Running the Run-Around

Upon entering the country for the second time, an immigration official stamping my passport casually told me that I would have to go to the Department of Security within the first two weeks to get a foreigner's identification card otherwise I would technically be staying in the country illegally. Oh. Why didn't the consulate of the other immigration official who let me into the country in July tell me anything about that?

This meant that I spent all of last Friday running around the city trying to get all the necessary documents in order. First to DAS at 7:30 am to pick up the official list. I then walked around the Belen neighborhood to 4 different laboratories until I found one that would test for my blood type so early in the morning. (The woman pricking my finger thought that my name should be a web address because of how silly of a last name "Shaw" is: www.alinashaw.com). Two copies of that certificate, two copies of the biographical page of my passport, two copies of my visa, two copies of pretty much every other important document that tells anything about me. Six photographs, with a blue background and no gloss. I could only pay the $40 processing fee at one bank in the city which is not accessible by Metro, so I trekked up there and went through the most insane security I have ever seen at anywhere but an airport: I had to leave everything but my wallet in a locker outside the main room and then go through a device that checked for explosives by blowing spurts of air at me. Oh yeah, and make two copies of that receipt. I can only imagine what people applying for visas and green cards in the US have to go through...

By the time I went back to the office Monday morning and finally started getting my piles of paperwork processed, I was halfway expecting that I had forgetten one document and have to wait in the long line all over again. But luckily my perfectionism paid off and I just had to sit in a swivel chair for half an hour while a woman entered all my information into an old-fashioned ledger and cut and pasted my card into existence. As a final touch she made me go into a back room and proceeded to fingerprint every part of my hand she could blacken with ink. Each forefinger four times, every other finger at least twice. Palm, all fingers together, heel. I was about to ask her if I should take off my shoes and socks so she could print my toes just to cover all our bases. But she didn't seem to be in the mood for humor, not with the stack of everyone else's papers waiting at her desk to become part of the national identification process. At least I know that if any of my fingers gets chopped off accidentally they will have its print on file so they know to whom it should be returned...

So I now have a temporary card and cedula number I can give to the pharmacist when he asks me if I want to be entered into their free-stuff lottery. Despite the hassle and the three days of lost work, I guess for the sake of my own safety it is good that the Colombian government can track me throughout the year.