In my previous post I explained how the most frequent concern I’ve absorbed about being a foreigner in the Middle East — that is, over my personal safety — is not really a problem here in Syria. “Ahlan wa sahlan! Welcome!” Syrians say enthusiastically when I tell them that I’m American; ironic or not, their words are everything but threatening. I’m offered telephone numbers and email addresses and asked for my own. I’m invited over to dinner to meet people’s kids. I’m offered assistance with any problem I might have with anything. Indeed, Syrian hospitality is sometimes too much to handle*.
No, the main problems in my life right now can be attributed to the US government. They’ve taken what are simple tasks for members of other nationalities and transformed them into convoluted and costly procedures. Consider the processes and costs that go into getting routine notarial services taken care of…
A common task for students in Damascus is to obtain forms from your embassy stating various things. One form states that your embassy has “no objection” with you enrolling into a university. Another form acknowledges that you are who you say you are, traveling with the passport you possess, which itself bears the number it says it does. These forms, like much of the vast Syrian bureaucracy, are redundant and exist only for the purpose of giving the appearance of stuff getting done. Widely known throughout Syrian institutions, these forms are so common, such a mainstay of life in Syria, that most institutions are set up to deal with them. Thus most foreign embassies have the forms ready and waiting for their citizens to collect so they can be processed efficiency. This helps ease your adjustment to living in a foreign place and just kind of makes you feel good inside knowing that people from your country are right there ready to help you if you need it.
Not at the US embassy. For me to visit a clerk there, I have to first go online and make an appointment. There are three problems with this. First, there are only 8 available time slots per day, and while there are always plenty of open spots, they’re only given between 9:45 - 11:00 AM, which means I’m forced to miss at least half a day of Arabic class. Second, the process presumes I have access to the internet, which I don’t often do, so in practice it means I’ve got to take a trip to an internet cafe or wait for when/if I stumble upon an unlocked WiFi signal here in my neighborhood. Third, the process presumes I have access to a printer, because the first guard doesn’t let you pass without a printed copy of your appointment summary form. This means I have to go to an internet cafe with printing services. Missed class, paid-for computing services: time and money gone. What’s more, the embassy actually charges you $50 per service! Here’s the price list. Thus far I’ve made my embassy here in Damascus $100 richer and given them about 6 hours of my time.
Compare this to the embassies of Spain and Germany whose citizens enjoy the luxury of drop-in appointments and free notarial services. Both embassies provide the forms you request on the spot, allow you to complete them right then and there, and just ask you to come back the next day to grab the final copies with all the necessary stamps of approval. Pretty straight forward. I envy it.
The one thing the embassy has going for it is that it’s impossible to miss. That’s a big advantage the first time you try to find it, as directions are sometimes hard to follow here in Damascus. All you have to do it look for the bright white fortress surrounded by 30-foot blast walls topped with multiple curls of barbed wire. If you’re still unsure, check the front of the building for the huge all-caps lettering: “EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA”. Each letter is at least a foot tall, so you can imagine the sign’s overall width. And if you’re still not sure you have the right building, just keep an eye out for the stars and stripes waving atop the guard tower, the tallest structure in the vicinity. You really can’t miss it.
* Our chickpea guy, for example, might serve up a glass of hot tea while we wait all of 30 seconds for him to fill up the container with chickpeas. Of course it takes longer than that to drink the tea, so you end up having a further exchange. He’ll explain the ingredients that go into the container — boiled chickpeas, lemon juice, salt, cumin (hummus, limon, nilh, kumon) — and won’t let us leave the shop without trying that day’s batch offul (stewed fava beans with spices and yogurt). Even if you’re feeling slightly under the weather, say, with an upset stomach or gasoline fume-induced headache, you can’t bear turning him down.
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