Juntara And Facing The World… Part III
Thursday, November 13, 2008
We landed in Delhi on Thursday (yesterday) and rushed to the visa office only to find that there was an Indian holiday and all the offices were closed. I started to get really really nervous. We had tickets to London booked for Monday- Saturday and Sunday offices would be closed for the weekend. That left us only with today, our one chance to get the visas. The office opened at 8 this morning but we reached at 7 so we could be sure we had the first appointment. We waited outside the office in the cold for an hour anxiously until the office opened and we got our token to go inside. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking, my face was burning bright red. I felt like my insides were going to burst.
We went through security and entered a room that looked exactly like the DMV. We headed straight for the cash counter to pay our fees and took our receipt, waiting for our number to be called. I start looking at all the reps behind the counters trying to decide who I’d like to call our number. “Her at counter number one, no no, her. Definitely not him,” I thought perusing each counter. I finally choose a young woman sitting behind counter #8. “Yes,” I say to myself, “she looks the nicest. She will relate to me, feel bad for me, look at Juntara’s face and give us our visa on the spot without even looking at our papers or asking any questions. DING DONG. After about 20 minutes an electric bell rang and our number 543 pops up on a red flashing screen at counter number 11.
The whole packed room watched as we stood. I took Juntara’s hand and slowly, step by step led her through the aisles to the counter that called her. I was holding a file with about a million gazillion pieces of paperwork in it. I just kept thinking, “what if I left something out? What if I forgot something?,” like I was getting ready to hand in some big research paper back in high school. Just as I was about to reach the front desk, papers in one arm wrapped around my chest, jacket tied around my waste, backpack slung around my shoulder and holding Juntara’s arm to guide her, all the papers slip out of the file and scatter everywhere on the floor. Yes, that was me at 8:30 this morning.
I sat Juntara and her father down in the chairs, put all of our bags off to the side and began to pick up all the papers: our 2o page application, passports, birth certificates, travel ticket bookings, photographs, receipts, bank statements, photocopies of everything. I knew everyone was watching me. It was a young guy behind the counter that called our number.
I passed him our now wrinkled yellow token paper.
“Ok, can I see your application?”
I gathered all the unevenly strewn papers together and handed them to him. Before he could even look, I started... “This child has a serious brain tumor and there’s an organization in London that wants to do her operation. They can do it tomorrow if she has the visa. We need a visa today...” something along those lines, although I was so flustered, I don’t remember exactly what I said.
“Ma’am, for emergency visas you have to go to a different office.”
Deep breath.
“Umm, what?” None of this had been mentioned on the website.
“Yes Ma’am, from this office we don’t give same day visas. It’s better if you try at the head commissioner office in qpijijetk#$sjkl,” he gives the name of a place I don’t even recognize, that I can’t even repeat because my tongue doesn’t bend that way.
“Is that in Delhi?” I ask.
“Yes it’s in Delhi, you just have to go out to... blah blah blah blah blah” I’m zoned out and I don’t listen to his directions. I don’t know my way around Delhi anyway.
“Okay, Sir can you write that down for me?”
Another man goes and comes back with a card with all the information on it.
I gather all the papers, our bags, my jacket, and go to the outside counter to collect my laptop, camera, and cell phone that I had been told to leave in a cubby. Juntara and her father following behind. I know that time is of the essence and I start to walk fast. We’ve already lost an hour by going to the wrong office I calculate. We get into an elevator to go down to the ground level of the tower. I get out, but the elevator door closes just as Juntara and her father are about to follow. They’re stuck inside the elevator and I’m on the outside. (Did I mention that this is a 60-floor tower with at least ten different sets of elevators in it? Or that they’ve never been inside an elevator until today?) I wait for the doors to open again but they don’t. Where are they? Where are they? Finally a few minutes later, the doors open again. They’re not inside. Okay, so which floor are they on? There’s no way to know. I step in the elevator and go up, floor by floor by floor poking my head out of the elevator and looking into each hallway. 2, NO 3, NO 4 NO 21 NO 23 NO oh my God. oh my God. I give up and go down to the ground level. There I find them. They had decided to take the stairs.
We get outside and I call an auto rickshaw. I show him the card and try to pronounce the name of the place.
“Two hundred rupees.”
“What? 200 rupees?!?!? No thank you. I’ll find another rickshaw.”
“Maggie, why are you bargaining at a time like this?” I scold myself.
“No that’s too much. I’ll give you 100,” I say. He drives away.
The next rickshaw pulls up. He asks for 100 rupees and we get in. We drive a half an hour or so to the next office which turns out to be a sector of the British Embassy. We get out, go through the whole frisking process again, have our bags checked, put my phone, camera, and laptop in the cubby. We get a green token and go inside. We sit again, waiting for our number to be called. This time we get an older woman. I explain everything thoroughly. The woman has a lot of questions while perusing the application. I answer them all with ease.
“Yes, she’s convinced. She’ll give us our visa,” I think to myself the whole time.
“Ok, just a minute I have to go and check with my manager for this kind of case. Go and take a seat. I’ll call you up later.”
We wait and wait and wait. They’re making up our visa now I think to myself.
She calls our name up to the front counter.
“I’m sorry but you’re visas have been declined due to lack of evidence. We need a letter from the hospital itself with proof that they’ve booked her for the surgery and clearly stating who it’s being paid for,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
Facing the World had told me I didn’t need anything from them but a letter and a bank statement.
“But here, here, the letter’s here,” I stutter. “Facing the World explains everything in their letter. They cover everything and the doctors donate their services. What more could you need? Everything is explained in the application. They rent a room for them and give them money for food, and pay for the travel. The addresses are here, the phone numbers, the doctors’ names. What more?”
I plead and plead.
