Legal or Illegal
Hello again everyone. I have been a bit preoccupied since the last time we spoke and my vacation to the public hospital. I have actually been busy vacillating between leaving the country or staying mojado, or illegal. See, when you enter Central America your visa is a tourist visa and lasts only 3 months. I have been here five, but left in December to renew the visa. To renew, you only have to leave Honduras for four days and then re-enter, thus successfully renewing your time.
This was a great option three months ago in December when I was able to go to Nicaragua, El Salvador, or Guatemala. Mandatory vacation. Darn. But now, these countries are not good enough. I must now vacate myself to a country twice removed leaving me Mexico or Costa Rica. Not that this is necessarily bad either, but it is twice as long of a trip in either direction and maybe three times the amount of cash that I don’t have.
I called Elma, a lawyer who was recommended to me, to see if I could get residency here in Honduras. This would eliminate my need to travel every three months, allow me to open a bank account, work, and get internet on my cell phone. Thinking it was a good idea, I called Elma and asked about it. She was happy to help, saying she had a friend in Tegus right now who could swing by and pick up all the necessary paperwork. After thanking her and hanging up, I got four more calls from her. Hello? ‘Brian, this is Elma, how do you spell your name?” Hang up. “Hello?” “ Brian, when is your birthday?” Gone. “Hello?” “Brian, How long do you want to stay in the country? Ok, Bye.” Ring. “Brian, what is your passport number?”
At this point I was getting worried she was gonna call me all afternoon for every question on the form. I didn’t know how long it was, but the phone stopped ringing after four. She told me that she would give me a call when things were ready and she had something for me. I thanked her and didn’t give it much thought until about two weeks ago.
Looking at my schedule, I remembered that I had an important date coming up in March. What was it? Oh yeah, I’m illegal on the 21st! I called Elma after it had been three weeks. Can’t get a hold of her. Call Frances. She can talk to Elma at church that night. Frances tells me Elma has got something for me; I should go to the office in San Pedro.
“Elma? Hi it’s Brian. I’m in San Pedro. Where is your office located so I can stop by?”
“Um….” She pauses long. “Let me call you back with that in a quick second. I’ll call you back.” What? My lawyer doesn’t know where her own office is located? I get the directions a moment later without a neighborhood or direction for if it is 2nd Street North or Second St South. I didn’t ask for fear she would have to call me back again with the answer. I walked up to 2nd South, and then to Second North. Upon entering the ritzy office building, greeted with cold air and bewildered looks by interns, I asked for Elma. She had left me an envelope with the secretary. I opened it foolishly expecting residency papers to sign. What I found was a one page note of Elma chicken scratch telling me all the documents and things I needed to gather before I applied for residency. Great.
In the Migration office in San Pedro, I desperately ask if I can change my visa because I have work to do. Oh yeah, the week that I have to leave the country, I have to shoot photos of fifty kids for Manos De Compasion and make a video update for Cocal Gracias. The lady at the counter said there was no way to pay. I would need to leave, or I can just stay mojado and pay the fine when I fly out in June. It’s only $100 something for staying two months longer and running the risk of being checked at a police blockade, which they have all the time. Thanks I guess.
I found myself in Tegucigalpa two days before Departure Day, D-Day. I had thought about Migration in Tegus; after all it is the capital. Maybe they could do something more. But then I imagined myself walking in and asking for an extension, them asking me when I had to leave, showing tomorrow, and having them escort me out across the border. I figured I better just hide, but then I didn’t want trouble later when I did get residency. As I discussed the details of my dilemma, pastor Ramon, who stands about five foot nothing and has got a belly half as tall, tells me he’s got a cousin that works in Migration and he can fix the passport issue right away, no problem. It’s settled then, I’ll go tomorrow, my last day.
We arrive at Migration armed with a letter from the Superintendent from the church stating that I need more time to finish helping poor starving kids in Cortes. We are looking around for Ramon’s cousin and cannot find him. We go to the next office and ask only to find out, yeah they know him, but he’s on vacation for two weeks. Ramon is out of answers and gives me a sheepish look. I should have known. Things don’t happen easily here. I go to the window to renew and the lady tells me I gotta pay a fee, but everything looks ok. Where do I pay? I ask. Well, you can pay at Atlantida Bank, or in the airport bank across town, or in Kennedy. There is an Atlantida bank in Migration and ramon suggests we wait there to pay. As we Wait for the windows to open, I peer in. It’s empty, with no computers, no chairs. What it does have is some brooms, broken dry wall all over the floor and saw dust on the counter. “Ramon, this isn’t a bank. It’s a closet. We can’t pay here.” He and two women assure me I can. Finally I ask. No, that bank hasn’t operated in years, a kid tells me. Huh. We high tail it over to Kennedy, the closest bank 40 minutes away by taxi. I place myself in the 20 person line of other foreigners trying to pay fees and finally pay. Back at Migration, I wait twenty minutes for the lady to argue with the old gentleman in front of me about how he must leave to Costa Rica if he wants to come back and stay. There is no way to renew. Frustrated the man moves aside and I walk up. Cheery. Buenas Dias. Aqui estan mis papeles, y my factura del banco. My papers and receipt. Ok. Wow! That was easy! I think. Ok, leave us your passport and take this slip of paper that has your name on it and your passport number. Come back next week and we should have it fixed for you… What! So I return to Tegucigalpa tomorrow for my Identification and in the meantime have a computer printout that I guess means I am legal.
