At Last

The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.

Exodus 14:14

Hello again!  What a crazy month and a half it’s been since I last wrote a blog post! 

Shortly after my last post, Joseph and I travelled from Bukoba to Dar es Salaam to prepare for my flight to Texas.  KLM airlines requires a negative COVID test result taken no more than 72 hours before travel, and since the quickest testing facilities are in Dar es Salaam, we arrived there three days before my flight and headed straight to the most highly recommended hospital.  I was able to get my test without any trouble, and the results were emailed to me less than 24 hours later (those of you who know anything about African time know that this was a small miracle). Having some free time in Dar also gave us a chance to take care of Joseph’s medical checkup that was required for him to receive his visa.  

The US Embassy in Dar es Salaam requires all immigrant visa applicants to have a medical examination done by one specific doctor whose office is located in Dar es Salaam.  Thankfully we had a free day because the whole process took several hours.  After filling out all the paperwork and making sure Joseph’s documents were in order, we went in to see the doctor.  He was French, but his Swahili was excellent.  He asked Joseph dozens of questions about his medical history before doing an eye test and a physical exam.  He told us that Joseph would need to get three standard vaccinations, have a blood and urine test done, as well as a chest x-ray.  He then escorted us to the billing office where the receptionist listed off the numerous services and a grand total of over five hundred dollars.  I watched as Joseph’s eyes widened and he struggled to keep his mouth from falling open.  We had no choice but to pay it.  This was the embassy required doctor and these were the embassy required services.  Without this, we wouldn’t be able to get his visa.  Once they had collected his samples and given him his vaccines, we were sent to a larger hospital to have his chest x-ray done.  Of course when we arrived, Joseph had to fill out more registration paperwork, get a registration card, go to the billing desk, get an x-ray order, wait at the radiology reception desk, and then wait to be called before actually having the images taken.  Two hours later we took a stamped radiology form back to the first doctor’s office where they gave us our receipt.  The receptionist told us that the results would be ready in a week so we planned to pick them up when I got back from the US and we would be in Dar es Salaam again.  

My travel to Texas was surprisingly smooth.  The flight from Tanzania to Amsterdam was relatively full, but when I got to the gate to board my flight to Houston there were hardly any passengers.  I thought maybe I was late, or there had been a delay, or maybe a gate change, but the flight attendant assured me I was in the right place and that we would be boarding soon.  The flight was so empty that every passenger had an entire row, we’re talking window seat to window seat, to themselves.  It was one of the best flights I’ve ever been on.  

Being home after so much time away was exactly what I had been hoping for, if not better.  Usually when I come back to the States it takes me a little while to adjust, but not this trip.  I was ready.  I had a lot of quality time with my family and got to visit with some friends.  I frequented Target and HEB and Walmart, and I drank more iced coffee than anyone should in a two week time period.  I ate Mexican food for half of my meals and genuinely enjoyed eating leftovers warmed up in the microwave.  I took good, long, hot showers with adequate water pressure, and I brushed my teeth with water from the tap.  I beamed with pride as people asked me about Joseph and told me to tell him that they are waiting for him and that they love him.  And I watched in awe as God began to show me the path He is laying for us to start a new chapter of our life in College Station.  Those two weeks home, while nowhere near long enough, were exactly what I needed them to be.  I left, not feeling sad to be going, but feeling excited that in just five short months, I would be coming back, WE would be coming back to stay. 

After an hour navigating the new COVID procedures at the airport in Dar es Salaam, I made it through customs to find Joseph patiently waiting for me. The next day was my birthday so we stayed in Dar es Salaam instead of coming straight to Bukoba.  Being reunited after two weeks apart was the best birthday gift.  Joseph had arranged for two of our best friends to meet at our hotel in the evening where we shared in a delicious cake and champagne and talked for hours.  

Things were quiet when we made it back to KEMPS.  All of the students and teachers had gone home for the month long break, so for a week it was just Joseph and me, the dogs and cats, the turtle and the chickens.  I spent the week catching up on rest, unpacking, and planning out my lessons for the second semester.  Joseph had a list of projects for the different dorms and classrooms that kept him busy.  And funnily enough, with all the free time and peace and quiet, most evenings I found myself out back watching the chickens, just like I wrote about the kids doing several months back.  The solitude and rest was good for us.  Little did we know at the time just how much we needed to rest up for the week ahead.  

