What's in a Name?

Don't you just LOVE bureaucracy?

I don't want to criticise Spain. Really, I don't; but how can I not when it gives me so much to work with, so much which simply cannot be ignored?

The main bugbear I have is with Spanish bureaucracy. I had foolishly hoped that today would be the last of a series of battles with officials who live amongst papers, stamps, files and other assorted stationery. However, as I should have expected, disappointment was around the corner; and I had to queue to find it.

Let's start from the very beginning: travel with me all the way back to Spring 2008. The first signs of stress came with the expiration of my Nigerian passport (we won't go into why I don't have a British one, that's another story entirely). Not only would I have to renew that, but also obtain a visa for studying in Spain, what with Nigeria not being a trusted country (any country outside the EU - and some of the ones inside - isn't looked on with favour by most Spaniards: yet another conversation for another day). The process of application for a visa is, frankly, ludicrous. First, one must call, or send a letter requesting an appointment. At this appointment, one brings all the appropriate documents corresponding to the type of visa required. Then, one pays a non-refundable fee of 50 pounds (of course, these things don't come for free) before having an interview, during which one presents the multitude of documents, is approved (hopefully), and must then wait a month for the return of their passport.

Upon arrival in Spain, someone with a student visa must apply for what is known as a Tarjeta de estudiante, which serves as an official ID card.

Let's rush past the details of my visa process, just so you understand why I hold a special contempt for the Spanish style of bureacracy. There was no official document detailing how to apply for a student visa, so I asked for a toursit visa appointment, and decided to speak to them personally about it at the appointment, hoping they would redirect me to the department which dealt with students. Instead of this, I was given a list of documents to bring in, and told to return in mid-August, when I would be in Edinburgh. Thanks to the help of one secific senior member of staff (María Cruz, you will be forever in my heart), I was able to push this back to September, after my return, and she effectively fast-tracked my application in order for me to arrive in Spain on time. When I did arrive, I found I was only given a visa lasting three months. When I called the various government departments, and spent a lot of time and money travelling around the city, I finally found the building, only to be told I would have to call a special number to arrange an appointment; so I did, being given an appointment falling on a date FIVE MONTHS after my arrival in the country, and two months after my visa was due to expire. I was told not to worry about this, and that I would not be deported as an illegal immigrant. Fine.

Fast forward to Thursday the 26th February. I have two classes at university I will have to miss, for this all-important appointment. I arrive ten minutes early, forms filled in, documents all collected, photocopied and compiled in order of importance. I collect the separate payment form (remember, nothing comes for free), fill in it, and wait. 14:00 - my appointed time - nothing happens. 14:15, nothing. 14:45, my ticket number blinks on the screen. I go to the desk, have a friendly chat with the woman sat behind it (in Spain, nothing gets done without first having a friendly chat: no friendly chat, no service). She surveys my documents, selects the ones she will actually keep - that's right, of the documents presented, some of which I had to run around and chase after, all of which I spent a considerable amount copying, and all of which I was told on the phone were "vital" to my appointment, only three were actually necessary, the totally implausible reason being that "we tell people to bring it all, because they would forget, otherwise". Finally, she notices a "discrepancy": the name on my passport doesn't correspond with the name I use in my everyday activities, and the name which is registered in letters from both my Spanish and UK universities. Or, rather, the name I use in everyday activities is a shortened form, and preferred by myself, of the name in my pasport! The similarities are clear, and the photos are the same: of course they are, they are of the same person!

So, what is the upshot of this? I had to go into the foreign students' office at my university, on Monday, and request a certificate claiming that the person stated on the passport (with full name copied and passport details pastered all over it) is indeed a student of the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. I now have another appointment in two weeks' time, at which I present the same documents (in case I forget, presumably), and go through the whole rigmarole all over again. The good news is that I don't have to wait as long, but the bad news is I have to pay 5 euros more than I expected.

So, Spanish Bureaucracy = (Time + Money + Energy) Wasted = No result whatsoever = 2 x (Time + Money + Energy) Wasted.