The Right to Work

I once had my palm read on Brighton Pier.  Nothing much that the fortune teller foretold has stuck, - she didn't promise winning the lottery, and I haven't - except that she shook her head and said, 'Working is important to you. You'll always earn a living.'

In my more bitter moments seeking to get a work permit here in Kenya, I've thought of that fortune teller, 'If only you knew.' And it has been a hard, hard exercise in patience and hurdles to overcome. But today, fanfare, I am the proud recipient of a class H (self employed) work permit, stamped into the back of my passport.

The journey started exactly a year ago, when I used a reputable, non-bribe paying company, to set up a sole trader company for me. Time taken, 2 months. Hassle free, they stood in queue, they knew the regulations - and though they were based out, through heavy traffic, at the airport, they would come in to coffee shops and central points for me to sign the paperwork.  My expectations for the next stage became unrealistically high.

Application one submitted in September, with full paperwork. Advised in December that I'd applied for the wrong class. Coincided with a clean sweep approach in the Ministry, where twelve civil servants were sacked for corruption in issuing work permits. The Ministry ground to a halt. No work permits were issued at all, even to upstanding and well-deserving cases, for fear of the issuer being the next to be sacked.

In December the investment rules were changed too. Where before you'd had to prove access, in Kenya, to $50,000, now it was $100,000 dollars.  Back to the drawing board. 

Resubmission of the permit forms in February. A glimpse of light in the clouds in April, when I visited to find out the status of the application, to be told it had been approved a month before!!!  Hoppity skippity over-eager, I rushed down to get it issued, to discover the paperwork had been lost.  Oh dear.

Three weeks later I re-entered the fray. To find the Filing Fairy has been at work. Paperwork has been filed. And there it is, a nondescript little horcrux of a form, with deep hidden powers.

And so today, after a quick trip round the block for more passport photos, another quick trip to get copies of the permit for the aliens card, my first time being fingerprinted so they can distinguish me, there I am.  As the man at the counter said, 'You're independent now.' I now have the right to pay 40% taxation. To submit monthly tax returns. But to work and to get to know Kenya in a different way, no longer on the sidelines.

I wrote many bitter blogs during the gestation process, but thought it better not to post them till everything was settled. In the way that seeing other people's holiday photos is maybe not enthralling, I fear these might not be either. I'll prune, and see what remains.