So that is that. Other than traversing the Continent North and South again, I have great news. Joel has been working so hard on the Documentary and the Cocal Gracias Project screenings and there is finally something to show for it. The new website is AhWESOME! I am not kidding. It looks so cool. So, Please everyone, go to the all new website: www.cocalgracias.org and check it out. It is a great way to see what I am working on down here and get a chance to see the Documentary. The premier showing of the film will be at Kung Food in Downtown San Diego, April 1-7. There are seven days to see it, so you have no excuse to miss. We have art work, guest speakers, live music, and of course the documentary. You won’t want to miss it. Whatever night you go I guarantee will me fun. If you cannot make it, you can order the Documentary online from the website and the proceeds go to building the school. Also, for those of you in good old SD, Joel needs volunteer help to run the screenings, and do whatever else needs to be done. If you are interested in getting involved, email him at cocalgracias@yahoo.com I know he would appreciate it.
I am posting the plans for the school we will be building on the blog site, along with a few of my favorite photos for the Manos de Compasion Project. http://ruarkphoto.blogspot.com/
Manos De Compasion is a new project to feed poor children in the town of Milagro. Milagro was wiped out by Hurricane Mitch in 1994, and has barely recovered. Most of the families are single mothers, who work in the factory, or dig in the dump. The few men that are there work in sugar cane production. The area is very poor. Adam and I spent some time there this last week interviewing all the kids and taking their portrait. Take a few minutes to see. There are some I really like.
That’s it for me, so for now. I will be on my way to Tegucigalpa tomorrow. Wish me luck on the buses. Haha. I finally found a company that works…. Thank you for your prayers and support. Oh and if you haven’t written me in a while, or at all, please do so. It has been a lonely week on the internet. J Bye.
Brian
This was a great option three months ago in December when I was able to go to Nicaragua, El Salvador, or Guatemala. Mandatory vacation. Darn. But now, these countries are not good enough. I must now vacate myself to a country twice removed leaving me Mexico or Costa Rica. Not that this is necessarily bad either, but it is twice as long of a trip in either direction and maybe three times the amount of cash that I don’t have.
I called Elma, a lawyer who was recommended to me, to see if I could get residency here in Honduras. This would eliminate my need to travel every three months, allow me to open a bank account, work, and get internet on my cell phone. Thinking it was a good idea, I called Elma and asked about it. She was happy to help, saying she had a friend in Tegus right now who could swing by and pick up all the necessary paperwork. After thanking her and hanging up, I got four more calls from her. Hello? ‘Brian, this is Elma, how do you spell your name?” Hang up. “Hello?” “ Brian, when is your birthday?” Gone. “Hello?” “Brian, How long do you want to stay in the country? Ok, Bye.” Ring. “Brian, what is your passport number?”
At this point I was getting worried she was gonna call me all afternoon for every question on the form. I didn’t know how long it was, but the phone stopped ringing after four. She told me that she would give me a call when things were ready and she had something for me. I thanked her and didn’t give it much thought until about two weeks ago.
Looking at my schedule, I remembered that I had an important date coming up in March. What was it? Oh yeah, I’m illegal on the 21st! I called Elma after it had been three weeks. Can’t get a hold of her. Call Frances. She can talk to Elma at church that night. Frances tells me Elma has got something for me; I should go to the office in San Pedro.
“Elma? Hi it’s Brian. I’m in San Pedro. Where is your office located so I can stop by?”
“Um….” She pauses long. “Let me call you back with that in a quick second. I’ll call you back.” What? My lawyer doesn’t know where her own office is located? I get the directions a moment later without a neighborhood or direction for if it is 2nd Street North or Second St South. I didn’t ask for fear she would have to call me back again with the answer. I walked up to 2nd South, and then to Second North. Upon entering the ritzy office building, greeted with cold air and bewildered looks by interns, I asked for Elma. She had left me an envelope with the secretary. I opened it foolishly expecting residency papers to sign. What I found was a one page note of Elma chicken scratch telling me all the documents and things I needed to gather before I applied for residency. Great.
