Visas and politicians

I've been spending the last couple of days trying to finish off bits and pieces of my research, which has meant driving all over the country and a lot of coffees with lots of different people, talking about all sorts of things. It has been illuminating for me, a wonderful way to finish my time in Bosnia.

Mostly we've been talking about the situation in Bosnia now. There are elections to be held in October. The politicians are getting ready for them, which means more and more nationalist rhetoric. The Dayton Peace Agreement which bought the war to an end in 1995 established the political structure which operates today. It ensures that each group, the Bosniaks (Bosnian Muslims), Bosnian Croats and Bosnian Serbs are guaranteed a certain number of seats according to their 'nationality'. The unintended effect of this is that the politicians only need to appeal to their own in order to be elected and there is no incentive reach across the divides to appeal to others. In practice this means the politicians become more and more nationalistic as they fight to exaggerate the threat to their people and claim that they are the only ones capable of  protecting their heritage and rights. It's fairly disgusting to watch, makes the nauseousness I feel watching the British politicans point scoring off each other seem insignificant.

The banging of chests started early. The Bosnian Serbs are leaping about saying that they are going to hold a referendum seeing whether the Republika Srpska (the Serb half of the country) should move away (possibly cede altogether?) from the rest of Bosnia. The Croats watch carefully, if the Serbs can then maybe they can too. The Bosniaks leap up and down claiming that their country is under threat. Everyone ignores that constitutionally it can't be done, where's the vote winner in being rational?

Talking to the local Bosnians, you realise that they don't pay that much attention to the politicians. Most of them won't vote anyway, believing it doesn't make any difference whatsoever and that all politicians are crooks. The Brits get expenses scandals, the Bosnians understand that to be a way of life.

There is one thing though that the Bosnians are incredibly bitter about. In December, Serbia was entered onto the White List, permitting Serbs to travel to Europe without a visa. Croatia has been allowed to do so for some time now. Bosnia, although only just slightly less prepared that Serbia was, was not allowed to join as they didn't quite meet all of the standards required. As most Bosnian Croats already hold Croatian passports and Bosnian Serbs can apply for Serbian ones, it is really only the Bosnian Muslims who can not travel freely.

People resent this. They really really resent it. Some people say it is unfair becauseSerbia and Croatia didn't suffer as much in the break up of Yugoslavia and chose to fight their differences on Bosnian soil, for which Bosnians are still paying the price. Others say that it is a conspiracy by Europe against the Muslims in Bosnia, that Europeans are discriminating against them because of their religion. People say that it is deeply unfair that the perpetrators of the genocide in Srebrenica (Serbs) should be allowed to travel freely but their victims (Bosnian Muslims) cannot.

Just sitting and chatting to people, it is this topic more than any other that causes people to get angry and upset. In the run up to the election, with the politicians starting to agitate a nationalistic agenda, Europe should look carefully at their decision not to allow Bosnia visa free travel. There are rumours that they may be granted it in the summer. It would be enormously helpful to the country if that were to happen.

A New Life

The other day I went over for coffee with a friend here, let's call her Azra. We were sitting in her kitchen and she suddenly asked me how old I was.

I'm 37 Azra. Well nearly 38.

Azra carried on spooning the coffee absentmindedly and didn't say anything for a little while.

Do you dye your hair? She asked eventually.

I wasn't sure where this was going. I don't dye my hair but I'm also blessed with not a grey hair on my head despite my advanced age. I said not.

She was quiet again.

You look so much younger than me. I'm only 2 years older than you, but I look like your mother.

She was right. We do look like we come from different generations. It is not so much that I look young, but that she looks far older than her years.

But Azra, I started to say I haven't had to deal with a half of the things you've had to cope with in your life.

