This is the second time I have had my finger prints taken since I’ve been in Ethiopia and I don’t think it will be the last (apparently one needs them done again for a final exit visa – yes, they want your fingerprints before letting you out of Ethiopia permanently). This time it is because my work permit is now managed directly by Bingham rather than SIM.

I had met Konjit from SIM at 8am, because she predicted there would be a ‘line up’. When we arrived at immigration, there was: two lines of men and two lines of women. One line of each I am told was for those returning, as they had run out of time the previous day. They were all waiting patiently beside a concrete area covered by a corrugated iron roof, dimly lit by two strip lights, and there was a hum of conversation. At the front maybe half a dozen federal police were standing around. One was checking paperwork. I joined the end of a female line and Konjit went to speak to the paperwork checker with my papers and passport. I felt great sympathy for all those waiting in line, as they indicated I should move to the front.

Konjit then asked me for one Birr (around 3p) and my resident’s ID card, and disappeared across the compound to a what looked like a small metal guard hut. I watched her pass my ID card through the grill on the window. She returned with a photocopy. This satisfied the paperwork checker who pointed behind him, so I followed Konjit to a grubby window in the side of the concrete shelter. 10 Birr (30p) was required. She then indicated the second bench in a line of four with just one occupant. The first bench was already filled. The bench soon filled up with people clutching papers. The occupant next to me suddenly got up and left. I am familiar with government offices now and know that one has to shuffle along seats until it is your turn to be seen. This I did gratefully, as one of the metal struts holding the bench back hadn’t been cut level and was sticking into the small of my back. Bad move as it turned out, as missing lady returned after 15 minutes and tried to squeeze back into place. Everyone was compressed, and she was almost sitting on my lap.

I amused myself while I waited as I looked at the black handprints on the concrete wall in front of me. At 9am there was a shout and a group of men and women in white coats and wearing one surgical glove burst on to the scene. They each settled themselves at what looked like a school desk and with an ink pad and roller the process began. In order to meet the demand, each white coated official takes one digit in turn, inks it and presses it vaguely in the correct square on the form. This is done with such speed that even CSI would have difficulty deciphering the smudged result. “Return tomorrow, 7 o’clock Habasha time” he told me as I stood to leave the desk. (that’s 1pm in the rest of the world). Apparently this would be to collect the confirmation certificate. “You can wash”, Konjit told me, pointing to a concrete trough above which were a line of taps giving a trickle of cold water. No soap or towel.

I returned to SIM HQ, washed my hands properly and began talking to an Australian visitor who was passing through Addis. I told her where I’d been and wondered what happened to all those smudged papers. “Maybe there is someone in an office behind where you waited digitising them all”, she suggested. Thinking about where I had just been, I very much doubt it.