Bureaucracy Update- Part 3

Getting the kids registered long-term in St. Petersburg, Russia

News from last time: The process has been streamlined, meaning we can apply immediately for permanent residency for the kids, skipping the trial residency. And, processing time will be 4 months, not 6. That will come in handy...

Big application deadlines. I was trying to get this done by the end of the year, because then there are 2 weeks of holidays, and we need everything to be processed by summer, and we also have to do a border run soon.

I had a time cushion in there for unforeseen circumstances. That cushion is now gone.


1) There was a typo in our passport translations. We can only get them done when Andrei has the chance to go there before/after work, since it's not near where we live. So the translations took a few weeks when they probably could have taken a few days. Even if Andrei had noticed the mistake on the spot, it would have taken an extra day or two to redo since they have to notarize it and bind it specially.

2) Medical forms. This is what made me freak out: we were calling around trying to find a place to put the kids through their medical tests. This is part of why we've put this off for so long, especially with the horror of Sophia's latest shots and bloodwork. It was bad enough getting it for myself for residency, no idea how we're going to walk 2 kids through the whole list of doctors plus blood tests. (on the bright side: since we go immediately for permanent residency, we will only need the tests once unless we apply for citizenship in the future)

Now, TB is kind of a risk in Russia. Most people are vaccinated in childhood and have to get a chest x-ray for work every few years. Kids generally get the skin probe and then the TB vaccine.

I was going through in my head what extra steps we might need for the medical certificate. And I remembered that I'd had to go to another facility to do the chest x-ray. In fact, I was breastfeeding the second time, so got a special low-radiation scan. I started investigating where we could do that for the kids. But then someone pointed out...kids don't get x-rays.

Don't wanna

5 years ago, I had just applied for Permanent Resident status in St. Petersburg. It is the most permanent status you can get without going for citizenship. I started to read about Green Cards in the U.S. to do a comparison, but I don't really have time to do a full comparison, so I just jotted down a few points. I'm not sure if someone with a Green Card in the U.S. would need to prove their residency very often unless they were traveling abroad a lot. But I could be wrong.


Green Card

-valid for 10 years
-can stay out of the U.S. for up to 1 year...however, you can be investigated if you are gone for certain lengths of time
-don't need to demonstrate English proficiency until applying for citizenship?


Russian Permanent Residency

-valid for 5 years
-can stay out of Russia for up to 6 months out of the year
-must confirm residency by checking in once per calendar year
-must pass exam in Russian language, history, and law in order to apply


Since 5 years have passed, I now have to renew my residency permit. That last point (the exam) is what I have accomplished so far, along with getting a new translation of my passport. The exam was challenging and maybe I will write about it in a separate post. I still need to fill out the form and pay the govt fee at the bank and probably get a bank statement for proof of funds, and figure out the line system. I'm assuming we will have to wait in line overnight? I need to find someone's brain to pick who did it recently.

I'm definitely procrastinating. I don't want to fill out more forms and get more stamps (hopefully) and be scrutinized. I just don't want to do it. I wish there was another way. But....paperwork will always be there, no matter where you live. I'm sure some out there are dragging their feet about taxes this time of year. I'm grateful I have relatives helping me on the U.S. side.

Bureaucracy about town

I had to go to my bank here to get a statement. My friend lives near that metro, and I had letters for her, so it seemed like I could combine the errands. The only problem of course being that I couldn't leave Sophia for too long.

It was my first time traveling that far within the city since May or so. Six months! I was nervous about how I'd hold up physically. I guess I didn't go anywhere without David for a long time, but we did go as a family to church and elsewhere. In fact, as I left today, a friend from church was on his way over to fix David's old stroller for Sophia!

I felt okay physically and it was good to be out in the world...a little bit of culture shock and a little bit of post-partum shock, or whatever you call it when you're doing the same old things, but as a different person.

I met up with my friend and we headed over to a cafe to sit for a few minutes. As we walked in, the guy making crepes (blini) was a kid (now grown) that I'd known in the orphanage. I started talking to him until I realized he was working on an order. They had changed the cafe around and I felt a bit discombobulated and had trouble ordering "Earl Grey" with the right Russian pronunciation. I remember those old days trying to order McDonald's and drawing out all those words, Beeeg Mahhhhk, Kyehhhchup so that the servers would understand.

We only stayed for a little while as I was nervous about getting to the bank. My friend came with me since she had the day off. While waiting in line, I looked through my paperwork and felt so confused about the dates. My latest papers said "2015," but when was that? Last year? And I hadn't been back to this bank since last June? What had happened in the meantime? Had I skipped a year of government inspection? I had a translation of my latest bank statement, so I must have used it for going to the UK. Was that last year?

The clerk called me over and had a form for me to fill out. Incidentally, for the IRS, which meant I had to fill out all my info. in English. Doesn't sound complicated, but it's really hard for me now to write out Russian words in the Latin alphabet. It's like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time. At one point I did switch alphabets, but didn't get chastised.

After muddling through the documentation, I was told to come back the next day...ah, well. My friend and I said goodbye and I headed back to the metro.

Back home, our friend was still fixing the stroller. Then he and Andrei left together as Andrei headed out for a radio gig.

I need to mail off my documents to the immigration bureau and then my reward will be to get going with Advent.

French fries in Finland

This post turned out rather long, definitely don't have time for this every day! However, check out my IG feed for frequent snapshots.

David and I (and the other concerned family members) can check this year's border run off our to-do list...whew. Until we figure out if we're going to get permanent residency for him, the 3 yr visa requires him to leave the country every 6 months. Or rather, he's supposed to be just coming for 6 month visits, but he's allowed right back in.

The search feature on Blogspot isn't always the best, so here and here and here are previous border runs with David, and here is one of my own from way back in 2008. Oh yeah, and wayyy back in 2007, one of my first blog posts was about visiting Estonia.