For Azra has had to live a life. She came from a village near Srebrenica. When the war started she was newly married with a little baby. They were worried by the rumours of what was happening in villages further north and left her home to come to Tuzla. Her husband joined the Bosnian Army (which was essentially the Bosnian Muslim forces). She had another baby. Her husband sent word that he was so excited to be the father of a little girl and that he couldn't wait to meet her. She never heard from him again.

After the war she remarried, had another baby. This husband started beating her, so she left him. He cut all ties, refusing to acknowledge his son, refusing to pay towards his upkeep.

So there was Azra. 3 children. No money. No job. Her family were scattered across the world. One brother was in the US, another in France yet another in Germany. They sent her money occasionally but it wasn't really enough to live on. Her father was dead now, her mother came to Tuzla, sick, and moved in with her and her children into their 1 bedroom flat. She tried to find work but couldn't. They found the remains of her first husband in a mass grave near Pilica. She went to the mosque for the first time in years.

I'm going to leave Bosnia, she said. There's nothing for me here except sadness and loss. I have no more hope here. I must leave.

They decided to move to a Germany. Azra asked her brothers for money and paid 4000KM to a fixer to obtain for them a visa to travel as tourists into Europe. The fixer organised everything for them. He arranged for a letter to say that Azra's eldest son was employed  (he wasn't). He arranged for a letter stating that they had a certain amount of money in the bank (they didn't). He arranged for an invitation to be provided by someone in Poland to make it look as if they would be travelling there, but applied for a Shengen visa, which permits travel to any European country.

Their visa request was refused. They reapplied. It was refused again. They applied once more. I asked Azra why they didn't wait until Bosnia gets visa free travel, likely to be this year.

I can't wait any more. I want to go. I have to go. I can't stay here any more. I'm stuck, I can't do anything here.

The third time they applied they got it. The next day they were on a bus, with all their belongings, off to start their new life.

I haven't heard from Azra since they arrived in Germany. I don't know what she is going to do in Germany. She didn't finish school and has no formal qualifications. None of the family speak German. I asked her what she would do there. There are lots of jobs for cleaners she said. I said that the global recession had hit European countries pretty hard too and that there weren't lots of jobs any more. There are she insisted. Someone told me there are. I will find one. I will have a job. 

Their tourist visa is about to expire. They have no intention of coming back. I wonder how they are finding Germany, if Azra has found a job. But I wonder most if they are missing Bosnia. The blossoms are out here now. Everyone is sitting outside having coffee, tending to their vegetable patches and enjoying the sunshine. The young kids are playing on the streets and the older ones are strolling up and down the road laughing with their friends and eyeing up the boys.

Officially Residents of Bosnia & Herzegovina

We did it! We have successfully negotiated the complex labyrinthine procedures that make up getting a residency visa here. Admittedly it is only temporary. Also admittedly mine hasn't actually come through yet but it should just be a formality.

So, this is a process that started back in mid August last year. It has involved a lot of visits to the police station, a visit to the hospital for a fun family day out, a lot of visits to the Advocat, many visits to official court translators and a lot of money (100KM / £40ish to translate a wedding certificate the most recent example).

So, now we don't have to go to Serbia every three months. We don't need to go back to the police station every 3 months. We can do things like import our car.

The kicker? It is only temporary. It expires February 2010 when we shall have to do most of the admin all over again if we want to stay any longer. Better make a start.

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visas ... or maybe not

The quest to obtain the proper permission to remain in this country continues. This has been going on since we got here and is becoming so unbearably bureaucratically mind numbingly dementedly dull that all we can do is laugh, shrug our shoulders and mutter, as the Bosnians do, 'this is Bosnia'

Our tourist visas ran out again so we made the trip to Serbia for coffee on Sunday (see my previous post from the last time we had to do this, deludedly thinking that that would be the last time). Dave's company is now officially registered and he has a Bosnian bank account, a Bosnian employee and a Bosnian salary. The big step forward is that company is now permitted to employ him, the creator of the company, as of last week. This is a process that has taken 8 months. Now we can start the process of obtaining temporary residency visas. Having seen the application form we suspect this will take us another 8 months. We also need to re-obtain a load of documentation, such as UK police checks, that we had already obtained before we left the UK as they are now, apparently, out of date.

