Road to Nowhere — a day in
a Hell Affairs queue
The Daily Maverick – 23 April
2022
South Africa has illusions of grandeur about being
a modern, competitive country. A day or two or three in a queue at a Home
Affairs office in Johannesburg should quickly (well, slowly) disabuse you of
that notion. This is a story written while waiting in one of those lines.
inter is
coming. The mornings are darker and colder. Nonetheless, by the time you arrive
at Home Affairs at 7am, the queue is already a hundred people long. You can see
on their faces that they are in for a long day. Grim determination.
Before
the gates open at 8am, an official sends a Covid-19 form down the queue. Fill
in your ID number, say whether you have any symptoms and so on. You know the
drill. Unfortunately, it’s about the most efficient thing that will happen to
you for the next six hours. Except that it’s completely unnecessary. Like Covid
fogging. Even though Home Affairs is “run” by a doctor, they didn’t get the
message or the prescription.
Or maybe
it’s because the department is run by a doctor.
All the President’s Men: The
deployees we should hold responsible for dysfunction and corruption in the Home
Affairs Department. (Photo: Mark Heywood)
After
that, there’s no communication, no numbering system (until you get through the
door, which is many hours away). Just the hum of people quietly chatting.
Some
people seem to get quicker access than others. Word passes back along the queue
that “they have online bookings”. But you can’t make online bookings — it
doesn’t work, says one of my new queue friends.
“Most
likely a backhander somewhere,” says another.
After seven hours: Inside at
last, inside at last, thank God Almighty we are inside at last. (Photo: Mark
Heywood)
So most
continue to queue in patient resignation, joking darkly about “the nightmare”.
The experience adds to the cynicism and distrust of government. For all it
claims, it’s not a government that cares. Batho Pele’s in the bin. But there’s
no choice. You need that document. Your life and ability to function or travel
depend on it.
Some
clever people bring camp chairs and lunch boxes. They must have friends in low
places who gave them advance warning.
During
the interminable hours, some drop by the wayside and give up. I know the
feeling. I was here yesterday. After five hours I gave up too. It felt like
dropping out of a marathon. A harried bureaucrat had told us early in the
morning that the “system is down”, but after that — silence. It seems nobody
knew or cared when it would be up again.
A sign outside the office.
(Photo: Mark Heywood)
Some
arrive, see the queue and disappear.
I
discovered, as I posted an SOS on Facebook, that there’s a science to finding a
functional Home Affairs office. Some mention Alex. Some say Centurion. Others
say take a drive to Randfontein.
But the problem
is, once you are in the queue, you’re stuck. Your mind plays tricks with you.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
As you
stand, sit, perch, you can understand why millions of people don’t have
IDs.
The toilets in a container at the
Randburg office. (Photo: Mark Heywood)
And so,
as my anger levels increase, I send a message to Home Affairs Minister Aaron
Motsoaledi (whose number I still have from his days as Minister of Health — I’m
tempted to share it, but won’t):
“Hello
Minister. I hope you are well. I just wanted to say that your home affairs
offices are a disgrace. I have spent eight hours so far queuing to renew my
passport in Randburg. I can see no reason why it should be as inefficient and
contemptuous of people as this. And I hear it’s the same everywhere. It makes
me wonder what you are doing as the Minister. Maybe you ought to queue yourself
one day to experience what ordinary people do.”
Several
hours later I was happy to get a reply. Explaining that he was ill with flu and
in bed, the good doctor said:
“I am not
sure whether you are asking for my help or you just wanted me to know what you
think of me. I am aware of the problems at the Randburg office and have just
suspended the manager there to rebuild the office.”
Cold
comfort for me and my queue buddies.
Inside the toilets at the
Randburg Home Affairs Department. (Photo: Mark Heywood)
The only
good thing I can say is that Home Affairs is a great leveller. In this queue
are citizens with little kids, pensioners, people with big cars, people with no
cars, all races, all ages. It’s where the nation meets. Everybody but
politicians.
I’m left
to have a solitary conversation with myself about state failure. What’s so
complicated about processing, producing and disbursing ID documents and
passports? If we can’t succeed with something as simple as this, how can we run
a sophisticated economy and state?
As a
friend pointed out, what’s to stop Home Affairs having secure online stations
at their offices (like ATMs) where an applicant enters all their information so
that they need less than two minutes with an official to verify their
identity.
Or why
doesn’t Home Affairs introduce a user rating system for its branches?
People who queued all day, but
didn’t cross the line. (Photo: Mark Heywood)
It’s at a
coalface like this that you really understand the implications of State
Capture, corruption and state neglect.
I don’t
blame the workers. After four hours, when I made it into the actual office, the
officials were reasonably personable. It’s the system that fails them. If you
starve your public service and public servants, this is what you get.
Where’s
the leadership, you might ask?
The
answer is MIA or being nasty and shifting blame to
straw men like illegal immigrants.
All the
president’s men? But do the ministers give a fuck? I doubt it. They get their
blue lights, their perks and their arse-licking officials. And like the rest of
them, they don’t have to queue, use the public health system or send their
children to government schools.
www.samigration.com