In the Migration office in San Pedro, I desperately ask if I can change my visa because I have work to do. Oh yeah, the week that I have to leave the country, I have to shoot photos of fifty kids for Manos De Compasion and make a video update for Cocal Gracias. The lady at the counter said there was no way to pay. I would need to leave, or I can just stay mojado and pay the fine when I fly out in June. It’s only $100 something for staying two months longer and running the risk of being checked at a police blockade, which they have all the time. Thanks I guess.
I found myself in Tegucigalpa two days before Departure Day, D-Day. I had thought about Migration in Tegus; after all it is the capital. Maybe they could do something more. But then I imagined myself walking in and asking for an extension, them asking me when I had to leave, showing tomorrow, and having them escort me out across the border. I figured I better just hide, but then I didn’t want trouble later when I did get residency. As I discussed the details of my dilemma, pastor Ramon, who stands about five foot nothing and has got a belly half as tall, tells me he’s got a cousin that works in Migration and he can fix the passport issue right away, no problem. It’s settled then, I’ll go tomorrow, my last day.
We arrive at Migration armed with a letter from the Superintendent from the church stating that I need more time to finish helping poor starving kids in Cortes. We are looking around for Ramon’s cousin and cannot find him. We go to the next office and ask only to find out, yeah they know him, but he’s on vacation for two weeks. Ramon is out of answers and gives me a sheepish look. I should have known. Things don’t happen easily here. I go to the window to renew and the lady tells me I gotta pay a fee, but everything looks ok. Where do I pay? I ask. Well, you can pay at Atlantida Bank, or in the airport bank across town, or in Kennedy. There is an Atlantida bank in Migration and ramon suggests we wait there to pay. As we Wait for the windows to open, I peer in. It’s empty, with no computers, no chairs. What it does have is some brooms, broken dry wall all over the floor and saw dust on the counter. “Ramon, this isn’t a bank. It’s a closet. We can’t pay here.” He and two women assure me I can. Finally I ask. No, that bank hasn’t operated in years, a kid tells me. Huh. We high tail it over to Kennedy, the closest bank 40 minutes away by taxi. I place myself in the 20 person line of other foreigners trying to pay fees and finally pay. Back at Migration, I wait twenty minutes for the lady to argue with the old gentleman in front of me about how he must leave to Costa Rica if he wants to come back and stay. There is no way to renew. Frustrated the man moves aside and I walk up. Cheery. Buenas Dias. Aqui estan mis papeles, y my factura del banco. My papers and receipt. Ok. Wow! That was easy! I think. Ok, leave us your passport and take this slip of paper that has your name on it and your passport number. Come back next week and we should have it fixed for you… What! So I return to Tegucigalpa tomorrow for my Identification and in the meantime have a computer printout that I guess means I am legal.
So that is that. Other than traversing the Continent North and South again, I have great news. Joel has been working so hard on the Documentary and the Cocal Gracias Project screenings and there is finally something to show for it. The new website is AhWESOME! I am not kidding. It looks so cool. So, Please everyone, go to the all new website: www.cocalgracias.org and check it out. It is a great way to see what I am working on down here and get a chance to see the Documentary. The premier showing of the film will be at Kung Food in Downtown San Diego, April 1-7. There are seven days to see it, so you have no excuse to miss. We have art work, guest speakers, live music, and of course the documentary. You won’t want to miss it. Whatever night you go I guarantee will me fun. If you cannot make it, you can order the Documentary online from the website and the proceeds go to building the school. Also, for those of you in good old SD, Joel needs volunteer help to run the screenings, and do whatever else needs to be done. If you are interested in getting involved, email him at cocalgracias@yahoo.com I know he would appreciate it.
I am posting the plans for the school we will be building on the blog site, along with a few of my favorite photos for the Manos de Compasion Project. http://ruarkphoto.blogspot.com/
Manos De Compasion is a new project to feed poor children in the town of Milagro. Milagro was wiped out by Hurricane Mitch in 1994, and has barely recovered. Most of the families are single mothers, who work in the factory, or dig in the dump. The few men that are there work in sugar cane production. The area is very poor. Adam and I spent some time there this last week interviewing all the kids and taking their portrait. Take a few minutes to see. There are some I really like.
That’s it for me, so for now. I will be on my way to Tegucigalpa tomorrow. Wish me luck on the buses. Haha. I finally found a company that works…. Thank you for your prayers and support. Oh and if you haven’t written me in a while, or at all, please do so. It has been a lonely week on the internet. J Bye.
Brian
posted by Brian Ruark at 6:01 PM
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