doc-out-of-the-box

Getting pre-cleared through customs, and finding a truck for your container are useful first steps….

Yesterday we sealed the 20 foot container containing almost all of our earthly belongings, had it cleared through customs and sealed. The amount of paperwork, permissions and stamps are beyond belief, but we were glad to be over this hurdle after weeks of preparation. We were assured that at the T-land customs post at the border – we would be quickly processed and sent on without inspection.

Since the driver we had contracted with cancelled 2 hours before we were scheduled to load his truck, we had to contract with a different driver – who, thankfully, was a much nicer man. After hiring a crane which happened to be working near where our container was parked, we loaded the container onto the truck. The truck left for the border, and we agreed to meet about 9:30 the next day.

We had also learned early yesterday that the crane at our chosen border crossing had broken and would only be fixed in 5-7 days. (Plan “B” was to cross at a different border crossing, one where corruption is known to be rife, but our documents precluded this as the specific site of our crossing had already been approved). This began a frantic and fruitless search for an alternate crane to lift our container at the border.

The day went something like this….

Late last night, Lori and I packed the last of our things into the vehicle which I would take to the border for crossing to A-land. After awakening at 4:45am I put the last few items in the car, and headed to pick up my friend and co-worker Mark – a local brother. (Some stomach problems provided an interesting start to the day, and surfaced deep seated wishes for fast resolution!)

After prayer and buying some bread for the road, we were driving out of the city at around 6:00 for a 200 km trip to the border. At an average speed of 60km/h that’s a three and a half hour trip! We had chosen this border crossing spot, despite its remoteness, because we had high-level acquaintenances on both sides that could help us if any problems arose, yeah Right! Three men, who had been preparing for us and travelling for days, awaited us on the other side of the border.

After an uneventful drive, we arrived in the region of F-town at 9:00. We were met by the kind man (Mark’s nephew) who spent yesterday going all over the region looking for a crane to lift our container off of one truck, and put it onto another truck. He had located each of the 4 cranes in the region and been told that it would not be possible to hire any of them: one was broken, one busy, one belonged to the government and no one wanted to risk doing private work with it, and the last one did not have tires adequate enough to make the 45km trip to the border. We dropped in at the cotton gin just to see if we could talk the manager there out of his crane for a few hours, but to no avail.

At this point, Mark and his nephew broke away to continue the pursuit of the much-needed-crane. I drove the 45km on to the border. This was some of the worst road I have ever seen – winding along the river through foot-deep dust with as many as 30 vehicle tracks to choose from for your own tire ruts!

Pass quickly through customs and get to the border….NOT!

I arrived at the border about 10:00 and greeted our waiting truck driver. Since my T-land phone was out of service in this deserted wasteland, I put in an A-land SIM card into my second cell phone and turned it on. I was not surprised that it came on with a good signal, but seconds later, I got a call from my supervisor in the capital – and that was surreal – kind of like being watched by big brother! He informed me that they had word of a nearby crane – but this turned out to be the crane with hopelessly inadequate tires. Next, I made a call to Jamie, the man helping us on the other side of the river. They had found a crane, but it was 3 hours away and would charge $500 to come to the border. Against my better judgment, and after Jamie tried to explain his marvel-of-a-primitive-engineering-plan to move the container, we decided to wait on hiring that crane, and see if the 7-ton container could be pulled/lifted/moved by the 100 cement porters working on the other side of the river. WHAT was I THINKING?!

Quick customs clearance nightmare:

The customs guys at the border were afraid to clear the container and my vehicle for crossing, since there boss was absent from work. Of course, they were trying to call him, but with limited phone service there, not much was communicated. Finally, that is after 3 hours of wrangling, dropped phone calls and many excuses, they decided to clear the container (but only after inspection). My vehicle would not be allowed across the border without a specific declaration form – available a short 45 km away in F-town! After assurances that my co-worker, Mark, could handle this I called him to make the 45km trip to get my car, return to F-town and get the declaration form.

I continued to protest their opening of my customs-cleared-government-sealed container, but to no avail. I must confess that that was the point that I really lost my cool – but finally decided to let the customs officers break their own seal and open the container – which was a much wiser move, both from the perspective of my blood pressure and my sanctification! The container was opened and “inspected” – it was packed so full that they could only see our mattresses, my bicycle, our generator and a few other items. It became clear to them that actually unpacking and inspecting this 20 foot container would take days!