Back to the police station we must go, where we will be told off, again, for not having a residency visa. We will be told, again, that as we only have a tourist visa we really ought to leave the country for 3 months before we are allowed back in again. We will be told, again, that this is the last time they will renew our visa but not until we point out that we simply cannot move this process along any faster, and it is not our fault that it is taking so long. Once again, the boys will use the corridors as 100m racing tracks and we will be told off by some scary looking policemen having cigarettes. Really, it is so frustrating and such a waste of everyones time and energy. If the powers that be in Bosnia really want people to invest in this country, and create companies which generate income and employment, they really do need to sort this process out.

Oh well, onwards and upwards.

Serbia, for at least 30 minutes

It happens to us all in the end. The 90 day tourist visa is up and we had to leave Bosnia and reenter again to reinstate our right to be here. We had all sorts of plans. Pre children we'd have driven to Budapest for a romantic weekend. We could have taken a romantic weekend down in the coastal town Dubrovnik, also stunning. We could have hopped on a bus to Zagreb and, with a bit of luck and endurance to go further, gone skiing in the Slovenian mountains. We could have gone for a party weekend in Belgrade, recently cited as the best nightlife in Europe by the Times (article here).

All options a bit tricky with the kids. Partying is severely restricted when you need to be home for an absolute latest 9pm bedtime. Long car journeys to the coast or eastern European capitals are even less attractive when you need to sing Baa Baa Black Sheep for 3 hours continuously. Skiing might be a bit ambitious when Lukey has only known how to stand for under a year.

So instead we left the dog behind and drove to the nearest border, happening to be with Serbia which is about an hour away. We parked the car (don't have insurance to drive outside of Bosnia at the moment), changed a nappy and walked across a bridge spanning the Drina river, huddled against the biting wind signalling the arrival of winter, snow, hail and ice. Once on the other side we sidled into a cafe, ordered a quick coffee / hot chocolate to warm up and then headed straight back the way we had come from.

Next stop, badgering our landlord to come to the police station with us to complete all the necessary paperwork. The boys love this part, the long corridors in the police station echo and make brilliant running tracks. The police don't love this at all.

Now that D's company is fully operational (crack open the champagne, he has even managed to open a bank account), we can now start the process to apply for temporary residency visas which will negate the need to be making this sort of trip every 3 months.

stamps and visas

D's company continues the long trek to official recognition in BiH. Having been recognised by a Federal Ministry and also been to the Tuzla Cantonal offices (each step involving lawyers, court translators and reams of paper) he now has an official company stamp. Innocuous looking, this stamp is the key to all things useful. For example, the company cannot have a Bosnian bank account without the stamp (and therefore cannot employ anyone and so on and so forth). It is such an important part of being a Bosnian company that if it is lost or stolen he must immediately report it to the Bosnian police.

So one step closer to having a fully functioning Bosnian company brings us one step closer to sorting out our visa situation. We need to apply for temporary residency visas, but cannot do so until D can show that he is employed by a Bosnian company. Until that time we exist on 90 day tourist visas. These are pretty easy to renew, and to be honest we suspect that many people remain on their tourist visas, just popping across the border for a long weekend on the Croatian coast or a partying weekend in Belgrade when it needs to be renewed.

This isn't an option for us for two reasons. Firstly, D is a director of a company and we are not comfortable not complying with the strict letter of the law. Second, those on tourist visas need to register where they are staying with the police. For us this means hauling our landlord down to the police station during the working day which is inconvenient for everybody. The only people who enjoy a trip to the police station are the boys. They rapidly discovered that they could race down the long corridors of the police station at full speed and if they screeched really loudly there was an echo. Yes, I do believe that everyone, including the police, would be happier if we didn't have to go back every 90 days.