i need to get an iPhone. not because they have improved from their first version many years ago, or because they have any groundbreaking technology (as a matter of fact i am very irritated by their planned obsolescence and think they should be penalized) but because i miss the moments when i could take close up pictures silently without any flash giving me away. like the many things i witnessed at the immigration passport office yesterday. Some things are better seen to be believed.
first off, as soon as i was ushered in, i immediately got the sense that i had been tricked into a group of alcoholics anonymous. it was a sea of fake hair, bleached skin, faker accents and gypsy dressing. you would not believe. right after i took my seat a lady was ushered into the room in the shortest shorts and tightest top you can imagine. to be fair, she had the body to pull it off and i had to control the need to stare after her when she passed me but my awe died as soon as she began to speak. the customs officer in charge asked her if her file had been brought to them and for her to confirm her surname. next thing we heard was "ulu- fumi - lay- eeo"...silence. then he shakes his head and says "surname?" and she replied "oloo- wa - tuubi". the guy looks through the files on his table and goes, "no they have not brought it"... to which madam responded in hot ondo british accent "damn these people" and then clicked her heels out of the room. a few chuckles erupted as guys exchanged glances and women rolled their eyes. three minutes later she comes back behind a fat customs man who is insisting that he personally brought the file there himself and walks up to the table to accost the man with the files. as they flipped through, lo and behold there is was: olufunmilayo oluwatobi. the man at the table just said "sorry madam, it is how you pronounced it, i thought it was ugandan". the well conceiled snickering erupted into laughter across the room. i swear even i who was forming lawyer had to laugh.
in the sweltering heat, i had to hold my blazer in my hand until it was time to take my mugshot as the two old "national" airconditioners servicing the room full of over 30 people, were struglling to write their will and last testament. the really fat guy to my left grunting with every breath didn't help matters and the little girl to my right that wouldn's sit still kinda drained the last dregs of oxygen i was trying to absorb. and then the women with kids began to arrive almost as if on cue. its weird how people that come to the immigration office to get new passports, feel the need to act like they just stepped off a plane from new york. otherwise, can someone explain to me why a woman would wear (from top to bottom) a red woolen neck scarf, on a white long sleeved shirt, paired over a skirt worn over a full length TROUSER. i. swear. i wish i had that bloody iPhone cos i bet you don't believe me. the room was stunned as she walked very confidently to the desk with the custom officer followed by her two boys. First boy about 9 was stuffed into a buttoned cuordroy jacket that she must have bought for him when he was 5, and last boy about 6 was wearing a long sleeve hooded top with green "ben-10" khakis. in THAT heat. if that didn't bring back memories of a hippie family from "South Park", then nothing else ever will.
and just when all was going well, a woman outside began to scream "hey, hey ole! thief! ole!" and there was commotion outside. all the customs officers in the room left to find out what was going on, but i could only think: how far would a pickpocket expect to go after stealing smack in the middle of a customs premises. today can't possibly get worse than this. i spoke too soon...cos after waiting for 2 full hours, enduring bad odour from fatso and physical abuse by the prancing little girl, assailed by a hippie family and tormented by accent from a 'janded in her mind' girl...i saw my picture. gadamnit. the stupid camera over at immigrations made me look like a hunch-backed gorilla having a bad day. naturally, being the well practiced lawyer, i insisted they take another picture and well, lets just say i looked like the gorilla's grandfather. i swear they're racist (i cannot be that ugly), and if i'm put on the FBI terror watchlist, at least you know why.
well, there went my yesterday. i hope yours was better. see y'all around peeps!
first off, as soon as i was ushered in, i immediately got the sense that i had been tricked into a group of alcoholics anonymous. it was a sea of fake hair, bleached skin, faker accents and gypsy dressing. you would not believe. right after i took my seat a lady was ushered into the room in the shortest shorts and tightest top you can imagine. to be fair, she had the body to pull it off and i had to control the need to stare after her when she passed me but my awe died as soon as she began to speak. the customs officer in charge asked her if her file had been brought to them and for her to confirm her surname. next thing we heard was "ulu- fumi - lay- eeo"...silence. then he shakes his head and says "surname?" and she replied "oloo- wa - tuubi". the guy looks through the files on his table and goes, "no they have not brought it"... to which madam responded in hot ondo british accent "damn these people" and then clicked her heels out of the room. a few chuckles erupted as guys exchanged glances and women rolled their eyes. three minutes later she comes back behind a fat customs man who is insisting that he personally brought the file there himself and walks up to the table to accost the man with the files. as they flipped through, lo and behold there is was: olufunmilayo oluwatobi. the man at the table just said "sorry madam, it is how you pronounced it, i thought it was ugandan". the well conceiled snickering erupted into laughter across the room. i swear even i who was forming lawyer had to laugh.
in the sweltering heat, i had to hold my blazer in my hand until it was time to take my mugshot as the two old "national" airconditioners servicing the room full of over 30 people, were struglling to write their will and last testament. the really fat guy to my left grunting with every breath didn't help matters and the little girl to my right that wouldn's sit still kinda drained the last dregs of oxygen i was trying to absorb. and then the women with kids began to arrive almost as if on cue. its weird how people that come to the immigration office to get new passports, feel the need to act like they just stepped off a plane from new york. otherwise, can someone explain to me why a woman would wear (from top to bottom) a red woolen neck scarf, on a white long sleeved shirt, paired over a skirt worn over a full length TROUSER. i. swear. i wish i had that bloody iPhone cos i bet you don't believe me. the room was stunned as she walked very confidently to the desk with the custom officer followed by her two boys. First boy about 9 was stuffed into a buttoned cuordroy jacket that she must have bought for him when he was 5, and last boy about 6 was wearing a long sleeve hooded top with green "ben-10" khakis. in THAT heat. if that didn't bring back memories of a hippie family from "South Park", then nothing else ever will.
and just when all was going well, a woman outside began to scream "hey, hey ole! thief! ole!" and there was commotion outside. all the customs officers in the room left to find out what was going on, but i could only think: how far would a pickpocket expect to go after stealing smack in the middle of a customs premises. today can't possibly get worse than this. i spoke too soon...cos after waiting for 2 full hours, enduring bad odour from fatso and physical abuse by the prancing little girl, assailed by a hippie family and tormented by accent from a 'janded in her mind' girl...i saw my picture. gadamnit. the stupid camera over at immigrations made me look like a hunch-backed gorilla having a bad day. naturally, being the well practiced lawyer, i insisted they take another picture and well, lets just say i looked like the gorilla's grandfather. i swear they're racist (i cannot be that ugly), and if i'm put on the FBI terror watchlist, at least you know why.
well, there went my yesterday. i hope yours was better. see y'all around peeps!
Comments
The next time you're on a queue, have that Iphone ready.
I feel you shaa, I never have my phone handy at the right time! I doubt if Iphone will change that!
I'm just beginning to like my pix in my Intl passport. Those guys are mean photographers!
@ ginger: tell me about it @ mean photographers. its not my face o...