Sometimes we try to make a little trip out of going to Finland, but for the past few years we have found that it isn't very relaxing for all the effort we put in. Plus, it tends to fall between February-April, not the nicest months for exploring any northern countries.

This time, I decided as an alternative method to ask another missionary friend of mine to go with me and David, instead of going through the visa process with Andrei to get into any Schengen countries. My friend has Canadian citizenship, so it would be easy for her to go, and we were counting on that.

Unfortunately, my friend had to rush to Canada due to a family emergency, right before our trip! We were already planning to go on the last day of David's registration, so there was nothing we could really reschedule, and as usual, it was too late to get Andrei a visa, so David and I were going to be on our own. It took some effort to get tickets, as well. I found conflicting information on various websites, and had trouble entering David's birthdate. So Andrei had to make a special trip to the train station to get the tickets, but it ended up being a lot cheaper than via the tourist agencies!

I had planned everything out to end up with an optimal schedule. I always remind myself of this when it appears as though we're completely disorganized. The good intentions were always there! In this case, I picked a later morning departure and then a train back that would have us home for bedtime. We chose a town just 2 hours away, to make for easy travel.

David woke up on his own just in time to get dressed and leave for the train. We were making good time, nothing to panic about. He did start melting down though when he realized Andrei wasn't going with us. David has been having a lot of separation anxiety lately and goodbyes can take a long time. I think today and possibly yesterday were the calmest he's been in a while about Andrei leaving for work and such, but if any part of the goodbye ritual is omitted, he gets quite upset (if so-and-so didn't wave the right way, etc.). He asks for me at bedtime after wanting Andrei and/or Babushka all day! Anyway, I had to take out our emergency toy in order to distract him so that we could say goodbye to Andrei at the train station.

Watching loads and loads of birch logs go by!

Two-stepping

So I found out earlier in the year that I would have to send in my forms for yearly inspection via the post office. I was a bit skeptical because sometimes there are rumors of the post office performing certain functions, but then it turns out they never put the idea into practice or it was short-lived, etc. But even after showing up at the FMS with all my documents, they sent me to the post office so I could mail it in.

After that it took several months to get myself together and go to the post office...which is a 3-minute walk from our building. Go ahead, you can laugh!

Alas, nothing is that simple...

Part 1

I wish this wasn't a step in the process, but it was: determining the working hours of the post office (which we pass at least once a week on our way to the grocery store).

A lot of establishments in St. Petersburg take a lunch break in the afternoon. The trick is knowing when it will take place: from 1-2 pm OR from 2-3 pm (and there will always be a strange variation to throw you off, like alternating hours, or a 2-hr lunch break).

We set off for the post office at 1 pm hoping the lunch was at 2 pm. We wanted to get home as soon as possible to put D. down for a nap. I wandered over to scout while Andrei and David continued getting ready. The hours were 9-8 or 10-8 or something...NO BREAKS, it said. I should have known not to trust the signage.

I went through the first set of doors into an unlit foyer. There were 3 doors leading off from it and they were all locked. I peered through the door that had a window in it, and there was a postal clerk sitting at the desk, but apparently on break judging by the locked door. A man walked in and said "Lunch? I thought they had it from 2-3 pm." I mumbled something about there being no sign indicating anything about lunch. I went out the door and walked around the building looking for other entrances. The other entrance was marked "Deliveries," so that didn't have anything to do with me. I went back into the dark foyer and a woman who had been gabbing on her phone was standing by one of the other doors. "LUNCH FROM 1-2!" she barked. Okay...I headed out and asked a few more people. "Lunch is from 1-2, like ALWAYS!" they emphasized. Obviously I was the ignorant one. However, during this time a handful of other people had gone up and down the stairs, asking if it was the lunch hour and then leaving.

Meanwhile, the boys made their way over. We got in the "live" line (asked around to find out who was last and declared ourselves to be next after them)...actually two different lines because no one was sure if it was one general line or two different ones. And the place was actually infiltrated at this time by pensioners hoping to receive some benefits...they were in a certain line, too. Then it was determined that neither Andrei nor I had any cash, so he went to the ATM and David and I played on the playground across the street; David exclaiming over ants on the sidewalk, grass tickling his ankles, and sand in his shoes (my poor city boy!).

When we got inside and reached the counter, I started to say that I needed to send something to the FMS by registered mail. She gave me the envelope and I got as far as addressing it, but then she said that she didn't handle those types of mailings. She told us to go to "Window Number One," but hers was the only one in the room. It turned out that one of the other doors off the foyer led into another room with a few different counters. "Not today, though, the person is out sick," she said. "Tomorrow evening is the next time slot." Pressing for more information, I asked, "From what time in the evening?" Apparently that was a stupid question as she barked "2 pm." I guess "evening" is after lunch in this context? I started to leave without paying for the envelope, but she reminded me and I scraped together the change, my hands shaking...even though it isn't nearly as scary as the Immigration Office!

We peeked into the Other Room on our way out. It was actually the main room, quite big and with different lines. I insisted on marching over to "Window Number One" to check the times: M-W-F in the morning (before lunch); T-TH after lunch. Of course they couldn't post that on the doors outside, so if the building is locked you can't get in to read the schedule...

We'd have to try again the next day "after lunch" or the day after that in the morning.

Sigh of relief

I had to go to Immigration today.

Here's why:

-Last September, I got approved for permanent residency in District #1 (I'm calling it that for simplicity's sake)
-I "claimed" the permit and got registered in District #2 at my actual home address
-The inspector in District #2 promised that they would forward my info regarding my address change
-A few months later, I learned that my former hosts in District #2 were still being charged per month for my "living" there
-After trying a few different routes, I was told that the missing link was the office at District #1 which had received the information from District #2 but failed to communicate with the housing authorities

I was told to go straight to the Boss at District #1, which sounds intimidating, but is actually easier in terms of the lines. The only problem (along with not really wanting to go) is that he only has visiting hours once a week, so it took a few months to get around to it. The visiting hours are on Tuesdays and Andrei often works on Mondays after church/lecture prep. on Sundays, so Tuesdays we kind of crash. Well, okay, we also just plain procrastinated.

