It’s hard to believe that I have been in
The people at the immigration office recognize me as soon as I step inside. Apparently the population of foreigners here is on the small side. I hand over my passport and watch the bureaucratic process begin: out come the forms in triplicate and rubber stamps galore. They ask me if I have been following the presidential race in the States; they obviously have been. One of them is surprised that I am thirty-one and not married, while he already has five children at age twenty-seven. We continue to chat about this and that. Soon, they finish writing down my details and rubber-stamping my passport. And I am granted permission to stay in the country for another month.
After a little bit of grocery shopping, I start to make my way back to Lubwe. Five hours roundtrip just to get a stamp in my passport – I am glad I am doing this only once.
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