Let me preface this with some background information about my last job doing casework for newly resettled refugees at the IRC. A large percentage of my position was basically to protect and navigate vulnerable new residents through the world of American Bureaucracy (i capitalized this on accident, but I am going to leave it because it seems fitting). This involved lots of paperwork, inefficiency, unintuitive processes involving fine print requiring an advanced understanding of the English language, and lots of protecting people and advocating for them against bureaucratic agents who had decided that they had hated their jobs and now wanted to make everyone else miserable. (Right now I am thinking mainly about the department of licensing.... aka hell).
Ok, back to the morning of my appointment an the Extanjeria. My boss was going to escort me through this process, basically serving as my caseworker, and I was feeling pretty good about that. Then, 2 hours before my appointment, she called and said that she couldn't come with me. At this point I started panicking, and kind of shaking and twitching a bit. I immediately called Julie and demanded that she let me practice saying "I have an appointment" in Spanish over the phone with her. To make matters worse, I didn't even know where the office was. I set of for Valparaiso nice and early and basically asked security guards of random buildings where the Extanjeria was until I was slowly led to its exact location.
Well, I had to wait awhile, as is to be expected, but the people I dealt with were just lovely. I mean, they didn't even give me dirty looks for my bad Spanish. They were really so nice that I didn't even mind the inefficiency and inconsistent information that followed. I was basically told that my contract was missing "something" and that I needed 34974220 copies of various official documents, passport photos of some randomly tiny size, a blood sample, concession of my first born child, etc. They made another appointment for me the following week. Well, it turns out that my contract actually had the "missing clause" in the first place, but I didn't even care. They were nice to me, and helpful, and that was so amazing.
Sometimes, I feel like a refugee, or a stray dog thats been kicked a few too many times in the face, and I'm not quite sure why I've done this to myself. Other times, I'm exactly sure why I'm here. Today I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing.
Now, some pictures from a labor day walk on the Beach with Lauren:
Besos,
Allie