So today I went over about an hour early. Andrei had to stay home with D. as we didn't have a babysitter and no one in their right mind would enter the District #1 office with a baby. It's so cramped and stuffy in there and people mutter obscenities if you bring a baby, as if you're offering a bribe.

It's always a challenge to find the magic time to arrive, because you could either arrive way early and be at the beginning of the list, or arrive later and spend your time waiting in line instead. When I got there, a few people from the morning line remained.

The morning hours, however, pertained to the matter of citizenship and were attended by a different officer. I got there at 1 pm and the morning hours had ended at 12, but I guess a few people were hoping that the officer just might take one more person. We could hear the shuffling of papers indicating that someone was in the room (the employees have a back entrance). At one point the door opened, the officer saw that there were people outside, and then quickly slammed the door and locked it. I had to giggle at the utter brusqueness of the message: KEEP OUT.

At the next door down, people were keeping track of the Lists, with the usual amount of discussion indicating that the rules were just as confusing as ever. There were already 30 people on the list for the 6-hour window.

The information boards displayed sample forms that had been filled out. A few of them looked new and featured "Angela Merkel" as a residency holder. Someone was taking their job seriously. ;)

One young man in the registration line mentioned that he'd like to get citizenship, but he'd just spent 2 years in the army in Armenia, and upon receiving a Russian passport he feared he would be drafted into the Russian army for a year's service as well. "Three years of my life," he said, choking up. Someone joked that the police station was next door and he could go sign up and get it over with. "But I wanted to go to grad school and everything," he said, wiping tears off his face. There are reasons David is not a Russian citizen.

My door opened abruptly and an officer stuck her head out. "What, you think we're still taking people?" she barked. "Time's up!" she said, indicating the schedule on the door. The morning hopefuls left and I was now alone in my vigil. Meanwhile, more and more people from the List next door were straggling in to check their status. Apparently an original List had gone missing and the current List's legitimacy was under question. I hoped the Boss would take me and not make me go get in the Line next door!

It got to be 2 pm and I was first, with 2 people after me. I hadn't moved from my spot, although I was desperate to use the restroom. My stomach was doing flip-flops and I was trying to practice arguing in my head. We could hear that there was already someone in The Room. Meanwhile, there was a draft and it kept making the door rattle, as if someone was knocking from the other side.

When I told one of the other women that the visiting hours wouldn't necessarily start on time, she started getting impatient. Then she hinted that we should maybe make our presence known. I admitted that I was too timid to knock on the door myself, so she went ahead and did it. At that moment the Boss "decided" he was ready to grant the Lowly Citizens an audience. I entered the room, sat down, and tried to explain my situation (which is actually pretty common). He gave me this look that indicated that I was stupid and/or wasting his time. Then rolled his eyes, took my passport/residency card, and left the room. Sweet. He came back down with my documents and a photocopy for himself, wrote me down in a book, and promised to see to it.

It is all so very silly, and I shake my head thinking about how this administrative "glitch" must be solved by going to the boss. In fact, I would roll my eyes too if I were he. But that's the way the red tape goes...if you want something done, you have to go higher up.

I feel at peace now, knowing that I did what was in my power to do. I regret not being able to be peaceful about it every step of the way, but I believe that God uses my vulnerability somehow...if nothing else, to knock down any pride that I have as an American.

Back to normal life again

This most recent bout with bureaucracy wasn't as frenzied. However, we did have a few snafus which almost created a last-minute mad dash. But not quite.

What happened was that we were running around to different places and got the schedules wrong on at 3 occasions. And by "we" I mean mostly "me."

RECAP

First, to District A to get Stamp #1: Approval. In order to claim this elusive reward, it's necessary to get in line on a Tuesday to get on the list for Thursday. Unfortunately, we I had the Tuesday hours wrong (I found the information as I was heading out the door, too late). Which meant we didn't get on the list for Thursday, which meant waiting until the next week. Which brought us one week closer to my previous registration running out, but I still had 2-3 weeks left, which is GOBS of time compared to other times when I've been a day or two shy of being deported.

Attempt #2, a week later, was successful. The Tuesday part, at least. But while she was signing me up for Thursday, she gave me a packet of documents. WHAT? Had I known, I could have been working on them last week, for goodness' sake.

Now, here was the catch: My 3-yr registration in my friends' flat was expiring. Andrei and I own our flat, but have been told that our "district" is the worst in the city/region as far as number of people and lines at the Immigration Office. Switching districts could mean waiting in line for hours at TWO different offices. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Know what I'm saying? I'd been down that road before with my last name.

Since registration must be completed within a week, I had 2 days (until Thursday) + 7 days to figure out what I was doing and how.


ONE QUESTION ANSWERED

When I hinted to my friends about renewing my registration, they said it probably wouldn't be possible since there had been 2 babies born (to different siblings) in the past 3 years, also registered in the flat and bringing the number of people per living space up above the quota.

So it looked like I would need to be registered in our flat, or at Andrei's parents'. Since they're in our district, it would be the same packet of documents either way.

I began to feel that it was God's provision that I was "forced" to register in our district, though there were still several hurdles in our way...


THOSE FORMIDABLE FORMS!

One ubiquitous form here is "Form 9." It can be obtained at the housing office, but there are SO MANY of these various offices around the city, called by identical long names differing only by number. I looked up the information and it looked like the office was only open Thursdays and Mondays (for 2 hours each), and Thursday was already booked because of our visit to Immigration. If I got the form on Monday, then I'd only have 2 business days left (the subsequent Tuesday and Thursday) to hand everything in.

That was as far as I got with my research...


