I was given an opportunity to work abroad. I thought it might be a nice change for a while. I got a bunch of papers from my employers, dropped them at the consulate and I was given a date to collect the visa. When the time came for me to get an airline ticket and say goodbye to my loved-ones, the fun began.
An extremely competent (read beautiful) foreign-airline-officer held my passport and smiled: “Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”
“I would like to book a seat on the mid-day flight day after tomorrow, please,” I said and gave her my best smile. She asked me some rudimentary questions, smiled back, then picked my passport and flicked the pages. Something caught her eyes and she raised an eyebrow.
“There is no ‘Seal of the Protector’ on your passport,” she said, quizzically.
“A seal of what...? Oh, of course, I’m not a very religious man, but if you require a stamp from my respective clergy, I can write an affidavit affirming my neutrality to any extreme-religious affiliation. I am a plain garden-variety Muslim. I have always believed in Almighty God to be my ultimate protector.” I nodded and gave a confident laughter.
She looked at me with a confused smile. “Sir, I meant your passport does not bear the official stamp from the Protector of Emigrants, Ministry of Labour, Government of Pakistan. This is a statutory requirement for all individuals exiting the country for employment abroad. Were you not informed of this?”
Informed by whom? The ISI? The FIA? Does the government actually employ a department to take care of people’s queries! Wow! This is good governance, General! But where on earth will I find this ‘protector’? “Madam, would you be kind enough to guide me a little about the ‘Protector of Emigrants’?” I had the look of a guy caught red-handed by his wife, while visiting a website of questionable repute.
“I’m afraid that is beyond my knowledge, but I can find out from our other clients working in the country of your destination and let you know.”
“I’d be grateful, ma’am.” I paid my respects and left.
She proved true to her word. So the next day, armed with the address of the protector that she gave me, I embarked on a journey I would not forget for a while. The government officials, I imagined, have been given special instructions by the federal government to be helpful to the much-needed foreign exchange earners. I may add apologetically, I felt a little sense of privilege, or conceit. I was now in a position now to earn some real foreign exchange for my homeland. I pompously smiled and took the turn towards the protector’s majestic realm. This is when I gasped. It was a run-down, small cabin, with tiny broken-glass windows and half hanging tin-plated notice boards. Eighteen men occupied a space suitable for four peopel only. Around nine dozen, open-air photocopy stalls surrounded this office/shack, with each stall having at least three persons.
I approached an idly sitting officer behind an ‘Information’ window. I knocked; he looked up from his newspaper. He said nothing. So I began. “Assalam Alaikum, ji. I need the protector’s stamp on my passport. Please, who shall I see for that? Thank you, ji.”
The guy stared blankly at me for straight 30 seconds, said something unintelligible and sank back into his paper. No wait, he did point at someone or something! So, I looked towards the direction he’d pointed at. There was nothing that could to give me a clue. So I knocked again. He looked up and now had a very unpleasant expression on his face. He then shook his chin upwards, as if asking ‘What is your problem’. I asked, more politely, “Assalam-Alaikum, ji. I need the protector’s stamp on my passport please. Who shall I see for that? Thank you, ji.”
“Visit tomorrow. Director unavailable. Read board.”
Regardless of his behaviour, I was genuinely impressed with the crisp and compactly articulated sentence. Without wasting a single word, he aptly communicated so much. I swear, he can write excellent advertising copy. My appreciation for local talent was more short-lived than the green-passport holders’ respect at foreign airports.
As I began reading the board, it became apparent that the protector was not interested in protecting anyone but his own backside! For one single stupid stamp, I had to fill 18 forms, visit three different banks for pay-orders and cash deposits, had to get a ‘voluntarily mandatory’ life insurance policy, apply for a new National Identification Card, write five affidavits — conceding/stipulating/affirming/denying various declarations — and provide an unbelievable amount of photocopies and photographs, plus attestation of each from ‘gazetted’ officers and witnesses!
How on earth am I ever going to accomplish all this by tomorrow? I threw my document folder on the sidewalk and sat down with my head in my hands. Then I received the most comforting shoulder-tap of my life, and heard a voice say: “Got some protector work, brother? Agent available to serve, ji.”
For a thousand bucks, I was triumphantly displaying the ‘Seal of The Protector’ to the pretty-airline-officer an hour later. Heck, even she was impressed!
I was given an opportunity to work abroad. I thought it might be a nice change for a while. I got a bunch of papers from my employers, dropped them at the consulate and I was given a date to collect the visa. When the time came for me to get an airline ticket and say goodbye to my loved-ones, the fun began.