We drove 1km from the customs post to the border in our hired truck, accompanying our container, and accompanied by our customs inspector. Despite having been assured that 40 containers crossed this border crossing daily, it soon became obvious that the only thing that usually crossed at this border post was the daily fare of several thousand 50kg bags of cement. There was no broken crane; in fact there was no crane there at all! Trucks from P-land bring the cement to the river on the A-land side, 100 porters load each bag off the trucks, onto a tractor-powered, winch-driven barge, and then later onto trucks awaiting them on the T-land side. The sight of 100 cement-covered porters dutifully carrying cement bags on their backs appears something and army of nameless, faceless Star Wars druids marching along. Yet, these are each precious souls!

Next step was to clear passport/emigration. I greeted Jamie, who had been allowed to cross on the barge with letters guaranteeing the willingness of the A-land side to cooperate with any arrangement that would expedite the transfer of our container by whatever method on whichever side of the river deemed best. (I’m not sure expedite is in the vocabulary of the language on either side of the border). To make things even smoother, the emigration officer from the A-land side had also come over on the barge – to offer face-to-face assurances of goodwill. Surprisingly, he was dressed in US army patterned fatigues! Discussions ensued in which the T-land officer was not initially willing to let our cross to A-land with his truck, even if just for an hour of offloading. He said our driver needed a visa and his truck needed an export permit. We had just about convinced him – that is, he had agreed to letting the driver drive the truck onto the barge, then get off the barge, and let an A-land driver take over for the offload. As he was writing the driver’s information in his registration book, his counterpart from A-land cracked a “joke” about responsibility for the truck if it were to disappear on the other side of the river. This “joke” was not appreciated, and the officer threw our driver’s documents and quickly forced us all to leave his trailer. He stated emphatically and repeatedly that the truck was not going to cross, the container was not going to cross and that his decision was final.

That must have been where your prayers kicked in….

Several folks tried to approach him and calm his anger, including myself. I explained that we had only yesterday had to contract with a new driver. I told him that I realized that technically, our driver did need a visa which he did not have. Knowing that the visa fee is $60, I offered to pay him for this visa fee if he would allow the driver across. He was not to be moved or convinced. Others tried, to no avail. Next, Jamie approached me and said that $150 would be the price to fix this problem. WHAT? Having verbally refused my offer of the $60 visa fee, and having told us that the issue was the law and not money, he had told a plain-clothes officer, to tell someone, to tell Jaime to tell me his $150 price. Finally, he returned to his trailer, and I followed him to recover the driver’s documents. He was now calm enough to listen to conversation, so I calmly began my long sob-story – all about first visiting his country during the civil war with tanks in the streets and bombs going off in the city. I told about treating the poor and teaching the doctors of T-land. I mentioned that I had not come for my own benefit, and ended with the fact that I do not own a house or car – and that my family’s worldly possessions were in that container! (Jaime said my speech was right on) He slowly began to complete the paperwork and gave permission for the driver to drive onto the barge. While waiting for the cement trucks to load and clear the way, I was informed that I needed to pay up the $60 I had agreed to, despite no visa being issued. So, I paid up.

Since this is a blog, render your opinions please: Was that a bribe, extortion, a tip, or a visa fee?

Marvels of modern technology, not the winch, my camera?!

The driver drove onto the barge, and the tractor-winch rigging began pulling us to the other side. I sat with a few men on a bench on the barge, and then stood to take some pictures. Thinking that my pictures might be the first digital pictures that the men had ever seen of themselves, I showed the men my screen. When I walked back to the tractor/winch the driver asked me in the local language: “Hey, doesn’t your camera have Bluetooth that you could beam the picture you took over to my cell phone?” So much for teaching them a thing or two about modern technology!

Offloading:

The driver of the tractor/winch was selected to drive the truck off the barge, and due to the steep inclines of the river banks, damaged the rear of the truck. Great, just what I needed.

We were met by many friendly A-landers, including the driver of the A-land truck, and two old friends from Graceland – who had come to drive our car to our new home. I quickly cleared emigration and the container was “inspected” – much in the same, brief way that had occurred in T-land. I received passports from our teammates, to take back to T-land for issuance of visas, in case we need to exit A-land via T-land.

Then a committee meeting began, with animated discussion about how they could get the container from one truck to the other. I strongly recommended calling for the crane. They called and the crane would not be able to arrive until nightfall. Now we had another problem. The last barge crossing is between 4 and 5pm, and I HAD to get the truck back to our driver on the T-land side. I told them emphatically: “We MUST empty the truck, and get it back by nightfall.”