DISTRICT 1 AGAIN

We decided to attack the problem from all sides, and on Thursday we got in not one line but TWO. The first line was actually only hypothetical since they were going to call us by name. And the second line was for the registration officer so we could ask her all about the process. Andrei got me on the list in the morning, then went to work. I got up with David, then Nina came to stay with him while I went to resume my place in line. For the first two hours the other line-holders and I kept watch while people slowly went in and out of the little room visiting the registration officer. Then the other inspector started calling people. So I might be called by both at once! Thankfully I was able to have my turn with the registration officer and ask her my questions before the other inspector called me to get my stamp.

After getting my stamp, the inspector reminded me to register within 7 days. "And if you're having trouble getting everything together, you can always just register temporarily," she said rather off-handedly. Say WHAT?


TWO PATHS

"Temporary registration" is what David and other visa-holders have. It seemed silly to have permanent residency without the registration to match. On the other hand, Vladimir had registered David successfully several times in our district, without waiting in line for TOO long. So evidently it was possible, and I wouldn't be left without registration.

On the other hand, if I was going to do the long-term registration at SOME point, wouldn't it make more sense to get the nervous-wreck part over as soon as possible?

So I continued to work on the forms.


RECONNOITERING

On Friday, David and I went to check out the housing office to confirm the hours and see where it was. The sign did indeed say only Thursdays and Mondays. When Andrei called on his way home from work, I told him about the trip and our notes seem to match up what he described from getting the form last year.

Later, we managed to intercept his parents who were also planning on heading our way to check out the housing office. The plan was in place for Monday to go get the form. Andrei only had a 2-3 hour break between his morning and evening classes in the event that I needed him (as the second property owner). But it looked like it was going to work out. We had the temporary registration option as a back-up.


FORM 9

Nina came over on Monday and we went over to the housing office together, though she and David stayed outside to avoid the multiple flights of stairs. I was there a little early, but I asked a woman in the hallway if I had the right day. "Wrong building," she told me. It turns out I'd been wrong all along! But the right building was next door.

In the right building, it was the typical Russian "live line" which means you have to discuss with everyone who is last and each subsequent person also confirms who is last as he enters the room so he knows whom to keep track of.

So there were tons of people, but it all moved pretty quickly and getting the form took about 30 seconds, whew. I had told Andrei to head over, but then called and told him to go home for lunch instead.


YOUNG EMPLOYEES

Next stop: the bank, to pay the government fee. In the past they used to know what I was talking about and give me the proper form or just use the code on their computer and print it out on the receipt.

Well, this was a new low.

"I'm here to pay the registration fee for Immigration."

"What's the code?"

I was completely stunned by the fact that countless people come in to pay this fee and the bank didn't have the information to make the transaction. She told me to go home and look it up on their site. I didn't understand why she couldn't actually use the fancy-looking computer on her desk to look up the site. Then I asked..."So, you don't have it in the database?"

"Oh, we have it in the database." Huh???

She told me to go over and get the "consultant" to help me make an electronic transaction. I still wasn't understanding why this paid employee couldn't look something up for me.

The consultant "helped" me navigate a stubborn touchscreen menu at the electronic terminal. It took a lot of guesswork to try to find the option I wanted, and even as it printed, I wasn't sure it was exactly what I needed. But since it was electronic, there was no way to override the system and write the receipt the correct way. Grumble...


REVELATION

Monday, 11 pm or so. We're all set to get on the list Tuesday morning and then they take people from 2-8 pm. I'm still filling out forms and have discovered that my copier is running out of ink, so we'll have to stop by somewhere tomorrow.

I decide to double-check the schedule.

"They're open Tuesday MORNING, not afternoon!" How could I have mixed that up? Well, seeing as how they work in the morning 2 days a week and in the afternoon 2 days, it's easy to get confused, but....arrgh!

My forms aren't even filled out. We'll have no time to stop at a copy center. Andrei was at work all day and is falling asleep at his computer. But he takes my documents and scans them for his parents to print out and bring to me.

At first glance, I had wondered why my first time filling out the forms 3 years ago had resulted in staying up until 4 a.m. But now it is becoming clearer.

This time, I finish them by 3...


REGISTRATION DAY

Andrei and I are up at 7 to leave by 8 to get there by 9 for opening. I'm stressing that there will be a huge line by the time we get there. I'm also shaky from lack of sleep and feel too yucky to eat breakfast.

There are 2-3 lists already going, and we put my name on two of them. It turns out that all the different processes are divided differently than in the other district. That only makes it more confusing!

At first, we're fourth in one line, which seems too good to be true. Sure enough, it turns out this is the line for temporary registration. So if we'd chosen that option, we would have been done in a matter of minutes. It's good to know for the future. Long-term registration is a different window at a different time, for two hours before lunch and one hour after. Not too long considering people might have piles of documents. It was all one line in the other district office.

The line is moving steadily enough. The first hour goes by and now we have one hour until the break. It would be so nice to be out of here by then. That's probably what everyone in line is thinking. I pace and check my forms over and over again. I shuffle the papers, putting them in order. I check the list. I notice one photocopy missing. Andrei runs to go make a copy. Whew.

The suspense is prolonged as a few people step in right as my turn comes up. They need a blank form, they need to ask a question, etc.

I make it up to the window and she starts checking everything, not seeming bothered by my transferring from another district. She seems pleasant enough. I don't know these inspectors yet. She asks where my "photos" are and I respond they I don't have any; they weren't on my checklist. She shrugs and moves on. Piece of cake.

I'm told to come back September 30th for the Final Stamp. I'm almost there.

It is SUCH a relief to have taken this step. And it feels right to have transferred to our district. I think people were wrong that our district is "the worst," though I'm glad to have handed in my initial application elsewhere. A great load has been lifted off our shoulders. Thanks be to God!

This and That

My residency booklet

"No press, please!"

It's fall. Bet you can guess what this post is about!

I went in to claim my permanent residency this week, and boy was it anticlimactic. I am feeling sort of too lazy to give a play-by-play (maybe I will later), but one of the more frustrating parts was when I was signing up to come in and collect my actual permit, and then the inspector handed me a packet of documents to be filled out for me to get registered (within a week). Say WHAT? If I'd known, I could have gotten a head-start. WHERE IS THE PRACTICALITY?

