2009
Jul 
6

Embassy Fortress

15:33  
 

Nothing gets in or out.

I had to go to the American Embassy in Cairo this morning. My passport still has five years left before it expires, but all of my visa pages have been used up. This is not necessarily from traveling a lot—traveling between EU countries now requires no passport control—but from living long-term in a country that has very arbitrary and haphazard immigration and border control. My passport is chock full of Egyptian visas.

Here is how it works: you can get a temporary—tourist—visa to enter the country from your local Egyptian consulate or embassy. Or, you pay the visa fee and get the stamp when you enter the country at the airport. Either way, this takes one page of your passport. Upon landing, you get an arrival stamp (one-quarter of a page). If you leave and come back you get an exit stamp and another incoming stamp (half page). If you apply for a resident visa through a sponsor, such as the university, you will use up another page.

If you apply for a long-term tourist visa—which is what most people do whether they are working/attending university here or not—this takes yet another page. From the last calendar year, I have four tourist visas (4 pages), one multi-entry endorsement (1/2 page), two full-time student/resident visas (2 pages), and about six exit/entry stamps (1 1/2 pages). That is a total of nine out of the sixteen-odd visa pages in my passport gone. My most recent resident visa has expired and I have two weeks to get a tourist visa for the summer in order to fill the gap before the University will sponsor me for another visa. The Mogamma will not place another visa in my passport becasue I am out of pages.

It was time to have pages added to the ol’ passport. So, I checked the embassy hours online: 8am until 11am, every Sunday through Thursday except for holidays and the last Tuesday of every month.

Confused yet? Just hang on.

So, this morning, I dragged myself out of bed and staggered downstairs to catch a cab downtown. I arrived near the embassy and walked, looking for the entrance. The American Embassy in Cairo appears to be a tribute to the concrete fortress-style architecture of the American 1970s. Here is a picture, which I do not own the rights to, but gets the point across. I would have taken my own picture but likely this would have ended in my being arrested and beaten. What you will not see in that picture is the 5 meter high wall that surrounds the triangular tower in the middle of an triangular city block. I didn’t know which of the three streets the main entrance was on, so I just picked a side and started walking.

It was the wrong side.

There are three or four doors in the two-kilometer long embassy wall, labeled cryptically. I just kept walking and walking and finally asked one of the many Egyptian National Security guys standing outside the walls where the entrance was. He gave me directions. By this point I am already worried that I will not have enough time to get inside, wait in line and submit my paperwork. I am also a little put off by how—not—inviting the embassy building itself is.

A few weeks prior to this, I was invited by one of the committee members at the BCA to the Queen’s Birthday Party at the British Embassy. It was a giant cocktail party for the Queen. Bagpipes, drinks, food, ice-cream, hundreds and hundreds of diplomats. It was pretty cool. The party was held in the garden at the embassy residence: a very lovely, very comfortable setting. Grand British architectural style, but quite modern. Apparently, before the construction of the Nile Corniche road, the garden had extended all the way to the river. Lovely. The American Embassy is the opposite of this. While the British seemed to say, “Come in. Have a drink,” the Americans seemed to be saying, “Please leave now, or we might beat you.”

I finally found the entrance and a man pointed me to the left door as he was pointing couples of people to the door on the right. I noticed an AUC professor who I often see in the library in the line ahead of me. Once inside the security chamber—for lack of a better term—I was relieved of my mobile phone and my identification. I had been warned about this by a friend who had told me to take a book, but nothing electronic. After reassembling my person, I was told that to get to the American Citizen Services section I would need to go right then right again, left, up the stairs outside, through the doors, right, then down the stairs inside and then left. There were no signs. I noticed the visa section for Egyptians trying to get entry visas on my left before the stairs and the doors and things. It was outside. At 10am the temperature was already 30C (86F). No better way to say “please come to our country” than “please sit in this horrifyingly hot place and wait forever for the privilege.”

Even once inside, the place screamed “Go away! You do not belong here!” The ceiling was 50 meters above and there were rows of identical windows. The room was triangular. I was standing below ground in the center of the triangular tower. I took a number from a machine, which was tiny, unlabeled and on a shelf practically at eye-level so that you would have to search the entire high-ceilinged chamber before finding it. Then I waited. There were 30 people ahead of me. This took the better part of the hour.

Once my number was called, the rest was relatively painless. I submitted my passport and application and was then instructed to take a blue form to the cashier, even though there is no charge for additional pages being added to a passport. I was told that I needed to get a “no-charge” receipt from the cashier. I rolled my eyes. The woman on the other side of the bullet-proof glass did not blink and pointed in the direction of the cashier.

And that was it. I was told to come back the next morning and my passport would be ready. Relatively painless. I just wonder what goes on inside the embassy that requires that level of fortress-like security and obfuscation. We—Americans—really are crazed when it comes to security theater. We just can’t get enough. So, tomorrow morning I will get up and repeat the process before work, or just wait until Wednesday when I can go to the Mogamma as well—an experience which I will also write about, I’m sure.