Driving license

Finally I have my driving license. No, it’s not like I have been driving for 23 years without driving license. But I have a Zanzibar driving license now, given by the “Revolutionary Government of Zanzibar”.

Upon my arrival, I had obtained (read: bought) a “Foreigners Driving Permit”. With this paper ànd with my Belgian Driving License (not the International one) I was allowed to drive.

But the police stops me very regularly, asking for my driving license, so I give them the paper of their “revolutionary government”. But this has expired now and it was not renewable.

So on Friday me and Geroleen went to a grey office somewhere in Stone Town where I had to fill a form with my personal data, dates on my driving license and the date I did the last test.

To make everything easy, I filled 28/10/2013, date on which I renewed my first Belgian driving license and applied for the International one. I didn’t do a test on that date, but who can check it?

“No expiry date?” the official asks me.

"No, no expiry date: as long as I live, I can drive. At least in Belgium…"

“Than it’s okay, go to the office at the other side to pay”.  We go around the building to pay and turn back to the grey office with piles of old documents.

The bundle with copy of my driving license, copy of my work permit and residence permit and compiled forms disappears in a black briefcase of a veiled lady near the man.

You can come back on Monday.

Monday morning, after the airport service. “You will need a lot of patience today”, Geroleen says. And today I don’t have: 40 guests arrived and I need to see them, and the times are already fixed.

We go back to the grey office: the veiled lady takes out my papers of her black briefcase.

What??? Nothing has been done? It just has been there for the whole weekend??

We need to go to the building of transport, an enormous hangar with cars, motorbikes, trucks and dala dala’s and somewhere in a corner 6 little offices near each other. And a lot of people queuing up in front of these offices.

Decided Geroleen goes to office nr. 5, knocks and enters. I follow her. E short conversation and we go out: “We need to go to office nr. 2, than office nr. 4 and than return to office nr. 5” she says.

We queue up at office nr. 2. Lots of people are waiting here and it is not intend to go in as there is a window. Suddenly the door opens, a lady steps out, talks to Geroleen who gives her my paperwork and goes in again. After a couple of minutes and after having paid 11.500 Tsh, she gets my papers back.

We continue to office nr. 4: also here they put some stamps and crosses on a new document and we can go.

Up to office nr. 5

Also this man wants to be sure there is no expiry date on my Belgian driving license but all the rest is ok.

Little time later we are outside. Geroleen is very surprised: “How did you do this?”

Me: "eh??"

She: “Yes, you didn’t have to do any test and did you notice how fast they compiled all your documents? The lady from office nr. 2 came even outside to assist you. This is not normal”.

I have no explanation. Unless it is again my uniform. I have noted several times that my “tulip sleeves” inspire to respect me.

It is not finished yet, we need to go to a new-looking building near the airport, other side of the city.

Also here Geroleen steps very decided into an office, without considering the people who are waiting outside.

We have to go back, pay first 25.000 Tsh and than return for a picture.

This will be taken in an office with a veiled lady.

I need to sit on a stool in front of this lady. But between her and me there is a desk, a camera, a flashlight and an umbrella.

Look into the lens!

Click!

There seems to be a problem. She asks the boy who sneaked in with me to turn of the flashlight. The camera cliks again.

Now she wants the light to be turned on again. Another photo, and one more.

She talks with the man in the office nearby.

Yes, I need to take a seat there for another picture.

The man takes a pictures but says my blouse is too pale, so the contrast with my face is not big enough and on the picture you can only see 2 eyes.

I suggest hem to loose my hare so it will form a dark frame around my face but no no, don’t touch your hair.. Ehi, Muslims…

He also turns of the light and takes a new picture. This time my blouse is clearly visible against the light blue background. But my face is too dark.

It is clear that these camera’s (and the computer software) are set up for black faces, that’s why they also use the strong flashlight. But once they turn of the flashlight, even my pale face is too dark. And these people are not able to change the settings.

He asks me to choose: the picture with 2 eyes or the picture with the black face and blouse. I choose the blouse.

We go on to the next office.

The man starts to discuss with Geroleen concerning the dark picture. “We can’t help it”, Geroleen explains, “it is because of your camera’s”. 

Okay, and the man turns on his machine.

After about 5 minutes waiting this machines spits out my driving license: a plastic card with my details and dark face printed on it.

Yeah! My Zanzibarian driving license.

Next time the police stops me, I will show them this little gadget and trouble if they dare to ask me some questions…