I guess I just thought I could keep my registration from my temporary residency. Of course I do realize I was registered for 3 years and the 3 years are coming to a close. But redoing it all just seems so symbolic and pointless that I have trouble working it out logically in my mind.

To put it in perspective a bit, I guess it's sort of like being required to have a permanent mailing address. It's called your place of residence, but it's sort of implied that you probably don't actually live there. Now, imagine you moved and didn't inform somebody or other of your new address, and then you got in big trouble. Or imagine you didn't have time to do it right then and put it off for a month or two. Not going to cut it here in Russia-foreigners have to be registered within 7 days. But since the address doesn't necessarily have to be a building you ever set foot in...I don't know, it just seems silly.

So I've been stressing somewhat about the usual combo of filling out incredibly annoying forms with too little space for the amount of text, and standing in lines miles long where fights are known to break out. I don't have to do it myself, though. Andrei usually helps, while Nina is with David and Vladimir does some research into the problem.

I'm plugging away at those forms (read: whining about them without really making any progress), and clinging to a sense of calm from the Lord's goodness. The last time I did this was SO anxiety-producing and detrimental to my physical and emotional and mental health. I even have trouble going back and reading about it, 3 years later.

In lieu of attending a church picnic, we stayed home today to unwind a bit. David slept until almost 10 a.m. and that was quite a gift.

I can't wait to have this next step over with. There are so many other things I want to focus on. I'm even starting to think about Christmas!

Ex-pat Life

We were going through Immigration/Customs control in Boston, and I had written "U.S.A." as my place of residence. But after interviewing us, the Customs officer said, "okay, just cross that out and write Russia next to it." Gulp.

I know I live in Russia, but I'm not Russian. And they'll never give me citizenship. I don't know if Andrei will ever get U.S. citizenship. I always write U.S.A. as my permanent address. I'm supposed to be granted permanent residency in Russia in the fall, but I still want the U.S. address. I know it's probably weird for Andrei and me to have different addresses, though.

I think part of it is always feeling like a second-class citizen in Russia. I feel like a real person with rights in the U.S., even while living/working abroad.

BUT...even that has its limitations. It gets sort of complicated with things like healthcare, having part of it happen here and part of it there. Bank accounts here and there, tax declarations here and there. I start to feel like I should be apologetic for having unusual circumstances; an exotic last name (exotic middle name to the Russians); a job that doesn't have an easy description. But then I think...why should I feel BAD about not fitting someone's mold?

I don't know if I'm necessarily patriotic, but I definitely prefer aspects of American life to life in other countries, and I prefer to have the freedom to come here if/when the need arises. It feels safe to have that option to fall back on.

Maybe that sounds like I am putting my hope in earthly comforts; in a misplaced sense of security. But God is faithful in testing me. He helps expose my idols. Missionaries or not, we all go through those same basic sin issues.

Permanent Residency in St. Petersburg

There is no telling what a particular Russian migration office will require, but I can give a few hints as to what worked for me. 

Introduction: (scroll down for application specifics)

There was one seemingly big obstacle to applying for Permanent Residency in St. Petersburg, and that was the income requirement. I squeaked by yearly inspection while on temporary residency, without ever holding an official job. Migration services wanted to see that I'd paid taxes; they didn't seem to care where the money actually came from (mostly from funds in the U.S.).

Making an income statement poses a problem for ex-pats living in St.Petersburg and other parts of Russia, especially if they are missionaries or otherwise involved in non-profit work, funded abroad.

Some missionaries have a "salary" from their home organizations, and can present this statement to the Russian government as sufficient money for them to live on.

Other missionaries are employed by local organizations, whether that's non-profit, teaching English, or some other business involvement.

But what about if I do some mix of volunteering/tutoring/teaching, and I don't have a work permit, and I don't receive a regular salary from anywhere? On the one hand, my calling to be here seemed to be clear enough that I was willing to find employment in order to stay in Russia.

However, what if I ended up being out of work temporarily? Or wanted to stay home with a child? What if my husband and I wanted to live solely on his salary, even if it didn't even meet the minimum income level required for residency?

I could understand having a work visa that would be tied to a specific contract, but I envisioned my activities growing and changing over the years. I seek God's will about these things, but do I want my every move to be dictated by requirements for staying in Russia? Can I live with that kind of restriction full-time?

At the end of 2012, I learned something useful. Residency requirements no longer called for proof of employment/monthly salary; instead, a bank account balance could be used to prove means of support. THAT I could handle.

And so, I decided to apply. Here are a few helpful bits of information:

1) Timing: I got my medical tests done and began attempting to apply about 9 1/2 months before my TRP ran out. The latest you can apply is 6 months before it expires. When I actually handed in my documents, I had less than one month to spare. In addition, I was 3 or 4 days from my medical forms expiring. Do the math in advance if you are thinking about applying.

2) The application: When I was applying for temporary residency, some friends who had done it ahead of me in the same office graciously let me "copy" their application. There is some very specific wording that you need to use. Thanks to their template, I got it correct on the first try.

Then, when I was applying for permanent residency, I used the same template. Well, it's a different office and a different ballgame. I had MANY mistakes to fix, and had to redo the whole application and come in on a later date to try again.

3) The photos: Yes, they measure them with a ruler :).

4) The documents: I never got my hands on the real "list," but here is what she asked to see, and/or hand in:

• Passport original, translation, and copies of ALL marked pages (my translation did not have the latest stamps and she let me just submit photocopies separately). 
• If married: marriage certificate and copy, spouse's original passport and copies of all marked pages
• Latest inspection receipt
• Receipt for having paid the govt. fee
• Application (2 copies, each 4 pages double-sided)
• 6 photographs
• Income statement (I used a bank statement)
• Tax identification number (original certificate)
• Birth certificate (not sure how strict they are on this one)
• Medical forms, plus HIV+ results

5) Proof of income: I have some money in an account here in U.S. dollars (long story). It turned out to be enough to meet requirements. The bank would only show the amount in dollars, but the migration officer let me print out the exchange rate from the bank's website, and then I indicated the ruble-equivalent in my application. I think she was a bit lenient on this but maybe there would be a way to get the bank to issue a more official statement.