Joseph’s visa interview was scheduled for Tuesday July 6th at nine o’clock in the morning in Dar es Salaam.  Because we live so far away, we knew we would need to fly into Dar the day before, and based on previous experience, we thought that if he was given a visa, they would keep his passport and ask him to come back the next day to pick it up, which meant we couldn’t return home until two days after the interview.  We booked our flights and made sure we had all of the required documents listed on his information packet.  Our anxiety and excitement had been building since I returned from the US.  We had been practicing the potential interview questions and checking and rechecking all of the information we had been given.  We arrived in Dar and tried to relax, but it was nearly impossible.  We asked each other a lot of “what if” questions, and then quickly pushed them out of our mind, and we spent a lot of time in prayer.  When the morning of the interview arrived, we were up extra early to have breakfast and find a ride to the embassy with plenty of time to spare.  

The Uber dropped us off at a café where people are asked to wait for anyone who has an appointment at the embassy.  I made sure Joseph had all of his documents and gave him a big hug before he walked down the sidewalk to the embassy.  Even though I am a US citizen, and Joseph’s petitioner for his visa, I was not allowed to go with him inside.  I had been through this waiting process before, first with Frank and Junior, and then with Joseph when we tried to get him a tourist visa, and I hate it more than just about anything.  But this time was by far the worst.  My stomach was churning, and my hands were shaking.  I was sweaty and I felt like I could burst into tears at any moment.  I tried to calm myself down.  I drank some water.  I prayed.  A lot.  I took deep breaths.  I decided to call my cousin Christine who is living in Amsterdam and has only a one hour time difference.  We hadn’t talked in several weeks, so she told me all about what she had been up to.  She made me laugh and distracted me to some degree, but my eyes stayed glued to the sidewalk, waiting for Joseph to return.  After talking to Christine for nearly two hours, I had seen several others coming down the sidewalk with documents in their hand, but not Joseph.  I let Christine go, feeling much calmer than before, but the last hour and a half that I waited in silence felt like torture.  Finally, at 12:30, Joseph appeared on the other side of the fence and flashed me a big smile and a thumbs up.  He had gotten the visa!  I instantly felt relief wash over me and tears welling up in my eyes as we hugged each other.  “So you got it?” I asked him when we sat down.  “Well, not exactly.”

He took out a paper requesting additional documentation.  My heart started to race as I read through the information.  He started to explain what he was instructed to do, but I couldn’t process what he was saying.  I felt like I was in a fog.  While he was talking, he took out a small laminated green card and I recognized it immediately.  This was the card they gave people to come back and pick up their visas.  I came back into focus.  “Ok, start from the beginning.  What happened?  Why were you gone so long?  What do we need to do now?”  Joseph explained that when he and all of the other applicants got inside, they went to a document check counter.  He said that he gave the woman all of his documents, and then she asked for his original birth certificate.  He didn’t have it.  She asked for a special police report indicating that he had never committed a crime.  He didn’t have that either.  She asked for a financial affidavit and a letter of intent to marriage from me.  He didn’t have either of those.  Why didn’t he have them?  Because nowhere in any of the official information that we received over the past eighteen months did it say that those documents were required.  Nowhere.  I went back and double checked.  He brought all of the documents that were listed for him to bring.  How was he supposed to know about the others?

He told me that after that, he felt hopeless, like there was no way he would get it.  I felt an ache in my own heart as I imagined him sitting there for hours, waiting for them to tell him “no”.  He said he was the last to be interviewed, and that the woman who interviewed him was very kind.  She conducted the interview in Swahili so he could answer clearly and confidently, and she asked him many, many questions, and he didn’t have any trouble answering any of them.  At the end of the interview she told him that he was approved, but that he needed to submit the four missing documents before she could issue him his visa.  She kept his passport and told him to come back as soon as he had them.  “But you’re approved?” I kept asking.  “You’re going to get it, right?”  “Yes.  She told me I’m going to get it.”

