The Migration Police

Written November 11, 2008

Just a quick little story that seemed to encapsulate Kazakhstan...

Today I had to visit the Migration Police. You know, show them my face, give them copies of my passport, visa, and Kartochka so they know who I am as they see me wandering the streets of Merke for the next two years. Really, the whole thing is just a formality, because I'm already "in the system" but what's another introduction in Russian? I've got these things DOWN.

So, after my meeting with some important man in an office upstairs, I was sent (with my counterpart) to a room downstairs on the first floor. My counterpart knocked on the door and tried opening it. Someone on the other side of the door muttered something in a language I couldn't understand (probably Russian) and she responded with something along the lines of "I tried to open it, it's locked".

A lot of confusion ensued, and something that appeared to be angry shouting occurred between my counterpart and the man on the other side of the door. From my position in the hallway, I saw the doorknob start twisting in all sorts of directions, and what sounded like a key in the lock. The doorknob had now begun twisting furiously and I could hear grunting coming from the other side of the door. A few body slams against the door and then... silence.

Eventually my counterpart managed to attract the attention of another uniformed individual (on our side of the mysterious door) and they were pointing at the door and speaking in Kazakh. That man then started turning the handle and knocking. Whoever the employee was on the other side began speaking again (this time in a less angry voice), but the door remained closed.
Unlike my counterpart, I grew tired of standing in the hallway staring at a closed door, so I made my way down the hall a few feet and sat on the window sill, just waiting. Not sure what I was waiting for, but she wasn't making any motion to leave...

Soon a couple of new uniformed individuals arrived and began fussing with the door and it was now quite clear that the door was in fact broken. That it could not be opened from either side. The man on the other side didn't seem to care too much, as he was no longer speaking and definitely not shouting at my counterpart. It took about 15 minutes of various individuals sticking knives between the door and the jam, and then screwdrivers, but eventually someone showed up who actually made a difference. This man removed the door handle from the door and eventually managed to pry the door open.

No one seemed to think that the fact that two employees were locked inside of an office and had to be broken free by a number of uniformed individuals was any big deal. Oh, just another day at the office...

Turns out we just needed to give the individual on the other side of the door some copies of my documents. But, during all the ruckus he had learned that there was an American on the other side wanting to speak to him. After we had handed over the documents and made for the now inoperable door, he asked us to stop and sit down. He wanted to have what appeared to be a chat.

I sat and smiled, as has become customary when I don't understand a lot of what is going on, but I ended up leaving with his cell phone number and work number and his name and was assured that if I ever needed anything from the migration police department that he would help me. And if anyone gave me any problems, I could call him.

I'll be sure not to call about any hardware related issues...