establishment bullsh*t.”
This time, she hung up on me.
I hung the phone on the receiver and took my seat, again, knowing that I had blown my attempt at “good behavior”.
“It’s over,” I thought. “They’re going to tell me that it will be ready next Monday, just like they told the other three.” I twiddled my thumbs in my seat and considered my options.
“I could stage a sit in,” dreamed my inner monologue. “I’ll just refuse to leave. I’ll sit right here. What a great blog post it will make if I am escorted out by a…”
My scheming was interrupted by the emerald woman who had called my name from behind her window. I stood up gingerly and took the few steps to the booth.
The glass window ended just a few inches above the counter space, leaving a gap, and when I reached the counter I looked down and saw the woman’s hand poking out from under the glass holding my passport.
“Double check that its correct, please,” she said robotically as she pulled out a folder of forms that she began to sift through mundanely.
My little blue book was in my hand and I flipped to the first visa page where I saw an official Embassy of Ghana seal and sticker.
“I’m so happy I could cry,” I said, evidently, out loud. The emerald woman looked up and cracked a smile.
Operation Visa had been completed. I pranced out of the office and did a fist pump up into the drizzling capital clouds knowing that I would be Ghana bound in less than 24 hours and not yet knowing what an unbelievably warm welcome my peers and professor had in store for me.*
A week later, I sit here in my bunk bed in our sixteen person Ghanaian home after my second day at work, completely comfortable and satisfied. I refuse to shower tonight due to the cockroaches that have been making an appearance in the drain, so instead I’m laying with a tummy filled with Ghanaian plantains and chicken, working on my media and culture assignments and reflections, and dreaming of the weekend in the city of Kumasi that is a mere three days ahead of us.
This is home for the next five weeks, and I believe that I appreciate now, more than ever, that there’s no place like home.
*Thank you to the Woodhull family for taking me in and housing me at the last minute and for your generous hospitality. I had a wonderful time staying with you and hope to see you all very soon. It had been way too long and I’d love to stay more connected.
*Adinkra symbols, originally created by an ethnic group native to the Ivory Cost and Ghana called the Akan, are west African visual symbols used in architecture, fabric, pottery, jewelry and more. They represent concepts and aphorisms and are very prevalent in Ghanaian society.
*I would like the Media in Ghana 2013 crew to know how much I appreciate their support throughout the craziness. The warm welcome I received and the assistance I’ve had in catching up with what I’ve missed is so appreciated. I’d also like Professor Leslie Steeves to know that her insistence that I continue to fight to come and to stay a extra ten days was comforting and positively encouraging. The welcome gift and her help and support in dealing with my logistics has made the quick transition completely smooth. Thanks, everyone!