Russian Government Services - How to Avoid Becoming an Illegal Alien

April 2, 2009


3:00 am, I have been awake for a while laying in bed and exercising my brain with all kinds of useless thoughts. Then suddenly I remembered, “Yikes I need to register tomorrow or I will be in the country illegally!!!” I stayed awake another couple of hours fearing that if I fell back asleep I might forget this most important task. I don’t know when it was but I did fall back asleep. Irina’s smiling face came in around 9:30 am to wake me. Fortunately having a mind like a steel trap my first words to her were “Irina we must get me registered TODAY!!!”

“Ahhh yes, I forgot about that” she said.

Item of Cultural Interest: The Russians for the last 300 years have had the perverse need to know where everyone in their country is at all times and what they were doing. And today of course this complex applies to any foreigners in their country. So each time I arrive I have 3 days within which to fill out the forms, make copies of all my documents and submit it to the OVIR, the agency whose task it is to keep control of everyone’s location. In the past it was simple just pay a corrupt travel agency that we worked with and they took care of the job. If we didn’t get it done on the exact day, no problem, they would just handle it with their corrupt official.

But last year they changed the law so that we had to do this our selves at a local post office. Timing became a real issue, now there is no slack! By the time you arrive in country the post offices are invariably closed – day one gone. Jet lag your brain is still a little groggy and you don’t normally get going anywhere soon – day two gone. So it’s already day three and the main mission becomes GET REGISTERED.

Another breakfast of hot porridge, toast and cheese, which tastes good this morning since outside it is only 35 degrees F and windy. We quickly finish, dress and by 11:00 am are ready for our mission. Irina then starts looking for her passport.

Item of Cultural Interest: All Russians that travel outside the country have two passports. One is used only for foreign travel and the second, a local passport, for keeping track of where you are in Russia and what you have been up to. Every Russian and must carry their local passport with them at all times. If you are ever stopped for any reason the authorities can demand to see your local passport. Failure to present it can result in big trouble! The concept is kinda like driving with out your driver’s license, except here it is “don’t leave home without it”.

I’m dressed in my jacket, mud boots, muffler and hat ready to go. “Where’s Iricka?” As I walk into the living room I see Irina is rummaging through all the drawers and other hiding places in the apartment. “What are you doing? We need to get moving or they will be closing for tea break.”

“We have a problem” Irina says. “I think my (local) passport is at Vicky’s and they will not be back for two days. I took all our important documents there for safe keeping while we were gone.” A little more looking and “it’s not here, I will take Mamula’s passport maybe they will accept it”.

Luckily the post office is only a hundred yards from our front door so we arrive there quickly, get the form and Irina starts filling it out since it was all in Russian. “Opps, I got the wrong date, I’ll just change it a little. There it’s done” Irina said. The form had hardly changed hands when the lady saw where Irina tried to correct the date.

“Neyt, no corrections permitted!! Here is another form re-do it” the lady behind the counter says. Back to the table and redo the form. When it is finished we return to the counter and then Irina tries to explain the problem of her passport. The lady listens, then replies “No problem just have your mother come down and sign the forms”.

“Opps; no way will that work” says Irina “we must find another way”. And we leave. Irina says our only hope is registering me at Svetta’s, Vicky’s mother-in-law, apartment. We call and she is agreeable and tell her we will leave immediately. It’s getting late; there are always long lines and no exceptions. When time is up the door closes and anyone not served always can come back tomorrow.

As we walk out the door Irina says “ we must get a gift for her.

“Vodka, they always like that. Lets head to Oasis (the local grocery/alcohol store)”. We swing into the store, head right for the liquor section, and pick out their favorite, the biggest bottle at the cheapest price. It was my first time to the store since arriving and looked at the prices of my favorite Russian adult beverage, Vodka, and couldn’t believe the price – double from last year! How’s a man to survive in Russia?

But we didn’t have time to waste, right to the checkout counter. Irina was in the process of paying for the vodka and I suggested that we might need a “ pakeet” (a plastic bag you purchase to carry your stuff home). Irina quickly agrees and asks the clerk. Before I could stop her I realized that we didn’t need the pakeet we could just stick the bottle in Irina’s purse. Wrong move!

Item of Cultural Interest: Retail check out clerks are hired on their ability to maintain a stern expression and to quickly intimidate any customer if there is the slightest deviation from standard procedures. Standard procedures include, but are not limited to things like: customer must pay with exact change, if customer doesn’t have exact change they must have small bills, all produce must be weighed and priced before checkout or it will be taken from customer, if there is a question about the price of an item the customer is always wrong and must accept the clerks price, items once rung up must be paid for – no changes can be made,…….the list goes on and on. For some reason it appears that only women can qualify for this job because I have never seen a Russian man working anywhere as a checkout clerk.

The checkout lady’s face turned from a mild frown to frozen stone. She immediately started yelling something about not taking the “pakeet” back. “OK, OK” I grab the bag as Irina digs in her purse for the extra 4 Rubles, slams them on the counter and we leave.

Svetta’s apartment is somewhere about a mile or so from here so we grab a bus. Once off the bus Irina realizes that she isn’t exactly sure where Svetta lives, and of course I had no real clue. I could vaguely remember the one time we picked them up in Igor’s car it was a dark, cold looking corner where two buildings met.