In the meantime, I had learned by phone that Mark had not obtained the declaration to export my vehicle, as the customs officer in F-town had demanded that I come there in person. I told the team of 3 on the A-land side to do their best to offload the container, and get the truck back by nightfall. I then rode the barge back to T-land and we headed off to F-town, another 90km roundtrip on those awful roads! This time the customs officer phoned and assured our success at the declaration office. Mark said he had assurances that all they needed was my passport and my signature, and that they would complete the form even after closing hours – the next day being a national holiday.

We drove the 45km and went to the declaration office. The guy was not there, but soon arrived with yet another form. He further demanded an official stamp from our organization. Each organization may only have one stamp, and of course, our stamp stays in the office in the capital city. At this point it was obvious to me that the vehicle would not be crossing that border anytime soon, so I headed back to the border with two goals in mind: 1. get the truck back on this side of the river and pay the driver the final installment plus damages, and 2. take money over to hire the crane to lift our container.

Just one more complication….

On the way back to the border, along that dismal stretch of road, I realized that we had packed the vehicle with the most important things that we would like to have immediately on arrival in Graceland – and that if the vehicle didn’t cross, those things wouldn’t make it to Graceland before us. Oh well…

I returned to the customs post at the border reporting our misfortune. The officer continued to be adamant that the vehicle would not cross. I asked that I be allowed to drive back to the barge, cross over with some of the money needed for the crane and customs fees, and send at least the most urgent things to the waiting men. Only after a soldier was assigned to my car was I permitted to drive back to the barge. On arriving there, much to my surprise and joy, our truck was being driven off the barge back on the T-land side of the border! I asked the barge driver for one more round trip on the barge as the sun was setting. Instead, he offered to take the $850 needed to my waiting friends. At the last minute, I gave him the most important contents of the vehicle – Sam’s home school books – and off they went on the barge with a near total stranger. Thankfully his name was “the religion of Islam” so I assumed him trustworthy.

As I returned from the barge, a terrible dust storm blew in. At times it was difficult to see even a few inches in front of oneself. The dust storm continued all the way home.

Next, I settled my account with the driver, and paid him the damages he requested: the agreed price for our load, $50 for having waited all day, and $100 for the damage to his vehicle. The immigration officer came up, stated that the border was now closed, and asked for a ride back to the customs office. I complied with this request, and Mark and I took our leave of that place. We did get full assurances that when Mark returns in 10-14 days with the appropriate documents, they will let him cross forthwith!

Kill the goat, a foreigner is coming…

Our next decision was whether to drive the 3.5 hours home, or spend the night in Mark’s village. I let Mark make that call. He wanted to get back to his family as badly as I did, so suggested we drop in for dinner (it was after 7, and we’d arrive there after 8), then drive home, arriving well after midnight. After making the 6^th trip across that desolate 45km stretch of road, my vehicle was beginning to make interesting noises in both the left front and right front sides. We inspected things for safety, and figured we’d work the rest out later.

An hour later we arrived at Mark’s former home/village. We were heartily welcomed by the greater extended family, and I learned that a goat had been killed that morning in honor of my visit! Wow, how humbling. This is no wealthy family, and that goat would have fetched a high price at the market. Marks’ family is a great example of how one’s OIKOS (extended family, friends, and associates) come to faith as a result of years of faithful verbal and lifestyle witness. Over the last few years Mark and Delores’ uncles, aunts, sisters, cousins, nephews and friends have been coming to faith as a result of Mark and Delores’ witness. Just last Sunday I was privileged to be at a house church meeting where Mark had baptized his niece! Her mother was there serving us in the candlelight, and I was able to speak briefly with her.

Our dinner consisted of deep-fried goat meat, bread, tea, and some nuts and candies. It was most memorable, and much appreciated. We soon took our leave, but not before I prayed a carefully worded prayer – that God’s hand of blessing be on this family, and that He show them the straight road to salvation. We then took our leave, and headed home.
The trip home was uneventful – save for a few typical police checkpoints. Mark and I were able to share deeply on several subjects: family, church life, raising our kids and of course about our thoughts on heresies creeping into the church in America. I dropped Mark off at his home around 1:00am, and was home within 15 minutes. I took a much needed and even more appreciated hot shower, and dropped in the bed exhausted!

Thanks for praying!

The container was loaded onto another truck by crane the next day and has reached Graceland!