Becoming Legit

Today was a busy, yet difficult day. Don't get me wrong, I am having a great time living in Ireland but, some of the experiences I am having make me really miss America. First of all, America is just way more organized and efficient at government agencies. Sure, we may all loathe going to the DMV or the Social Security Office, but I have never had as much difficulty at those places as I did went I went to the Garda Naturalisation and Immigration Bureau. For the record, today marked my second attempt at registering. I was turned away last Friday at 930AM after being told they were already closed for the day. As an America citizen, I am fortunate that I do not have to apply for a visa to study in Ireland, but I do have to register within 30 days of arrival with proof of study, and a valid bank statement from an Irish Bank that has 1000 Euro in it. Let it be known, that this requirement came into effect last week, previous you just needed the equivalent of 3000 Euro in a bank account in America. No matter, I had the bank statement, I just needed to get through the doors. I went back this morning at 830 and got in a line that literally went around the block. It slowly became obvious that I was the only Caucasian in the line. Everyone else hailed from Malaysia, Nigeria, India, China, and Estonia. Alright. I stayed in line. An hour later, I got a ticket with a number, much like at the deli counter in America, and was told to come back after 3 pm. Whatever, I had nothing else going on. So, I left to my second adventure, buying books.

In America, there is a campus bookstore, where required books are clearly labelled, easily available and relatively cheaper if you can get them used. In Ireland, I was given a "suggested reading list" and set free on Dublin. I went to 3 local bookshops and found all of them pretty useless for my needs, and instead tried the SU Used Bookshop on campus. This bookshop is really nothing more than a small room with piles of disorganized books. I did manage to wrangle a few anthologies out of there and headed back to Lissenfield to unload.

Around 2pm I headed back An Lar to go back to the GNIB. I was lucky I did, because I arrived to a frenzy, and my number was being called as I got there. (Forty minutes earlier than I was told.) I gave the rather unpleasant woman behind the glass my info, she took my passport and I was told to take a seat. Now I am not sure, but I think it must be some unwritten rule that you cannot speak English and are not allowed to wear deodorant in order to sit in the GNIB. It was not a pleasant experience. The place was beyond chaotic, it was unclear where one was supposed to go or wait or when, and there were not nearly enough chairs or employees to manage the surge of people. I was at a great advantage, both knowing English and being personable enough to get someone to help me. On more than one occasion I saw employees denying and walking away from people asking basic questions in broken English, walking off with a frustrated and annoyed grimace on their faces. Children were running amok unattended, one with a water balloon (of all things!) which had sprung a leak, spewing a trail of water behind him everywhere he ran. At this moment, the GNIB has my passport hostage. It was unclear where I was supposed to wait for the passport to be reunited with me. Randomly names were announced inaudibly over the loud speaker, or a random employee would come out from behind the glass and hand passports back out, once again inaudibly shouting names. An agonizing hour later I was given back my passport with a brand new Registration Card. Granting me access to Ireland until June 30th, and allowing me to work within the country. All of this did not occur before I witnessed one person being dragged out for not having a valid passport, and a man from Estonia who was being denied for apparently the 5th time. There has got to be a better way for them to manage the demand put upon this office. It was unreal how busy this place was. People have to line up at 8am just to get a number, which may or may not provide them with an ID once they get inside. It was frightening in there. It made me realize just how lucky I am to be an American, oddly enough. I had alot more rights in Ireland than the man from Estonia did, and that was only the beginning. I did not have to go to Ireland to survive, it was not a last resort. I came because I wanted to. There were so many suffer ring and vulnerable and desperate people in the GNIB. I just wanted out.

When I got back onto the street, and I saw the River Liffey, and I felt the cold breeze across my face I wanted nothing more than to go home. The reality of being separated from my homeland sunk in, and I walked back down O'Connell Street to the bus stop wondering what everyone at home was doing. A phone call from my mother, and some thai take out with Megan later, I am here typing this blog and I have returned to normalcy and comfort inside Lissenfield.

Who knew I would ever embrace being American?

-Liz