That's pretty much it! Aside from needing to fix mistakes in the application, I just had to produce Andrei's passport, which I hadn't known would be needed.

I got a note telling me to come back in 6 months. See you in August, Madame Inspector!

A family affair

This year's bureaucracy season is coming to a close, though we will have to continue on in our quest of getting David and me the proper documents to stay here long-term.

The final pressing need was for me to pass inspection for my temporary residency permit. The whole family worked together to help me pass.

My father-in-law Vladimir walked my mother-in-law Nina to the metro as soon as it opened in the morning, so she could go get us on The List. The Immigration office hadn't opened yet, but lists were forming. Then she was the List-Keeper for the next few hours as the office opened and they began letting people in.

Andrei, David, and I got there about 30 minutes after it opened and it was already our turn! As we were getting close, I had this feeling that I was going to either pass out, throw up, burst into tears, or something similar. I half-hoped there would be a new inspector because I have so many negative associations with the usual one.

Celebrating with burgers at 10:00 am!

Andrei stayed with David and the stroller while Nina went into The Room with me. Same inspector as last year. She told me to get out my documents and began to look over my forms. A few questions came up, but I was able to answer them. She rolled her eyes at a few mistakes I'd made, and of course it was a huge no-no that I'd written the date a week before, when we'd planned to come but I'd gotten a sinus headache and David hadn't given us the chance to sleep very much the night before. We were sent out to redo that form and make a photocopy of a certain page of my passport.

It was much the same as last year, though it seems like they ask for copies of different documents each time, go figure. No unpleasant surprises this time!

So I passed inspection for this year and now I have less than one year left on my residency permit. It can't be renewed, so I should probably try to apply for permanent residency in the near future. We may meet with a lawyer first and get some advice. We also have to decide if we're going to go ahead and apply for Russian citizenship for David.

Nerves

I feel a bit apprehensive about the approaching Bureaucracy Season. I have to keep telling myself that the God who got me through it before will be with me and sustain me.

Two years ago, I was battling sickness as I turned in my residency papers just in the nick of time.

One year ago, I stood in line while in the throes of morning sickness, nibbling on my crackers and hoping for a miracle.

This year, I have an infant, himself holding tourist status. I don't know how I'm going to work out standing in line for my own documents in-between feeding and caring for him. And then next year, I'll be doing it with a toddler. Each year the mountains seem too high, but now I have my little David to remind me of how a man of God defeated Goliath. I have to believe it will happen for us, too.


You can read about my journey with Russian bureaucracy in the posts mentioned below.

-The adventures began about when I started this blog back in 2007. We were required to leave the country every few months, for at least a few hours, and then come back in and re-register. At the time it seemed like such a hassle, and even a bit nerve-wracking!

-2008: Next came the new laws, requiring us to leave not for a few hours or few days, but for 3 months.

-2009: My first attempt at staying in Russia full-time was to apply for a work visa, but that fell through.

-My next solution was to come in on a student visa that fall.

-2010: While on the student visa, I applied for a residency permit.

-I got the residency permit about 10 months later.

Thanksgiving

Oh dear, another month went by! Well, I can at least write about how my document saga ended up.

On the day after (American) Thanksgiving, my mother-in-law and I headed back to Immigration. As usual we had run around making photocopies and paying fees at the last minute.

It wasn't my last chance; I still had a Friday or two left before my deadline. But I didn't want it to come down to the last minute.

Nina (my mother-in-law) went in early to get in line so I could rest a little at home and finish getting ready. There were even more people than before, so we were pretty far down on the list. She convinced me to stay home for a few more hours.

Eventually I headed over and we waited the last hour or two together. One of the guys from the previous time was there and raising a ruckus again. He had almost gotten into a fistfight before. We all held our breaths as he barged into the office and argued about something with the Inspector. Then a few people took issue with the schedule posted in the hallway, and the Inspector actually came out, stunning everyone into silence, and read the schedule out loud at the top of her lungs.
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So, fast-forward to us finally getting into The Room. I believe it was "lunchtime" at that point, but she took us anyway. My mother-in-law tried to make the situation more personal and tried to "get acquainted" with the Inspector. But the Inspector would not give us her name...I guess she thought we wanted to write a complaint! It is so hard to be compassionate when people are pitted against each other like that. A name, a little personal information...it makes it easier to think of another person as human, but in the bureaucratic system that is taken away.

I had some mistakes on my application and I knew that I wouldn't get in again today if I had to leave and do it over. But she let me just write in the corrections. I also had to add a paragraph to the "explanation," and she let me just come back in and drop it off, without waiting in line.

Then there was ripping, and stamping, and...approval!!! Free until next fall.

There are still a lot of unanswered questions about the future, and I don't fully understand what happened THIS time. The Inspector said that my report wouldn't cut it, if I were to apply for a permanent residency permit. How, then, will I fill in the missing pieces?

But for now, I got to celebrate Thanksgiving after all, and began the Advent season with a glad heart.

What's been on my mind

Recently, I was musing about doing good deeds...just reminiscing about surprises we had arranged for various friends, and how good it felt to witness their joy.

But the Scripture popped into my head:  "If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?" (Matthew 5:46, 47)


Okay, Lord. If I'm supposed to love my enemies, who are they? Defiant English students? Angry bus-drivers? I was puzzled by this.

I was walking home and saw some migrant workers clearing leaves. They had claimed an old baby buggy to help them carry things around. It was physical labor that probably didn't pay much. And I thought, "I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked." (Psalm 84:10)

So what were these observations going to teach me about love and humility? What was coming next?
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Oh. It's Immigration time.