Fortunately we find the building and buzz Svetta. She arrives quickly and we are off for the local post office. Svetta is a big, brash Ukrainian lady that would make a perfect checkout clerk trainer, but for family she is always ready to help and has a heart of gold. I was glad to have on our side.

We arrive at the post office with an hour and a half before closing. Should be enough time to get all this done. Irina gets the documents and starts filling it out. We must completely fill out two of the same document – no Xerox copies allowed. Opps another mistake, another form or two. Finally it appears complete and she takes it to the clerk.

Item of Cultural Interest: See previous Item above re checkout clerks. All descriptions apply for Postal clerks plus the following. Postal clerks are even more embolden since they also have the full power and might of the Russian government backing them. They make no mistakes and since you need them, they don’t need you, you will be served or assisted at their leisure. Postal clerks are at the bottom of the government’s clerical hierarchy so there is a bit of latent anger, resentment and jealousy that transfers to those lowly customers forced to ask for their service.

The clerk grabs the documents, pears down at them, immediately spies blanks where some required redundant data was left out, throws the documents back on the counter, and waves Irina away back to the table finish her work. Again the documents are submitted, reviewed and this time accepted as submitted.

“This is incomplete. Where are the copies of your passports and other mandatory documents” the clerk screeches out. “You must have copies of all the passports, the immigration papers, visas, and registrations.”

Irina meekly asks if they have a copier. “Da” (yes) the unexpected reply is heard from behind the counter. A pleasantly surprised Irina asks if she would please copy the required items. Then came the originally expected answer – “Neyt”; with a simple explanation “we have no paper”. Irina then asks if the clerk might know were we could find some one that can make the copies for us. Once more the now-expected reply “Neyt” loudly comes from behind the counter along with the incomplete Alien Registration Application.

It is now 45 minutes to closing time. I am starting to get a little concerned. If we don’t complete this task today I will become and “Illegal Alien”. If stopped for any reason and asked to produce my documents I could immediately be subject to fine, deportation, and/or imprisonment. Worse yet we would have to go to the feared OVIR office to change my immigration status. Not only would we probably have to pay a fine, que up in the admittance line around 5:00 am (they are notoriously busy and slow), we would have to deal with their clerks. These women are a higher up the food chain and they didn’t get there by being nice to their lowly cliental. We gota get this done now!!!

As we walk out the door I spy a bank and tell the girls that they would probably have a copier that we could use or pay for using. I am immediately told that banks only do money stuff they would never even consider helping us out by copying something.

But wait, how fortuitous! There right across the ally from the bank is a sign advertising “Foto” (photos). We walk up the stairs and enter a pet store. “Strange place for a Foto shop, did we miss the door” I wondered. No! We are in luck, stuck back way back in the corner between cat litter boxes and 100lb bags of bird seed, in his own little half walled-off space sits a man with a scanner and printer. A real Russian entrepreneur! The girls tell him what we need, he makes the copies; easy! Just to make sure all is OK I check to see what we have. “WAIT, he copied my expired visa. He needs to print this one. Pheuuu, good thing I checked that.”

Back to the friendly girls at the post office. A new line has formed since we left and these people didn’t realize that we were there earlier and therefore have the right to move to the head of the line. Svetta in her suave Ukrainian manner explained to them how it works “We were hear earlier today, move over” and handed our paperwork to the ringleader on the other side of the counter.

The ringleader of this cabal of clerks is a real classic! Probably 25-30ish, chewing gum, generally unattractive, dressed in a short sleeve tee shirt exposing about 8 inches of her above-the-jeans fat line, tattoos on one arm and black stringy hair. Irina whispered that she looks like the workers at the homeless shelter where she volunteers. The ringleader looks at the paper work, asks what is this extra copy of the visa for. I explained to Irina that the one on the same page as my passport picture was my expired visa and the other page had my current visa; and Irina explained that to the ringleader, I guess. The ringleader listens; hands back the page with my current visa, and then tells us she has to go unload the mail truck which just arrived. Translated I am sure that means, “ Later, I want a cigarette break.”

I look up at the clock on the wall knowing for sure that when the little hand is on 5, the big hand is on 12, and the second hand passes 12 the curtains come down on the counter and it is “game over”; 25 minutes from now. We wait. I watch the clock.

One of the underlings waves us over and gives us some receipts and an envelope to fill out. Irnia fills out the receipts detailing the documents we are sending to the OVIR and the addresses the envelope. Takes it to the underling, she reviews. Can you believe it we made a mistake, do the receipts over. No scratch outs or mistakes! Finally we get it back to her and she accepts it. Now I hope we are just waiting for the ringleader to return from the truck.

The clock is getting dangerously close to 5:00 when the ringleader returns and starts on our paperwork again. I think we are going to make it!! She starts tearing off the part of the form that I need to carry on my person at all times, she starts folding the papers and sticking them in the envelope, SHE STARTS SEALING the envelope, she starts pounding the official stamps all over the envelope, she starts writing stuff all over the envelope, YES!!!!! She tosses the envelope into the out box and hands me my documents. I’m LEGAL and we’re outa there with, oh, at least 7 minutes to spare. I feel sorry for all the other people in line, the ones at the end will certainly have to come have to come back another day.

As we leave I thank Svetta and tell her; “Russia, one day, one task”!

“Da” she replies and we wave good-bye as we head for the bus home.