fun with bureaucracy

Today was magnificent. I made a special trip to the nearby provincial capital for the express purpose of finishing of some paperwork that needed doing. Firstly, a vacaction day request. Secondly, the replacement of a stamp that is needed for my carte de sejour; my working visa equivalent. Really its magical how much time one can use up when one combines French bureaucracy Moroccan style with my own procrastination and the vagrancies of transport and circumstance...
So:
First to the Water and Forest Department. I had called ahead several times last week to attempt to find out when my counterpart would be in his office. Unfortunately, the phone number wouldn't work. Thus, I was flying blind, hoping that he would be there. Predicatably, he wasn't. I found this out by talking to the one person there who I have a language in common with: a secretary who speaks a version of Berber reasonably close the one I know. I have to remember words back from Ouarzazate, but it works. He was in Rabat, and to be back tomorrow. So I wait for the other guy, the Chief, to come back. She said he would come in... he didn't. At least, I gave up waiting for him to come back after three hours sitting there (reading a good book, the Dark Star Safari). I arranged with the secretary to call me tomorrow, and left a photocopy of the vacation days request form with her to make things as easy as possible tomorrow. I left, and went to go check up on my site mate who is beginning her technical training at the hospital here.

Task 1 having failed, I moved on to Task 2.
So, I find the Gendarmerie Royale, and ask them if they have the stamp I need. No, I am told, but they have it at the Provence, the Amanala. ie. the big complex where the government bigwigs work. I go, and the guard at the gate stops me until my Qaid's secretary magically appears and tells me 1) where to go and 2) vouches for me. I go to the security office and wait for the guy to register my name in the books... he then escorts me into the big, huge, fancy building with the shiny marble and the courtyard of desert plants inside and the huge, beautifully tiled stairs. Up we go, but the man he wanted isn't there. So he talks to the guard, who refers him to another guy, who calls over another guy, who says put her in a room to wait for the orginal guy to come back from lunch. So another guard goes to get the key to an empty room where I am stashed for... about 45 minutes. The guy finally comes in, I explain to him in my broken Moroccan Arabic what I want, he seems confused, but nods and leaves. Another guy comes in. He says, we don't have that here. I explain that the Gendarmerie Royale said they do... and then I am lead all over the complex, hither and thither, wondering what on earth is going on... finally to an office, where I finally have an epiphany. I'll just ask Eric... he did this before, he should know where to go. Turns out it's in a little cell phone store in the middle of town... I extricate myself from the Provencial Offices and march over to the store. After much wandering and a bit of asking, I locate it, and ask the storekeeper to change my stamp... only to discover there isn't another stamp. We call my gendarme, the storekeeper searches again, but it doesn't exist. He tells me to go ask the 'Bulis', ie. the police. I decide to go buy toilet paper instead.

Thus, today, I have accomplished... the purchase of four lovely, lightly packaged rolls of toilet paper. We may hope for better things tomorrow. ;)