I went to the office later that week and waited in line for hours, as always. I didn't like that assignment they gave me, no way. Why do they never give enough information the first time? No instructions, no addresses or phone numbers.

I felt so very defeated walking away, and I told myself, "We're going to treat this like a school project. You're a student again.You have a month to do all the research and make the proper conclusions. And then, you will be tested."

I've taken a few steps so far, but the last visit revealed further complications. I know I have to kick into high gear, but it is so very hard to find the energy.

I do not want to go back to that Immigration Office. Maybe next time will be the last? It will be an early Christmas present to myself...no more dealing with Russian bureaucracy for a year...or so.

Another week gone by

I'm a lot calmer than this time last week. For one thing, the dreaded packing and moving is over! I'm already in the apartment where we'll live together after the wedding. I haven't had much strength to put anything away, but the hard part is over.

Andrei and I went back to Immigration twice this week. The first time was to argue our case. We got in line at 8:00 in the morning and it wasn't our turn until 6pm. They were taking about 1 person an hour. I was calmer though with A. there and everyone praying for me. I had clarified a few things, but the Inspector still wouldn't accept my new passport. She said I needed some kind of proof that I had changed my name and all the documents matched. We were arguing in circles.

-"On what basis did you change your name?"

"On the basis of the marriage certificate."

-"But the name on the marriage certificate is different."

"But the marriage certificate is what I used to change my name."

-"But the names don't match up."

"But this letter right here from the Consulate says that they do."

-"This letter is not legalized."

"But no one will agree to legalize it."

-"You still need some sort of proof."

"But I have this letter. And the marriage certificate." read more/-

She agreed that it wouldn't be much use for us to go off to Moscow if the legalization department there hasn't agreed to help us. She promised to check in with her boss and gave us an appointment (!) for Thursday. She would call us by NAME. What luxury!

Part 2

On Thursday we were the first ones called, and it was a different Inspector. They had all discussed my documents and agreed that I needed "some sort" of document to accompany my new passport. Still no hint as to what that may be.

We pressed for more information and she said we could 1) get a copy of U.S. legislature regarding name changes and get that legalized in Moscow (again, we would probably be refused) or 2) go back to the wedding palace and get them to do something with the marriage certificate

When we asked about deadlines, she shrugged and said we would go by the date of whatever verification I get. So I guess I'm not going to get in trouble for running around with an expired passport.

We headed to the wedding palace, and happened to arrive during one of 2 narrow windows when the boss is in her office! We asked about verifying the name change and she didn't know what we were talking about, but she was more professional about it. No scrunching up her face in disgust and asking "What's THIS?" She sent us to an expert in linguistics who will be able to make a better judgment.

So the current plan is: 1) visit a linguistics expert to compare the two passports and confirm that it's the same person
2) go back to the wedding palace to get some sort of amendment to the marriage certificate
3) go back to Immigration with this new verification, and finally transfer my residency permit into my new passport
4) get my new registration and apply for an exit visa so I can travel after the wedding

A lot of times during all this I really wish I had an advocate. Where is the person to defend me? And it's not just me...I wish someone would step in and intervene for all the foreigners stuck in these bureaucratic messes. Where, Lord? The Holy Spirit has been sent to you. That is the hope I have to lean on.

Irreversible

Now that I'm a bit calmer, I can write about what's happening. I think it's important to write about trials, so that I can praise God later for them. Maybe by the time some of you read this, it will even be resolved. :)

I went ahead and got a new passport, with my new last name...after doing plenty of research to make sure my residency status would be transferable.

The line to visit the local authorities was very long, to put it mildly. Oh, the atmosphere of that waiting room...so terrifying. How many people's lives has it changed? The pacing, the biting of the nails, the rocking back and forth as people on the last day of their visas try desperately to get an extension. Or they wait in line for days to pay a fine, and the fine grows while they wait.

Anything to not go insane! I tried praying, singing, reading, thinking about hope in general...but thoughts kept going to the clock and The List of people in front of me.

The fact that I made it into the room to see The Inspector is a miracle in itself. Looking at my two passports, she inquired in confusion, "What's THIS?" Glancing back and forth between the two variations of my name, it did not add up for her. This is due to the fact that I not only changed my last name, but also kept my maiden name instead of middle name.

Per her instructions a month or two earlier, I had gotten the Consulate to prepare a letter to accompany my other documents. The Inspector looked at the letter and said "Where is the legalization of this document?" What was I supposed to do to legalize it? It was from the U.S. Consulate. read more/-

"You'll have to go to Moscow," she said. Not again!

I had a bit of a panic attack thinking about how she gave me another week, but the legalization of documents in Moscow takes a week, and if you add in travel time, I wouldn't quite make it.

Then when Andrei tried calling the dept. in Moscow so we wouldn't make a trip there for nothing, they said they couldn't do anything for us.

That was where we left off on Friday, and then it was the weekend.

On Monday we'll try to attack the problem from all angles, until we find a door that opens. There has to be an answer somewhere.

Maybe she made a mistake? I remember when I couldn't get the central office to accept my FBI background check. That needed to be legalized, too. The Russian government would not accept it, and the U.S. government would not legalize it. I had to start from scratch. But this is a passport. I can't redo my identity.

I don't even have a visa right now. Just a brand-new passport with empty pages. And an older, stamped-up passport with holes through it to signify its invalidity.

The hardest part isn't not knowing the outcome, because there is no outcome that could separate me from the love of God. The hardest part is to pick up my feet and walk forward in faith.

Freedom!

Well, after getting my residency permit and registration (which I never did finish writing about), I went right away the next week to apply for an exit visa. I wanted to get everything over with so I wouldn't have to see that office again for awhile.

This time, I didn't have to get in the registration line. This was a different category. How refreshing! I went in on a Friday when there was almost no line. In fact, it was a "live" line and I had to negotiate with everyone verbally to get into the office, but it worked out.

