Chapter 5 ~ The Drivers Licence

We had decided to take the opportunity during the Christmas New Year break, to do a Road trip along to the Eastern end of the Island, (see chapter 6) and in order to comply with local regulations, decided that the right thing to do was obtain a local drivers licence. We were advised that all we needed was two passport photos, our New Zealand Drivers licence, our passport and US$20. Sounded easy enough, so Lisa and Alofa headed off on the Friday midday to pick up a local licence. They were back fairly quickly, explaining that they had been sent away to come back on Monday as everyone at the Drivers Licence centre were ready to go home for the weekend.

Well, that should have been a clue  but unperturbed we all headed back there on Monday, we arrived at 11:00am, only to be told that we could come back in the afternoon at 2:00pm as everyone at the Drivers licencing centre were now going to go to lunch.

Now we were perturbed and after some insistence on our part, we managed to get the officer to supply us with the application form that would need to be filled out by 2:00pm. He also advised us that we needed to get a photocopy of our NZ drivers licence plus a photocopy of our passport and that we had to supply a manila folder as well. Counting this exchange as a major step forward, we headed off for lunch and to find a stationary shop, that made photo copies. We had a good lunch, found a stationary store that sold us the folders and made all the photocopies and by 2:00pm we were back outside the Drivers Licence centre waiting to be served.

Let me tell you about this building, it is a long oblong of a building with approximately 6 windows on each of the long sides to the building, each with a sign above it, explaining what that window is for. Given that the local Tetun language is slightly limited when it comes to describing such complex issues such as Drivers Licences and vehicle registration etc., the signs are predominately in Portuguese. My Portuguese is as good as my Tetun – negligible! The building layout also means that as you go from window to window, submitting your paper work, at the different windows (as we were to do that afternoon) all of the paperwork ends up in the middle of this building. This, sort of, explains the need to supply your own manila folder.

So, we submitted our “stuff” at window four only to be told that this was the wrong type of manila folder and the photocopy of the NZ drivers licence had to be of both sides of the licence and not just the front. Luckily we were then also informed that there was a porta-comm office down by the car park that would sell us manila folders, of the right type, for a US1, that we needed,  as well as do any
photocopying that we needed at a price of $0.10 a copy.

Armed with this new knowledge, we bought the right folders and obtained the right number of photocopies and went back to the window. You do realise that at this point in time we are only at step 1, but what the hell….it can’t be that difficult – eh?

We submit our forms, photos, folders, photo copies and money and are immediately given back the money (wrong counter) and as each of these items  are all checked off and we are told to wait at the next window, (window 5) whilst much cross checking, rubber stamping and keying into the computer system of our information is undertaken.

After a half hour our names are called and we are given a computer generated piece of paper that lists all of our details and advised that we need to go back to the porta-comm office and get five photocopies. We trudge to the porta-comm, get our copies and take them back to where we were given the original. There’s no one there! We hang around until a local passer by tells us that we need to take them to the other side of the building and go to Window number eight. We circumnavigate the building, line up outside window eight and hand in our photocopies. Once again the paper work disappears into the “core” of the building. Sitting outside, I start wondering about creating a Business Process Map using BPMn standards and decide that there is no mapping symbol for random process branch or real-time change in the Business Process. Meanwhile there has been much rubber  stamping going on inside the building and we are called back to window eight, given back two copies of the pre-printed form and told that we need to take these forms along with our US$20 and go to window two.

