Waiting in line in Barbados
Part I
I came to the government building in Bridgetown with a certain prejudice about the slowness of government workers and nothing was going to change my mind.
Let’s take a step back and set the stage for this story. From the day I left Barbados Sep 14, 1972, 10:00 AM on a Pan Am flight headed for Brooklyn, NY, it was always my intention to repatriate and live out my dying years in the warmth and beauty of Barbados. On this particular visit to Barbados, I felt motivated to take the first steps in that direction and apply for my Barbados passport. Motivated by the idea of living home again, I started out from downtown Bridgetown on a Wednesday in the broiling midday sun to find the government building to get copies of my birth and baptismal certificates to file for my Barbados passport. After walking like what seemed miles lost in the heat I finally found the courthouse.
With great relief, I went through the main arches at the front of the building of the courthouse. Upon entering, I saw a security desk, a body scanner, and no attendant. I thought, I would scan myself and get on with my business. Suddenly, a female attendant came from behind the door of an adjoining office to ask if I needed help. I asked her where was the office to get my birth certificate. In her best mall cop voice she told me, “You got to go round the other side, you can’t get dah in hey”. I thanked her and left for the other side of the building.
After a short walk around the building I made it to the treasury. The lobby area was very well maintained, very good lighting, air-conditioned and new brown and beige tile throughout. The entrance looked like an expensive hotel entrance. Needless to say, I was still carrying my prejudices about the slowness of government workers in Barbados and nothing was going to change that.
I found my first queue and waited my turn. The young lady behind the counter did nothing to change my thinking from the initial glance. Even though young, she was poised, deliberate, no smile and all about business. She was dressed in a dark simple cobalt blue dress, cobalt blue bow, matching earrings, and matching heavy eye shadow. She was well put together but no smiles, yet, not angry.
Next it was my turn. As I was approaching this poised gatekeeper, a local woman came to my right and asked me if she could ask the attendant a question. I said yes. The attendant behind the counter stopped the lady from coming forward and in a controlled and commanding voice, said to me, it is your turn, do you oblige her? I said sure. What a strange way I thought to ask if I would let her go through. I smiled at the use of the word.
By the time the attendant was finished with the woman, a local man came on my left pushed ahead of me and said he also wanted to ask a question. The attendant simply held up her hand with her pen to the man to suggest he should halt. She calmly said, good morning to him then looked at me, and asked, do you also want to oblige him? I said sure, I didn’t mind obliging him. However, she told the impatient man that everyone was there to ask a question and he should wait his turn. The man apologized and went back to his place in the back of the line. She then looked at me and without a word, but a slight nod of the head motioned me to come forward. She knew how to control a crowd or a disrespectful person with a glance and a nod. I was impressed.
Noticing how she dealt with the other man I was not going to cross this most composed and in control gatekeeper. I managed a smile, said good morning and complimented her on her professionalism and intuitiveness. She thanked me, barely cracked an appreciative smile and asked me how she might help me. Progress.
I would like to apply for my passport so I need my birth and baptismal certificates to apply, in my most polite voice. Ok she said, you can apply for the birth certificate here but you will need to go to the church where you were baptized to request the baptismal certificate. Oh? I questioned, but the church is long gone! Do I need both documents or can I just use the birth certificate? You can use the birth certificate, she said. I politely thanked her and got down to the business of filling out the application.
After completing the application I went back in the line to meet with this nice lady in the blue dress. She asked me for my ID, and I produced my US Passport and pointed out with great pride I was born in Barbados. She was not impressed. She gave me a clipboard with the application and my passport and a set of extensive instructions on the next process. Fill out this form, take it over to the approvals counter, and then go over to the cashier on the other side of the lobby to pay the registration. Before I left for the cashier, she told me the process takes three days to get the new birth certificate. But I am leaving on Sunday and would like to apply for my passport, I declared. Once you are done with approvals and the cashier, she said calmly, bring the form back to counter number two and ask for expediency. Have a blessed day. Yes, I mused, expediency in Barbados.
My feelings about government workers did not change much at this point. I sat in the waiting area while I filled out the form. Also sitting in the waiting area were about 14 young women with babies waiting to register the new Bajans. Seeing this many babies about the same age in the same place spiked my curiosity about what might have happened a year ago that caused a little Bajan explosion. Alien babies, that’s it I thought.
After completing the form I went to the second counter, the approvals counter. There was no one in attendance, but several workers were sitting in cubes shuffling papers from one side of the desk to the other side. A few people walked back and forth, but no one stopped to assist and I could not make eye contact with anyone.
The baby registering process seemed like the only organized process in the whole establishment. They had a numbering system with some old numbers written on old recycled cardboard with every other number missing. Twelve! Shouted the baby-registering attendant. A young couple went in to get the new Bajan on the books.
