Permits, Documents and Licences.

There are many hoops to jump through when applying for residency status here: required documentation is proof of identity, passports naturally, proof of sponsorship by employer, proof of certifications, proof of marriage, letters of reference, letters of recommendations, letters from husbands approving of their wives working here and another allowing them to obtain drivers licences.

We now need a whole new wallet to carry the kilograms worth of new identification: residency permit, drivers licence, liquor licence, e-gate passport identity, and Hamad medical card just for starters.

The journey to procure these precious documents is not an easy one. For each step forward, there are always two steps back. As a friend quipped "It's the land of ...almost". The path is littered with obstacles and objections, and fraught with the perils of second language ordeals, cultural peculiarities and capricious agents of public service. The same goes for convoluted websites, absent instructions, and elusive information. Emails are sent off into ether space never to be heard from again, and phones ring for endless minutes at a time and nary a human voice is heard after the twenty minutes of the Arab world's answer to elevator music. Venturing to an actual office should be classified as an Olympic sport - After you have macheted your way through the jungle of traffic; and lost your way a few times in order to backtrack/u-turn/reverse. After you have cursed the potholes, narrow streets, and triple parked vehicles; and toured the circuit umpteen times for a legitimate parking spot. Then you can finally celebrate by joining the long line of sorry looking humans sweating it out in humid temperatures in line-ups a mile long, that inch forward at a snails pace, contingent on tea breaks, staffing load, prayer times and the inevitable 2 to 4 hour break between midday and 4pm when most business' close down for siesta - we should all get a medal for being so brave and patient.

Oh, and woe betide you make the mistake of not observing the males only and females only doorways! You will be very quickly and politely shuffled out and directed to the relevant building or section. I can't speak for the male halls, but the female enclaves are certainly not bastions of care and compassion, or efficiency and organization. We all become our other selves and transform from Jekylls to Hydes - we line up 10 deep and 8 wide, pushing against each other in the hopes that the women in front can magically melt through the walls and windows of counter space that divides us morons from the cool and calm abaya-clad black ladies on the other side of the counters. We scream and holler, and wave our hands in the air clutching our precious paperwork and a bunch of riyals. We hope that the daggers we are sending through our eyes will strike those with the effrontary to push in front of those of us who have already waited two and three hours to get this far. (My advice for the novice - wear football gear - it should clear a path for you.) Meanwhile, we stand, we slump and we sit. We watch, fascinated, as someone just gives in to frustration and starts screaming about fairness and whimpering about "my turn", "my turn". We comfort and pass tissues to those unlucky not to be on the magic list of approval for that day.

These scenes are everywhere: at the medical centre where you have to have blood screening and chest x-rays; at the finger-printing bureau, at the driver licence centre. I haven't ventured to the employment bureau yet - dreading the thought after all these other encounters.

And on top of that there is a whole other discussion on the intricacies of trying to disrobe for the chest x-ray in a room the size of a modest bathroom with 20 other females - thank goodness for the ex-pat grapevine that told me to wear a white t-shirt and no bra so that I could avoid the grey rags called hospital gowns. And what do you say when you are herded into the x-ray room with 10 other poor saps and stand under the sign that says "Radiation in progress" with a big skull and crossbones, just a few feet away from the xray machine zapping away at a steady pace? "Lucky me, I had ten chest x-rays in one day." or "Ten for the price of one - what a bargain." On the plus side, the abaya-clad nurses are jabbing needles into arms at the rate of 100 per hour - so it is a fast and fairly painless ordeal - we're just trundled onto a conveyor belt - like being the jam in the jam factory.

I have had to rely on stories regarding drivers licence procurement and can only say that I am so happy I am not American, or Belgian, or Indonesian etc. My licence is accepted and just exchanged for a local one. Other nationalities are not so fortunate - according to those who have persevered their way through this morass - it takes about 5 visits to get a licence. Reasons being: you are given an instruction book after you have failed the first traffic sign test - it's not a u-turn, it is a backward turn; it's not a highway, it's a carriage way, silly. Also, hopefully you have an ear for foreign languages, as the instructors appear to speak every Asian language, but none that you can understand - hence you will fail to properly understand instructions and will fail to execute required manoeuvres, and will fail...period. Finally, the piece de resistance is a test drive with a stick shift car and too bad if you have never driven one .... you will be back for another visit.

The silver lining in all of this - you become instant friends with the ladies sitting or standing next to you - you can learn a lot about a person in 3 hours in a waiting hall, after all you now have a lot in common and banding together like musketeers is the only sensible solution.

However....like all things everywhere - the end does arrive. And then the sighs of relief and the smiles of celebration when your documentation is approved and paid for, and you hear the delicious sound of a stamp of authority coming down with a bang onto your now legitimate papers.

Yes! and the world is a lovely place again, and bonus - you have at least another comrade-in-arms to swell the ranks of friendship.