The lady gave me a two-sided application form and a little list of requirements including photocopies of passport pages, and passport photos. I left the building, planning to return the next week with the forms.

Wait a minute.

This was easy stuff, compared to what I had just done the week before. And there was no line. I kicked into "rush" mode, found the nearest photo place, filled out the form, and was back at the place just before they closed for lunch. The officer helped me answer the remaining questions and told me to come back in 20 business days. I was their last "customer" of the day.

This was so easy compared to everything else in the whole process! Or maybe my definition of "easy" had changed?

About a month later, I showed up, breezed through, as there was no line at all, and got my 3-year multi-entry exit visa! Now I can pretty much come and go whenever I want, although I'm supposed to be in Russia at least 6 months for residency.

On my last legs

Date: October 18
Number of Days until registration expires: 1
Status: Sick in bed

(Click to read previous episode)

Two thoughts had occurred to me. The first (spoken by others until I finally accepted it as truth) was that I had to step up my energy to a new level and FIGHT. This I had already realized during the previous week, but as the working hours drew to a close on Friday and I saw how difficult it was to maintain one's place in line, I realized the gravity of the situation.

The second realization was that I didn't have any strength left. Of course it's pretty bad if you need to fight and don't have any strength, but I realized that now was the moment when I needed to lean on others. I had wanted to do as much as I could by myself, mainly because I live here in this country and need to learn some survival skills. But that didn't mean there was any shame in asking for help. continue/-

Especially when I was near the point of total collapse. Everyone prayed for me over the weekend and several friends offered to go check on The List first thing in the morning on Monday.

Monday. A morning phone call, as my friend was headed to work. "I signed you up. You're #28." It was a miracle that I was even on The List. I wondered what kind of scene she had had to deal with, and was glad that I wasn't there myself. Now I had a few hours before I needed to head down to resume the vigil.

2pm, everything was in order; they were starting to go down The List. It was slow again, but at least they were open 6 hours today instead of 4.

Another hitch: the registration window would be open from 2-8 pm, but my friends still needed the stamp from the housing authority, and that office opened at 3pm. :)

We were already in the 20's when I got a phone call from my friends with the apartment. "You won't believe this, but you have to be present with us to get this stamp." What? How? They were in a completely different area of the city (I might add that the geographic location of the registration office had no physical relation to the neighborhood in which I would be registered). But they were on their way to get me, in the car. Andrey stayed to keep an eye on progress.

Zoom. We sped down to the housing authorities. I poked my head in, flipped open my passport, and we got a stamp. Had it really been that necessary? Zoom. We were back within the course of an hour. Labor Things had barely progressed, since people who had skipped their turn were suddenly showing up.

Each time we would get one number closer to mine, another person would appear. Now #16 had arrived; now #1 was back with his photocopy...

But I DID get my turn. Masha came in with me since she was familiar with the housing documents. The lady checked everything multiple times, her eyes darting quickly back and forth. Then she started to gather things together, methodically placing paperclips here and there.

She didn't find any mistakes. I couldn't believe it. I expected at least another photocopy to be demanded of me. I had been sure I would have to leave and fight my way in. Even on Friday when I had my documents "ready," I still had a list of questions. Little by little I pieced things together, but some uncertainty remained. And now she was telling me to come back on Thursday, and everything would be ready. It was another miracle.

We celebrated by going to McDonald's. I was high on feelings of relief mixed with cold medicine, even though I didn't really have a cold...it was tonsillitis. But there would be time enough to go to the doctor, now that I didn't have to worry about The List.

Racing against the clock

I've been back-tracking a bit to explain the process I went through to receive temporary residency. After waiting almost 6 months I got the permit, only to learn that there was another packet of documents needed for registration, and not much time...

Date: Friday, Oct. 15
Residence permit: Received
Registration: Application in progress
Old registration expires: Tuesday, Oct. 19th
Working days left: 3
The line: Miles long


On Thursday, I had done my best to pull together the rest of the documents before finally going to bed around 4 am. Then I was up by 7 the next morning to try to get to the office when it opened.

I had already signed up the previous day, but you can never be sure...
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The office was open for four hours that day. Things were progressing at a snail's pace, and I was still waiting for my friends to bring the rest of the documents I needed. They called me to see how things were going, and I assured them that there was no rush.

I sat and sat and we continued going down the list very slowly. My friend did come with the documents, but they weren't completely in order, so I would have to just use this day for a preliminary inspection of what I had so far. During the last hour I was already posted by the door with the other urgent cases. I also peeked at others' documents to try to determine if I had filled out my forms correctly.

We were all panicking to the point of discussing what fines would be issued for overstaying our registration.

Then suddenly (well, not suddenly, but incredibly) #16 went in, and there were still 30 minutes left. There was hope!

The minutes ticked by.

The girl who was after me was practically in tears, yet seemed hopeful that she would make it in. She had the same deadline as I did. I didn't want to tell her that I might take a long time. I felt a tugging on my heart as I wished for my turn to come. I hated seeing everyone else sitting there with their sad eyes. There really wasn't any hope that any of them would be seen today. I had a sudden urge to give up my spot and let everyone go ahead of me. But I had to think practically. I couldn't save everyone in the waiting room, and it would be inconvenient to myself and others if I had to pack my bags and take a trip somewhere for a new visa.

We agreed amongst ourselves that we wouldn't make a list yet-we would do it on Monday morning. This was important because it was the weekend, and it would be hard to have a sign-up sheet if the office was closed.

There were a few minutes left, and I gave up. I could have fought to get inside, or tried to raise my voice above the crowd and gotten my questions answered. But it was pointless; I needed more time than was available. And besides, I was missing a stamp or two on the housing forms. So I walked away.

I went to worship rehearsal that evening, but I was already feeling a lump in my throat that wouldn't go away. Then I went on bed-rest for the weekend. I didn't even go to church, and the word spread that I was ill, but absolutely HAD to physically show up at the registration office on Monday. I didn't have a choice.