Its 3:40 a.m. and my alarm starts to beep.
I carefully rise, and silently creep
Out of the door to the thick of the night,
Negotiating potholes on the sleepy ride.
I reach Immigration and find others there;
The same early start is the bond that we share.
The chorus of “good mornings” is said with a sigh.
United we are here to wait hours outside.
I count the people, and agree my place in line.
The majority who are here simply need time.
I stand, then slump, then sit on the floor,
Holding my position near the front of the door.
By 7 a.m. the crowd reaches far;
Nobody knows what order they are.
They anxiously wait with the hope of success;
Anger rises about the state of this mess.
Staff, not concerned, greet us normally when they arrive,
No apologies made about the craziness outside.
Seven hours of waiting, four minutes spent
with staff —
A dizzy administration process is enough to make you laugh.
At last! My time’s been stamped, I’ve finally made
it through:
Myself and only a
lucky few.
Now I pray my work
permit’s ready before time,
Because I’m sick of
waiting in this stupid line.