After 2 1/2 years in the sunny Caribbean, I got hired in the sunny desert. Preparing to move to Kuwait involved a lot more steps and processes and one of those was getting a visa before I left American soil. I had to send my much-loved passport off to the Kuwaiti Embassy in Washington, D.C.. This experience in itself was nerve-wracking; after only a few years overseas, I already felt completely lost without my passport in my hands. I was anxious until the moment I got it back, which was only about two weeks later, if memory serves. I opened the envelop,
hugged took out my passport and saw the big sticker on one of the pages in the middle, disregarded the letter written all in Arabic and threw the envelop under the seat of my car.
Fast forward a month later. After an exhausting journey traveling from Atlanta to Frankfurt, a seven hour layover in an airport with hardly anything to do and only one restaurant that wasn’t McDonald’s and then another six hours from Frankfurt to Kuwait, I arrived. And as we approached customs, someone said, “Everyone get your visas ready.” I smiled and gripped my passport tightly. But my smile quickly faded as I realized everyone else was holding their passports AND a piece of paper written all in Arabic.
“What is that?” I nervously asked the guy next to me, a guy who was so totally self-assured in what he was doing that I felt certain he was a returning teacher.
“That’s your visa,” Confident Guy replied.
“I don’t have one of those,” I stammered, panic rising in my chest.
“It came with your passport,” he said, eying me suspiciously, checking to see if he could gauge my level of stupid from the look on my face.
“It’s under the seat of my car,” I whispered.
Confident Guy, who I later learned WAS a newbie but was also a TCK (Third Culture Kid) took control then and there. He went up to the customs agent with me.
Let me pause to tell you that Confident Guy was at least a foot and then some taller than me and had a good 70lbs on me. He was big and loud and had a beard. He reminded me of a young Santa Claus with his booming voice and cheerful smile. He immediately inspired confidence- hence the name- camaraderie, and trust. You believed what he was saying.
“Excuse me, good sir. This young lady has left her visa in her luggage. Can we go through and get it and then bring it back over?” he asked of the customs agent.
“I will personally walk over with her and help her find it,” he tried again, leaning on the counter.
“You can come, too.”
“But it’s not in my suitcase,” I whispered as we made our way to the luggage belt.
“No worries,” he said, my first time hearing that phrase. “I’ve got this.”
|This may or may not be Confident Guy.
I’m not telling one way or the other.
Also, I don’t know who’s leg that is…
After my luggage came out, on Confident Guy’s instruction, I rifled through my clothes and books, adding a hint of panic as I went along, unable to find the visa
that I already knew wasn’t there. Finally, after fifteen minutes of looking and the rest of our group safely on the other side of the s-ray machines, Confident Guy steps in again.
“Listen buddy, we’re exhausted and she can’t find it. Is it okay if we just bring it back tomorrow? After she’s had a chance to unpack and get some rest? It’s been a long day, you know?” He smiled, gave the guy a little eyebrow wriggle and stuck out his hand. “I’ll bring her back tomorrow.”
And the guy said yes. Confident Guy got me into the country, rather illegally, using only his charm and good-nature.
Take a minute to process that- I was let into a country WITHOUT A VISA- people go to jail for trying that nonsense. And all because of my Confident Friend.
I have since taken every piece of paper I’ve ever received when moving to a new country, envelops included… because you just never know.
Have you ever done anything as ridiculous as not taking a visa to a foreign country? Tell me about it!