“We need more documentation. Letters from doctors, hospital bookings, surgical dates. Come back on Monday with it all.”
We drive a half an hour back to the hotel and the main market area. We haven’t eaten today and we’re all starving. We step into a restaurant and order food. While we wait for the food to come I run over to an internet cafe and e-mail Facing the World. It’s 2 o’clock in the morning in London, I realize. I go through e-mail after e-mail. By now, Sarah, the executive coordinator and I have corresponded dozens of times. I realize that all the information I need is there in the e-mails. I print it all out, make my own letterhead and go back to the restaurant. We eat quickly and search for a hotel room. I realize by now how stupid it was to lug our bags everywhere. Duh.
We rush back to the embassy and reach at 1:50. (They don’t take appointments past 2:00.) I make eye contact with the same woman at the desk. She sees me and immediately calls us forward. I pass her all of the paperwork. She reads it over and goes to find the supervisor again. He immediately shows up, this time at the glass window to meet me. I’m happily surprised to see that he’s an older man, and he’s from the U.K. I’m ready for him to say yes! I’m ready for him to hand us our visas! I’m ready for him to say, “thank you for taking care of this kind of case and bringing this girl to the U.K. What a worthy cause! How has a young gal like you....”
“I’m sorry but what you’ve submitted is still not sufficient,” he states, wayyy too calmly in his British accent.
“What do you mean it’s not sufficient?” I burst. “What are you concerned about? It’s all here, all the requirements. There’s an organization that’s handling everything. They’re taking full responsibility. They’ve scheduled the surgery. They’ve booked the ticket. (“breath, stay calm I tell myself”) They’ve done hundreds of cases like hers’ from all around the world. Call them if you have questions. Their number is here. The Kathmandu offices sent us here. Look at her. She’s losing her sight by the day.”
“I understand that this is serious. I don’t doubt that, but we’ve never seen a case like this so we don’t have any precedent. We have to make phone calls. We have to look into it. It’ll take some time. Come back on Monday.”
I’m trying to hold back the tears. I’m really really trying. “You can’t be 19-year-old Maggie today,” I tell myself. “You’re in your thirties, you’re sophisticated and important, and together. You know what you’re talking about. Breathe and be calm and don’t forget to say Sir.”
“Sir, we can’t come back on Monday because we’re leaving for the U.K. on Monday. We need a visa today. We can’t wait for the weekend.”
I push the application back under the glass.
“Calm and cool, calm and cool,” I tell myself.
“Who did you talk to in Kathmandu? What was their name?” he asks.
“Many people. They all said we had to come here for an emergency visa.” I state.
Let me make some phone calls.
We sit down again and wait and wait and wait. Finally, the same woman as before calls me forward.
“Ma'am, we need the visa fees.”
“I already paid the visa fees at the other office. Here are the receipts,” I said handing them to her.
“Okay, go sit down.”
She makes phone calls to the other office. She calls me back up again.
“Since you’re submitting your application here, you need to submit your fees here. You have to go to the other office, collect your fees and bring them here.”
ARGHHHH... I’m done. I’m finished with this. This is crazy. I’ll never make it there and back in time. I know it.
The woman can see all of this on my face.
“Do you have the money on you now? You can pay the fees again here and then go pick up your money there, later on, another date.”
I reach into my pocket already knowing there’s not enough money there. I have 1,200 rupees- 20 something dollars. I need 11,500.
“Can I go to an ATM?”
“Yes, but come fast.”
I run like a track star, out of the building, through the doors, out the gate, through security, (pleading with them to let me back in after I come from the ATM.” The guard happens to be Nepali, AMEN. He gives me directions to the nearest ATM. I bring the money, go back to the counter, and pay the fee.
Juntara and her father are then fingerprinted, and measured and photographed, another counter, then another, then another. We wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. At 5:30 we’re the last people sitting in a huge-mega embassy office with 500 chairs in it. Finally, the woman calls us and passes us our VISAS TO THE U.K.!!!!!!!!!!! I skip, I hop, I jump, I can’t take the smile off my face. I thank the woman who stayed late to help us.
I try to explain everything to Juntara and her father. I still don’t think they understand what a visa actually is, but they know that now they can finally go. They’ll fly on Monday morning at 6:30 AM. Juntara will begin treatment this Tuesday or Wednesday.
Juntara and her father went and crashed in their hotel room, not wanting to eat anything except a few bananas, crackers and peanuts. I headed for a phone booth to call Facing the World and tell them the good news. Then I went out in search of a good restaurant.
Tonight I sat alone at a candlelit table on a moonlit rooftop in the middle of Delhi with the sound of traffic and horns buzzing in the background. I ordered myself a special celebration dinner. Fresh Lemon Cilantro tofu, spring water, and a walnut chocolate caramel brownie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. (The best meal I’ve had in I don’t know how long.) I thought about the past few months. How in the world did this happen? It started with a photograph that I posted on my blog, and then a Canadian woman wrote a request letter to Facing the World. There were treks to Kalikot and trips to Nepal Ganj, Lucknow, Kathmandu, and Delhi. First-time Helicopter rides, plane rides, car rides, and elevator rides.
I’m sitting in my room, at a small table facing a mirror. I’m looking at myself. There’s dirt all over my neck. My clothes are filthy and stained. My face is dark and my eyes are red and watery. I can feel the lice crawling and breeding in my mangled greasy hair (surely passed on from Juntara the past week.) It’s time for a shower, soap, shampoo and a comb. It’s time for the first deep sleep in weeks. I’m sooooo sooooo soooooo happy! I’ve never felt happier.
A young girl from a mud hut with a collapsed grass roof in a Himalayan village is on her way to London for a life-saving operation.
For more information on Facing the World (honestly the most amazing organization ever!!!) visit FacingtheWorld.com