adventures in bureaucracy--say what?!

As some of you may know, a foreigner wishing to stay in Turkey for longer than three months must apply for a residence permit. Having been in Turkey for the 2006/2007 academic school year, I had already applied for and received such a permit. However, upon my return to the states in June of 2007, I imagined the permit useless and stashed it in a drawer with my other trip mementos. Its location moved around and around until settling into a drawer on my desk. After two years, I had forgotten about it. When I decided to study again in Turkey, I didn't think I would need to bring my old one. I thought it was a one-time thing! How was I to know? I suppose every person must take control of his or her knowledge, but AFS didn't explain anything about the permit to us. I didn't think to look anything up. I just assumed it was a one time deal.

Operating in this mindset, thinking that I'd apologize for having lost the thing and they'd chide me and reissue the permit, was clearly a mistake. I made my application and showed up for my appointment at the police station. I waited for four hours (the idea of the appointment is a joke. It works to limit the number of people who show up any given day, but the appointment is only to take a number. You can take a number on time and still end up waiting four hours for your number to come up.) with Kaan, only to be told that we were missing the slip of paper indicating it had been lost.

Say what?! I'm standing right in front of you saying it's been lost! But of course, that isn't ever enough. So we leave to try to find this slip of paper. Apparently all that needs to be done is go to a jail (I don't know how else to explain it. Anywhere with police is a police station to me, but here somehow there are different places. The police station where we were was NOT the police station that could issue the necessary document) and announce the document missing. At that point, the idea is the policemen will write out this little paper, sign it, and stamp it; that should have been the end of it.

So Kaan and I find the nearest jail and obtain this piece of paper. We walk and walk and walk, getting increasingly more annoyed with each other and with the situation. Finally, we find the jail. We are getting hopeful; maybe we'll be able to finish the application process today and it'll be so easy! We walk into the station and are quickly reminded that nothing is easy in bureaucracy.

The police officer sitting at the desk takes one look at us and declares, "We don't do that anymore." Say what?! I can hardly believe this. Maybe it was a recent change and the guy at the OTHER police station just hadn't heard yet. Still hopeful, we returned to the first place, where the almost helpful policeman still wouldn't give me my residence permit. I had let Kaan do most of the talking, so I didn't hear or understand very much. What I did gather was that any and every jail should be able to issue this slip. I guess the police officer at the other jail just didn't feel like working.

Having nothing left to do but get this damned piece of paper, Kaan and I decided to try our luck at another jail. We made our way back to Taksim and up to the door of the police station. The guard standing there listened to our tale and seemed sympathetic. Maybe this would be more successful! Unfortunately, he said, he was practically the only person around and wouldn't be able to help us at the moment. "Come back in two hours," he said. We went to a cafe and hung out, watching a soccer (futbol) game to pass the time.

Two hours later, we returned to the police station. Our helpful friend was nowhere to be seen. Instead, we walked up to another officer in the building and explained our situation. He listened and chided me for being irresponsible. "How could you lose a document like this? Who does that?" I sighed and wanted to roll my eyes. Yes, I lost it (though not really. I just didn't bring it and didn't remember where I had put it!). Yes, it was irresponsible and stupid. But does that mean I have to be talked down to? I was peeved. But did he accept my idiocy and write the sheet of paper? No. He continued, abusing Kaan and our relationship. "Doesn't she have any other Turkish speaking friends? You're making me mad. Take your American and go the bar or the disco or whatever you're doing here. Get out of my face, you're making me mad."

Again, say what? Not only did he not want to do his damned job by writing the slip of paper, he was completely rude about it. I noticed Kaan's anger rising, and we obediently left. I can't tell if the officer was just a jerk, or if he was put off by our appearance together. Kaan's being a Kurd always worries me when we're together in a situation like that; so many people will jump to conclusions about his intentions and will refuse to believe that we do know and love each other. Is it so unreasonable that a foolish, irresponsible American could really actually love a poor, working Kurd? By the way some people look at us and treat us, you'd think it was.

Anyway, that final encounter ended a day of disappointments (except for the soccer match; my team won!). Not only had we waiting IN VAIN for FOUR HOURS, we were tired and feeling very disrespected. We were no closer to getting the residence permit than we were when we had set out at noon. I called my mom in desperation and explained what had happened. I asked her to start looking for the thing again. I named off locations where I might have put it. She, too, searched in vain. We gave up, joking that as soon as I came home I'd be able to pull it out of wherever it was. Kaan and I were not looking forward to the possibility of facing more rude police officers in an attempt at getting this 'lost document' form. We decided to venture to the American Consulate for help; that is what it's there for, right? Something like that. We decided that we'd go and show up and explain the situation. They'd be obligated to issue a statement that these asshole policemen would be obliged to write me this damn piece of paper. Then, we'd go back to the first police station and get my residence permit.

At least we had a plan, no matter how far reaching. We went to bed confident that everything would soon be resolved. And really, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. I had everything I needed, minus this ONE slip of paper. I was TRYING to follow the laws and do what was required of me. The problem was lazy, possibly racist and definitely rude police officers were refusing to do THEIR job and get me the document I needed to follow the law. It was just a silly, strange predicament. As a result of the stressful and hurtful day, I didn't sleep very well. I kept having these horrible anxiety dreams about what would happen if I didn't get the residence permit.

Despite not sleeping well, I awoke in the morning with a slowly forming idea. At 730am it had fully developed. Hurriedly, I called my mother (thankfully it was only 1030 or so there, I didn't have to wake her up!) and recited my discovery. The residence permit was in a plastic box inside a cardboard box in my basement in Colorado Springs. My mom quickly unpacked the box and pulled out the little blue book in triumph. Finally! The plan was, then, to scan the pages, email them to me, and then FedEx the book to Kaan's cafe so that we could return to the police station as soon as possibly.

The FedEx package is currently in Paris. I'm almost ready to start hoping that maybe we can solve this residence permit nonsense soon. Later that day, Friday, I decided to try to start another application (because the old one said I had lost it. now that we've found it, I can just say it's for renewal or something) and make another appointment. I left for school early in the morning to use the internet and discovered all the appointments were full. The earliest appointment I could secure was at the end of October. Ugh! I called Kaan to ask what to do. He decided that when we get the residence permit from FedEx (hopefully tomorrow!), we'll storm the police station, show up without an appointment and without a number, and demand that they finish my application.

I really hope it works. I'm not looking forward to being 'illegal' for a whole month. I have my doubts, however. It seems reasonable that they'd be particularly anal about my application and appointment. I'm anticipating getting there and barging in, only to be told to make an application and an appointment. I guess we'll see. At least this time I'll have the residence permit, even if it did expire two years ago. Inevitably, this will offer another set of problems to deal with.. but at least I have the damn thing.


On Friday, instead of going to the Consulate, Jessi and I went on another adventure together. Unfortunately for all of you, I'm really exhausted after recounting my Thursday experience. Maybe I'll type it up at home and post it tomorrow. But maybe not. If my package arrives tomorrow, Kaan and I will probably go to the police station. If it doesn't come, I have to go to school at one or something for the level one Russian class. Boo hoo. I still have to figure out what I'm going to do about that.

Until then, I highly recommend MLIA. It's wonderful.