The right to drive: A typical Middle East government paperwork odyssey

The first attempt at obtaining my Omani driver's license began on a Sunday, when another colleague and I had scheduled a driver from the university to take us to the American embassy to pick up attestations of our degrees. The plan was to go to the embassy, get the forms, then go to the foreign affairs office to get the official Omani stamp on the docs (thus finishing one complete task), then on to the ROP (Royal Omani Police) driving license building to start the license ball rolling, a completely new task. Due to the embassy trip taking an hour longer than expected and me being the only one in the van that was keen on getting a license that day, we didn't go to the ROP, but returned to the university. Because of meetings for the remainder of the week, my next opportunity for getting the license fell on the following Sunday.

Now, I understand that most paperwork in the Middle East takes, on average, three trips to get one item done. The first trip is usually a re-con trip that involves, depending on the item needing to be obtained, a small or large amount of information gathering. Forms needed to be filled out are obtained on this initial trip and usually involve one or two pieces of information that you don't have on you, but your employment sponsor does, so you have to go back to your employer and get said information OR go back to the employer to receive a formal letter -- with a stamp of course -- that verifies the validity of you obtaining whatever it is that you are trying to get. In this case, my initial trip to the ROP office involved paying 400 baisas (about $1 USD) to get a driver's license application form, which is written only in Arabic and requires that it be filled out in Arabic. Seeing as my Arabic is not that advanced, I had to take the application back to PR at the university and have it filled out for me by a PR attendant (thankfully, he catered to my request for a copy of the application form to be made so that he could walk me through each information item and translate it with me so that when I encounter these common paperwork phrases in Arabic again, I can understand more than "Name" and "Nationality") and a letter he drafted and stamped to verify that I do work at the university and that I have permission to get a driver's license.

The second trip to the ROP office was postponed until the next day because 1) there wasn't an available driver around and 2) my colleague and I were suffering from an illness that required us going to the clinic in the afternoon rather than a police office. Side note: Turns out we had a virus that really did a number on our systems and involved me not being able to eat anything substantial for 4 days. That being said, the next morning we were on our way for the second trip of government service obtainment. Typically, a second trip is when you show up to the government office with your completed form and letter with a stamp, only to find that you have -- not necessarily of any fault of your own -- either filled out the paperwork incorrectly or you need to arbitrarily change something to fall in line with a bureaucratic unspoken rule of thumb. In this case, the two passport-sized photos that I needed to submit were taken with a white background - the ROP demands photos with a blue backgroud. Additionally, I didn't have a photocopy of my residency card, passport, and Michigan driver's license attached to the application and employer letter. Thus, prompting the dreaded third visit.

Now, on a third visit, anxiety and frustration are at their peaks. A third visit can go one of two ways: success or failure, with the latter requiring you to add one tiny bit of information that you don't have, prompting either a fourth visit or a complete and utter public meltdown where in which you guilt trip or embarrass government officials enough to get what you need without getting that last bit of info. In the case of a meltdown, being female in a typically male-only office comes in real handy.

I was determined to not do a fourth visit and I am not dramatic enough for meltdowns, so in preparation for my third visit, I went to the photo lab on campus and got my picture taken with a blue background by a very nice Omani gentlemen who gave me 12 prints for free as a "new faculty member special" because I could speak to him in Arabic as a result of having lived in Saudi. The PR attendant also took mercy on me and made 2 copies of the other ID documentation that I needed for free. God provided further by presenting me with a colleague who could take me to the ROP that afternoon before the office closed at 4pm (she needed to go there as well since they put the wrong blood type on the back of her license).

My third visit to the ROP began well -- a friendly Omani janitor was manning the ticket distribution desk and was able to give me a number that allowed me to wait in line for the eye test. Things quickly went south, though, when I presented my papers and photos to the officer manning the eye test. He refused to process me, citing (via the female officer sitting next to him) that my photo background wasn't completely blue. Puzzled, I thought that maybe they meant that the white perimeter of the photo was standing in the way of me getting the license, so I asked the female officer if she had scissors, which she responded with an uncharacteristically terse, "No!"

Now, it's at this time that I experience what I call the "passive-aggressive confrontational cold shoulder pregnant pause," where the person upset with me avoids eye contact and refuses to say anything to me, a tactic used to indirectly show me that I am somehow in the wrong and that I'm an idiot for not understanding why I'm wrong, and the person is going to wait until I get tired of the silence and either admit that I'm in the wrong or start making an ass of myself by getting confrontational. Because I was sincerely confused as to why I was getting the pregnant pause and because the pause being given to me by the male officer made the female officer more uncomfortable than me, I got a "shwaya" right-hand gesture and sympathetic "Wait," from the female officer, who waited until a different male officer finished a conversation with another person to defer to him as to what should be done about me. It's at this point that I understand that what isn't COMPLETELY blue about the background in my photos are these minuscule white splotches on the blue background that was used by the university photo lab, which enrages me. I suppress voicing a vulgar, "Are you f-in kidding me?!?!" while the second male officer shrugs his shoulders and gives a half eye roll that exonerates me.

I pass the eye test and then take a second ticket to get in the queue for the ACTUAL processing of all the paperwork. With four numbers left until I'm called, the power in the building goes out, eliciting yelps of excitement from the officers worker and groans from those sitting in the waiting section. By the grace of God, the power resumes five minutes later, but we have to wait fifteen more minutes until the systems are back up and running (a driver's license is 20 Omani Rials and can be paid only by a Visa card - no cash). My number gets called, and I greet processing officer Ali in Arabic successfully enough to do 3 exchanges and earning language points when the nosey officer next to him takes my university paperwork from the counter and expresses his surprise that I'm a "Doctora," but I correct him by giving my proper title in Arabic "Moodarrassa (teacher)." Thinking that I'm in the home stretch of my third visit, another officer comes up to me with my Michigan license in his hand, asking where the issuance date of my American license is written. I tell him that since Michigan licenses are good for five years, the issuance date is assumed to be on the birthday five years before the expirary date birthdate. This logic does not translate well, and so I explain that the license in his hand was issued to me in April of 2008 because it was during that month and year that I got my wallet stolen in New York City and had to be issued a new -- at this point in my explanation, I'm given a "Hallas, hallas, hallas (I understand, don't speak anymore/finished/okay)," verbal response, my Visa transaction is accepted, and I'm directed to pick up my license at the window at the end of the hall. I wish officer Ali "Ramadan mubarak," which he corrects me and says, "Eid mubarak" (it's a few days before the Eid celebration). I happily walk to the end of the hall to pick up my card, making sure to be ueber pleasant to the woman distributing cards, and am super pleased that the expiration date of license is 10 years from now - Thank God I don't have to go through this again anytime soon. I check over the card to make sure that my blood group is labeled A positive, and realize that they've spelled my last name incorrectly in Arabic (يودير instead of يودر, which is the difference between the pronunciation of Yodeer v. Yoder). But for all of the hoops that I stumbled through just to feel that small piece of rectangular plastic in my hand, I say FORGET IT! - at least it matches the same mistake made on my residency card, a government service obtainment that required only one trip!