Yippee we must be getting close now and it’s only three o’clock. Circumnavigating the building again, we line up outside window three, hand over our forms and our money. I watch the most absurd process play out in front of my eyes. The lady who took the forms and the money first checked them all off for accuracy (well, I assume that was what she was doing – as she took a while staring at each of the forms, she even made sure that they were both the same), then out came the rubber stamp and they were both stamped. She passed them onto a young girl who was standing next to her, who carefully placed them into two piles. The first of these piles the woman whom we had first given them to, then picked them up and receipted the forms by writing in the amount paid, signing the form and putting a “Paid” stamp on them. She then placed them back where she got them from. After a few minutes a man came from the centre of the building and took away the pile of receipted paperwork. Another man came to window one and gave us the other copy back and told us this was our receipt and that we had to keep it. We stood around like a flock of lost sheep, until we heard our names being called at  window number five, and it is there that we are given a half sheet of paper with one of the photographs stapled onto it and a whole lot of writing in Portuguese and Tetum advising us that this is our temporary licence. Hey we made it it’s 3:30 and we have a licence, oh no it’s not that easy, you see we are then told that the temporary licence is no good until it has a number put on it by the man in the office next to window six.

The man in the office is going to take a digital photograph of each of us to be laminated into our real licences, once they are produced in two months’ time. So, it’s easy enough, we just need to get our photo taken? (although I did wonder ehy we needed to bring two photgraphs with us in the first place, but then, who am I to question this?). Lisa goes in and has hers done and a number is placed on her scrap of paper, and she is all officially licenced. Alas we are informed that Alofa cannot have her photo taken as she has a sleeveless top on and that all women’s photos must have sleeves. The girls quickly disappear into a very smelly public toilet and exchange blouses. The man in the Office laughs at their reappearance and good naturedly takes Alofa’s photo, gives her a number and she is legal too. However men  having their photo taken must be wearing a shirt with a collar. I can be butt naked as long as I’m wearing a shirt with a collar. I am advised that I can go home and change, as they don’t close until 4:00pm, but it’s 3:45pm and we live a good 10 minutes away. Of course I can come back Monday? No, they don’t do drivers licences on Mondays and anyway, I’m supposed to be a long way away on our Road trip by then.

We hatch a hasty plan, pile into the car, and head for the Hari Laran Merkadu, a large market that is nearby, that has a huge clothing section. Lisa drops us off at the gate and we run into the market hastily looking for a shirt. Now I should remind you dear reader that we are in South East Asia, in a land of very small people and at this point in time I’m standing 1.86 meters tall and weighed in at 110kilos. I would add that I’m still the same height, but a lot lighter now. Anyway the choice of shirts in a fashion sense is monstrous, but then I’m not going to be making a fashion statement with this piece of clothing, as my choices are extremely limited, there is nothing here that is XL! We run from stall to stall asking for the largest shirt that they have. Most of the stall holders just look at me and laugh, good naturedly; I am sure, but laughter none the less. We eventually find a white, tan and brown striped collared shirt with a crest on it that says “DJ”. Its tag says that it’s a Large size, we pay for it and dash back to the main gate of the market. Quickly locating Lisa, we bundle back into the car and head back the Dept. of Motor Vehicles, as we are driving, I slip off my T shirt and start to  squeeze the new shirt on – it’s a little tight, to say the least, but Alofa is sitting in the back seat and she helps by pulling down the back of this thing whilst I breath in deeply and pull down the front. We arrive back at the building, I hop out of the car, I can’t breathe, my chest is so constricted by the tightness across my chest, I feel dizzy, running in the hot sun, is not the smartest thing to do, but constraining your ability to take in oxygen, really doesn’t help. I get to the office and plunge through the door, it’s 4:15 and everyone is sitting around talking about the day’s work. One look at the gasping malai that just burst into the room with the multi-coloured collared shirt and the very red sweaty face has them in utter hysterics. Several people have to get up and leave out of embarrassment for me. But the man that takes the photos, smiled and said “Thank you for respecting our requirements”. I have my photo taken, get my number on my piece of paper, thank everyone and walk out to the car. By this stage I am really getting very faint and I realise that if I don’t get this shirt off really quickly I am going to collapse. By the side of the car, I heave the thing off over my head and am suddenly aware that everyone in the office is watching from the windows. I turn, smile and wave. My gesture is met with warm smiles, waving of hands and that infectious laughter of the Timorese at play.