ID Card Drama

On that fateful Tuesday morning when I made my way to the Commissariat de Police du 6e Arrondissement, Douala in order to apply for a new id card, little did I know that I was in for the comedy show of the century. It was like a scene from a bad movie.

On this sunny, bright day, I was dressed very casually; jeans and a simple white top. Knowing how grouchy and surly Cameroonian public officials can be, I put on my best smile as I approached the entrance to the police station and very politely greeted those at the reception. After explaining what I came there for, I was told which office to go to.

To my surprise, the lady who greeted me and asked me to have a seat was quite friendly. She took my birth certificate from me and proceeded to fill out a form. When she was done, she asked me to go get my height measured and pointed out her colleague who was responsible for that.
This was the beginning of Act 1, Scene 1.

I should have known what awaited me when I saw the expression on the face of the colleague in question. The guy had the countenance of someone who had been ordered to work on a Sunday or someone who had been abruptly called back to work from his leave on short notice. Whatever the case, the guy looked like he had been handed down the worst punishment ever. Shrugging it off, I stepped unto the wooden calibrated structure made up of a flat surface, vertical ruler and horizontal headboard; a stadiometer, I think its called. Naturally, having never before been on one (well, the one and only time was like over a decade ago, so it doesn’t count :)), I wasn’t too sure how the thing worked. Before I could even say excuse me, the next thing I heard was a loud hiss, followed by a bellow ‘take off your shoes before climbing!’
Okaaay, no need to get all worked up mista. Me, as I no like trouble at all, I meekly followed his orders. I stepped down, took off my shoes and stepped on the thing again. This time around, the guy gave a satisfied grunt. Then, just when I was beginning to relax and feel happy with myself, next thing I knew, the headboard landed on my head with a resounding PLUNK! What the? Did this morrafucker just hit my head with that wooden thing? I’m telling you, if looks could kill, the sonafabitch would be dead meat! The doofus didn’t even show a single sign of remorse. To add salt to injury, the ignoramus very rudely told me he was done and I should step down from the instrument. I stomped off the damn thing and shot him my most evil look for good measure. As if he cared.
That was only the beginning. Even more unbelievable scenes awaited me.

Act 1, Scene 2.
I was told I had to get my picture taken and I was shown which room to go to.
On entering this room, I was met with a scene so hilarious, it bordered on ridiculous. This was this woman of middle to advanced age, strutting, or should I say waddling about the place, muttering and grumbling and generally throwing her weight around while the audience looked on, captivated. From their facial expressions, I can only guess they found the whole spectacle as surreal as I did. Unfazed, the woman continued with her litany of complaints, punctuated every now and then with a theatrical sigh. Apparently, she had taken great exception to the young man before her appearing for his photograph shoot with an unshaven chin.

Now, before I continue, let me take the pains to explain that in Cameroon, it is not uncommon for men not to be clean-shaven. In fact, it is more of a rarity to see grown men moving about clean-shaven. Most Cameroonian men favour sporting a moustache or some derivative of it.

Now, back to where I left off, madam photographer went on and on about how no one listens to her, how she has told her colleagues time without number not to send any unshaven men to her, for she will not take any shots of them unless they meet with her approval.
Just so you guys get this straight, the young chap in question was not unshaven. But neither was he clean-shaven. However, anyone could see that he was neatly groomed with his well-shaped ‘O’ moustache. In fact the guy looked pretty decent to me.
In any case, after more grunting and strutting and looks of disapproval thrown here and there, she did go ahead to take the guy’s picture.

There were a few people ahead of me in the queue and for the next few minutes, nothing untoward happened as one by one, their pictures were taken without further complaint.
Then it reached my turn.
Geez! You had to see the look on this woman’s face as she took in my appearance. Her already permanent scowl deepened even further and it was like if given the chance she would wring my neck. Welcome to Act 2, Scene 2.

Bossy Scowling Woman: What in God’s name do you think you’re wearing?!!
Kamer: *Looks down at self. Shrugs.*
Bossy Scowling Woman: Look at you, all your breasts are on display!

Giggles from the audience

Kamer: *Looks down at self again. Takes a real critical look and concludes the woman is simply a drama queen*
Bossy Scowling Woman: Do you think you’re going to visit your boyfriend?
Kamer: Errr, no.
Bossy Scowling Woman: There’s no way I’m taking a picture of you looking like that. You have to go back home and change your clothes!
Kamer: *WTF?*

Gasps from the audience

Bossy Scowling Woman: *Pauses indecisively. Then seizes my arm and roughly pulls me towards her and studies me more intently. Suddenly spots a girl in the audience with a scarf. *
You! Hand over your scarf!
Girl: *Does as asked*
Bossy Scowling Woman: Take this and make yourself presentable! Next!

A few minutes later …

Kamer: I’m finally ready Madam.
Bossy Scowling Woman: *Gives me a once-over.*
And this thing on your head, is it a wig or is it sewn-in?
Kamer: *???* It is sewn-in.
Bossy Scowling Woman: *Huge hiss.*
What is really wrong with you? Why do you come to take your national id card photo with hair covering your whole face?
Kamer: *Did I say drama queen?*
Bossy Scowling Woman: Go and pin up that hair and clear it off your face before coming back here.
Kamer: *Getting progressively fed up, turns away*

Another few minutes later …

Kamer: It’s me again. I did as you asked.
Bossy Scowling Woman: *Gives me a disapproving stare, making her dissatisfaction plain to see. Lets out an exaggerated sigh*
Go and sit down on that chair.
Kamer: *Follows direction of her pointing finger and sits on the stool inside a box-like structure*
Bossy Scowling Woman: *Giving another disapproving hiss, follows after me and starts fussing all over me; trying to pull together the ends of the scarf more firmly around my shoulders/neck and in the process nearly choking me. Then shoots me another critical stare and seemingly unsatisfied with what met her eye, set about destroying my carefully swept-to-the-side bangs. She went on for a few minutes, grunting and tsking all the way. Finally, she let out one last satisfied grunt.*
You these young girls of today, I do not know what has gotten into your heads. You come to have your photo taken for your national ID card and you dress as if you’re going to the night club! National Identity Card! And this is how you want to present yourself to the public. You choose to dress this way knowing the whole country will be seeing you like this. And then on top of it, you go and do a weave covering your whole face! How will one make you out in the photo, hmm?
Kamer: *OMG, melodrama galore*
Bossy Scowling Woman: Tomorrow now, when you change hairstyles, one will not be able to tell its you and then when you are detained, you start complaining. Look at you, pretty young thing. Why would a pretty girl like you have this mop put on your head, eh? See, you have a pretty face, natural beauty, and then you go and cover it with this thing meant for older women with security issues.
Next time don’t do a thing like this again, you hear?
Kamer: *Very obediently answers*
Yes Ma.

To be continued …