“Ken. Emerging markets consultant. And you?”
“I’m an architect,” I said.
“Here for a visa?”
“Yes.”
“My third time at the embassy this year. They only give you a visa for as long as your trip. If you’re going for four days, a four-day visa. The place is mad. But wait till you get to the country. What are you heading there for? Part of the new Atlantic City team?”
“No. I’m going to see my father.”
I took a step towards the woman in front of me. Her shoulder bag gaped, revealing a bottle of Ribena, crumpled tissues, a wallet, and a phone that was in danger of tumbling out.
“Excuse me, your bag is open,” I said.
“Ei, thank you, my sister. The zip is faulty. I’m just managing it.”
She ran the zip back and forth until the Louis Vuitton bag looked closed.
“This is our third time here. The first time, they said the biometric machine was not working. The second time, they said passport booklets have finished so no more applications till next month. Please God, today we will get it. We have already bought our ticket and these people want to mess us up. What of you? Your passport has expired?”
“No. I’m here for a visa, actually.”
“Are you not Bamanaian?”
“My father is.”
“Ehen. I can see it from your face. I know you’re half-caste but that nose, it’s a Bamana nose.”
I was pleased that there was something evidently Bamanaian about me although annoyed by her use of the term “half-caste.” It was archaic at best; offensive at its worst.
“So, you’re going home to visit your father?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said briefly, ready to end our conversation.
“That’s nice. When you get there, you’ll just get the passport from Segu. Tell him to do it for you instead of coming here for visa every time. And there, it’s even quicker. You just go, if you give them some money, they bring it out for you the next day. Wait, my sister is calling. Francina . . .”
I stepped back from her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were from Bamana,” the man behind me said. “Like every place, it has its problems, like here even, but the people are so friendly. It’s a beautiful country. Of course, you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“It’s my first visit.”
I slipped my earphones in and listened to nothing until the embassy doors opened. Inside was a waiting area with plastic seats and officials behind glass counters. The ticket man announced, “When you hear your number, go to the counter. If you’re absent when they call you, come outside and collect a new ticket number from me.”
“What if you’re in the toilet?”
“Don’t go to toilet when they call you.”
He left the room.
“So I should piss myself?” There were chuckles and jeers. I sat on the last empty chair, chair twenty-five. The room smelled of cooking spices, the scents smuggled in clothing and hair. There was also sweat. The heating was almost unbearable and, although it was winter outside, some were fanning themselves.
“No chairs,” a man announced once he walked in. “They can’t even provide simple chairs. Once you step inside here, you’ve gone back home to inefficiency. This country is going nowhere.”
No one responded.
“Hello, my sister.” It was the lady from in front of me in the queue. “My sister Francina has come. She’s over there. Please, if you’ll just let her go when they call your number, then after that you’ll take your turn. Please, I beg. They’ve come from Leeds.”
I looked over at Francina, who was smiling in my direction. She was carrying one child on her hip and there were another two in a double pram. Nobody stood up for her.
“I’d be careful of swapping if I were you. Once you lose your place, you might have to start all over again.”
It was Ken, the consultant, leaning against the wall behind me.
“Obroni, who asked you?”
She kissed her teeth and walked back to her sister.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem. So how come it’s only your first trip if your father lives there?”
“He used to live in England. He moved back.”
“Ah, I see. She was right, you know. You can get a passport easily once you get there. Bamana is trying to get its diaspora back. For a while dual citizenship was banned . . . but that was under President Adjei. Things have changed.”