Finally, after standing at the counter for several minutes, I decided it was time to ask for help. Excuse me, I said to a woman limping back and forth behind the counter. She seemed to be moving slowly due to some injury to her legs. Her left leg was wrapped in a bandage from the ankle to the knee. She wore one dress shoe on one foot and a slipper on the injured foot. She suddenly stopped moving and came to the counter an asked, what you want? Well this gentleman was here ahead of me but I was told to come to this counter after I filled out the application to get approvals, trying to be fair. Me too said the other gentleman who was also waiting in line. Ok, you have to wait and somebody will help you. I was afraid of that dreadful statement. Wait somebody will soon come. She went back to wandering and we continued to wait another 10 minutes
Next there was a young man in a green shirt carrying an old ledger with tattered pages. I recognized the book from previous years applying for government documents. Yes I thought this must be the approver. Excuse me, how can we get some assistance? I walk by here twice and you didn’t say a ting to me, he said. Ok, if the man with the big ledger walks by he is the person to help but we need to know the signal or the key to get his attention since there is no numbering system. Suddenly, I realized the lithium batteries on my mind reader were expired. Progress I sighed.
You need to go over to the other side of the building and pay the cashier for the birth certificate said the man in the green shirt carrying the important old ledger. I made it to the cashier and waited my turn. While waiting, I thought I might make small talk by asking a couple with a baby to explain the baby registering process. Are you required to bring in the baby so that they can see it for registration? I asked. I don’t know the young man replied. One could see he was beaming over the new baby. Well, we bring in the baby caus’ we can’t leave it home. It’s too young. Congratulations, I said, and thank you for the information.
Next! The cashier summoned me forward. Can I help you? Yes, I would like to pay for these birth certificates. Just a minute she said, took my papers, did some keying on the computer, printed and stamped a piece of paper and took $2 Barbados because I was over sixty. I was happy for a minute, only $2 dollars, Bajan dollars, the equivalent of $1 US. I smiled to myself that it was cheap and I was benefiting by being over 60. Then reality returned and said you are old! Sigh, another disappointment.
It seemed that I misunderstood the attendant wearing the cobalt blue dress at the first counter. I was supposed to return to her for processing after the cashier, but only if I did not want expediency. So I waited patiently in her line to get this news. I should have returned to the approvals counter to request expediency. Nothing had changed behind counter number two. The workers were still shuffling papers and not making eye contact, the man with the old ledger was still walking about and avoiding the counter, and the gimpy supervisor was still limping around like she needed sympathy. So I waited. Can I help you said a female voice from behind. She was a pleasant looking woman with nice braids and a tightly fitting two-piece light brown suit. She looked like a ripe mammy apple getting ready to bust.
Yes, I answered, but this gentleman was ahead of me. What do you want she asked him, and then turned to me. What do you want? I want expediency. I want to get my birth certificate to apply for my passport before I leave on Sunday. Let’s see what we can do, she said. But we are short staffed and it is going to be on Friday. I said ok, in resignation and went back to counter number one to wait my turn.
The nice lady in the brown suit came over to tell the demure first attendant in blue that I was getting expediency and we can get it done by Friday. The attendant behind the first counter said hold on, you need more than 24 hours to process your passport. She held up her hand with her pen in the usual command to stand fast while she handled the situation. The attendant then made several phone calls to supervisors on my behalf without prompting to get me expediency. She even called the big man in the big corner office. The man himself. I was feeling the moment.
Have a seat she said. They will get it done today. Much to my amazement this attendant was not only a consummate professional with authority, I also noticed she was saying to everyone she served “have a blessed day” with a slight smile. Then I noticed she had an open Bible on her desk, which I assumed was the catalyst for her kindness, poise, and fairness. I complimented her and said thank you mam and patiently took a seat to wait. I knew I had a wait ahead of me, but after my encounter with the attendant at counter #1, the lady in the cobalt blue dress, I thought waiting was not a problem. She made my day and I learned a lesson in humility.
Realizing I was going to sit in this waiting room with a dozen or more crying babies, I decided to shut out the noise by writing about my experience. My attitude went from one of disdain for government workers to admiration because of the kindness and professionalism of just one person. I thought there was a lesson in this whole experience and I started writing not to forget the event. Suddenly, I heard this conversation between a Rasta and another person.
The Rasta was dark in color, shiny black skin. He had dreads concealed in a red, green, and yellow, knitted hat. He also wore a striped long sleeved whitish shirt, khaki pants and tan work boots. Man looka, I don know wha wrong wid these young people today, quite loudly. They don’t want children, using condoms, birth control, contraceptives, and getting abortions. I never used a condom yet an’ I got four children. These young people don’t like children. I gun have eight. I thought the conversation was amusing since the majority of the people waiting were young mothers with babies. Such irony.
Mr. Braffit! Came a call from counter number two. I rushed over to the counter. Please check these over for accuracy before leaving, said the attendant at counter number two. I am sorry I said, but my mother’s name is Erma not Elma, I implored. But da is how it is in the books, he said. So I can’t get it changed? No, your mother would have to do that. But she dead already I said. Well, I don’t know what you gine do. Then I looked at the birth certificate and realized my father was wrong also. All these years and I never noticed.
How can I change my father’s name too? I was now faced with a new dilemma. Should I get the records corrected so that I have the correct names for both my legitimate parents on my birth certificate? Or should I pretend that my daddy is my daddy, and my mother’s real name is Elma? There is more to this story, and I am sure the readers want to get to the bottom of this mystery. Stay tuned for part II.