Well, we've heard of when people come into the UK struggling to understand the system of getting a visa and/or securing asylum, after yesterday they have my complete sympathy. We needed to go to the Police Station to extend our 'tourist' visa, and so on a very hot day we went with our wonderful Jordanian taxi driver friend, to get our visas renewed. We thought, or maybe hoped, it would be a quick and easy sign a piece of paper process. Boy were we wrong!!
So we roll up at the main police station in Zarqa, as we entered the grounds we were met by armed police officers who point Abi and the children to one entrance and myself and our taxi driver to another. The children were cooed over - blonde hair, blue eyes is a rare in Jordan, especially Zarqa. After a very relaxed vetting, we were all taken to the main building where we searched for the right office. But in the mean time the children were both "desperate" for the toilet. Our taxi driver found a male toilet, so Rich was on duty and Lilian experienced her first hole in the ground style lavatory.
Now we're walking down a long corridor of offices with officers sitting around, looking at us and smiling about the children, no office has real signs and those that do are only in Arabic, which we couldn't read if we tried. Our levels of anxiety were not helping as we couldn't understand what was going on as our taxi driver acted as our advocate. The police officer we met said we needed to go to our local police station first to get our fingerprints and I.D processed and then to go back with a confirmed letter that this was complete..... so our driver took us to the nearest possible station hoping they would help us. This police station looked just like a house from the outside, inside we could see one room that had a cell which looked like it was from a western cowboy film (4 men in handcuffs were taken in while we were there, which was of great fascination to the children). The Police were somewhat reluctant to help us but one was told he had to by his boss. This officer then told us that we needed passport photos so that he could attach them to our records (despite having pictures taken as we arrived in the airport). Not aware that we needed these, we went a shop that did these sorts of photos and had our passports photocopied (because our first copy we took with us wasn't enough). We then went back to the police station, where the children were cooed over by 2 ladies and we had our finger prints taken. With the appropriate piece of paper signed we got back, once again, into the hot taxi and went back to the main police station. Vetted as we entered again and back in to find the office we went to originally. After a bit of jabbering between the officers and our driver we finally have the extension we went for!! Phew!!
Author: A.E.
So we roll up at the main police station in Zarqa, as we entered the grounds we were met by armed police officers who point Abi and the children to one entrance and myself and our taxi driver to another. The children were cooed over - blonde hair, blue eyes is a rare in Jordan, especially Zarqa. After a very relaxed vetting, we were all taken to the main building where we searched for the right office. But in the mean time the children were both "desperate" for the toilet. Our taxi driver found a male toilet, so Rich was on duty and Lilian experienced her first hole in the ground style lavatory.
Now we're walking down a long corridor of offices with officers sitting around, looking at us and smiling about the children, no office has real signs and those that do are only in Arabic, which we couldn't read if we tried. Our levels of anxiety were not helping as we couldn't understand what was going on as our taxi driver acted as our advocate. The police officer we met said we needed to go to our local police station first to get our fingerprints and I.D processed and then to go back with a confirmed letter that this was complete..... so our driver took us to the nearest possible station hoping they would help us. This police station looked just like a house from the outside, inside we could see one room that had a cell which looked like it was from a western cowboy film (4 men in handcuffs were taken in while we were there, which was of great fascination to the children). The Police were somewhat reluctant to help us but one was told he had to by his boss. This officer then told us that we needed passport photos so that he could attach them to our records (despite having pictures taken as we arrived in the airport). Not aware that we needed these, we went a shop that did these sorts of photos and had our passports photocopied (because our first copy we took with us wasn't enough). We then went back to the police station, where the children were cooed over by 2 ladies and we had our finger prints taken. With the appropriate piece of paper signed we got back, once again, into the hot taxi and went back to the main police station. Vetted as we entered again and back in to find the office we went to originally. After a bit of jabbering between the officers and our driver we finally have the extension we went for!! Phew!!
Author: A.E.
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