We spent the next hour trying to figure out how to get the required documents.  His birth certificate was in Bukoba.  If we had someone send it by mail, it would take days.  By bus, it would take at least 36 hours, and wasn’t the safest option.  Both of those just felt too long.  By plane?  Joseph searched through his phone for the number of an employee at the Bukoba airport who had helped him out in the past with a lost bag.  Several calls to several different employees later, the birth certificate would be on the first plane out the next morning and arrive in Dar es Salaam by noon.  The financial affidavit and letter of intent were my job.  I downloaded the forms online and spent the rest of the afternoon filling them out, printing, scanning, and emailing them to Joseph’s contact at the embassy.  Meanwhile, Joseph was running from police station to police station, trying to get the last document.  He learned that this document had to be processed by the office of internal affairs, which of course is only open until 2 PM, and since the following day was a public holiday, he wouldn’t be able to get it until Thursday, the day we were scheduled to fly back to Bukoba.  To say he was discouraged would be an understatement. I tried to encourage him and stay positive, reminding us both that we are doing everything in our control to make this happen, and that the important thing is that he gets his visa, not that he gets it today or tomorrow.  

His birth certificate made it safely on Wednesday and I was able to reschedule our flights for Friday morning, assuming that Joseph could get the final document on Thursday morning, take it to the embassy and pick up his visa (knowing what I know now, it makes me laugh that I really thought it would work out like that).  We spent the rest of Wednesday twiddling our thumbs, waiting for Thursday morning to arrive.  Joseph got up first thing and headed to the Internal Affairs office so he could be there when they opened.  He called me later to let me know that (with a little extra money) he was able to get the certificate, which otherwise would have taken 10 days, in just over an hour.  On the rollercoaster ride of emotions, we were now on our way down the biggest hill and were nearing the end.

The green card instructed applicants to come to the embassy to pick up their visas Monday-Thursday between 2:00 and 2:30 PM only, or Friday morning from 9:00 to 9:30, so with his additional documents in hand, we once again headed to the embassy and I once again planted myself at the café to wait.  Only about 15 minutes had passed when I saw him walking back down the sidewalk towards the café.  He didn’t look happy.  He said that when he got inside, he was told that the woman who he had spoken with during his interview wasn’t in the office, and that he could leave his documents with the document check desk and they would call him when he could come to pick up his visa.  Another let down.  My calm, gentle, patient husband was growing more and more frustrated.  “I just don’t understand.  Do they think everyone lives here?  Do they think we can just come any time?  No!  We live far!  It’s expensive for us to travel and to stay here!  They don’t think about that, do they?”  I sat quietly, letting him vent.  While I wanted to scream right along with him, I knew it was my turn to stay calm. 

We decided that we would return to Bukoba as scheduled the next morning, since we knew he wouldn’t be able to pick it up as soon as the next morning, and when he got the call that it was ready, he would fly back alone to pick it up.  We packed up our bags and headed to the airport Friday morning, more ready than ever to be home.  We sat quietly at the gate waiting to board, both wishing that we were going back with what we came here to get.  They had just made the announcement for our flight to begin boarding when Joseph’s phone rang.  It was a strange looking number and I told him to answer it, thinking it could be the embassy.  Sure enough, it was the woman who had interviewed him on Tuesday.  I could see his breath quickening as he listened, and his voice shook when he responded.  The woman was asking him if he had given them his two, passport size photos.  He told her that he had given them to the woman at document check, but that she returned them to him before he left.  “Oh, well, we need those.  Could you bring them right now?”  The stupid passport size photos.  One of the documents that was actually listed for him to bring that he actually had with him at his interview that they GAVE BACK TO HIM??? Those??? They need them NOW??? Joseph tried to explain that he was at the airport ready to travel home, and she responded, “Okay, well see what you can do.”  

People all around us were gathering their belongings and getting in line to board, and we sat, completely frozen.  Tears were welling up in Joseph’s eyes and he shook his head.  “I don’t understand this!  From beginning to end this has been so difficult!  I just don’t understand!”

As less and less people remained in the terminal, I wracked my brain for a solution.  I gave Joseph two options.  He could come back to Bukoba and then fly back to Dar on Monday, take his photos to the embassy, and then just stay until his visa was ready.  Or, he could go to the embassy right now and take his photos, with the possibility that they could give him his visa then, and if not he would stay in Dar until it was ready.  I’ve never seen him so flustered.  The line to board the plane was empty, and the woman checking tickets was watching us.  “I know you want to take care of this.” I said.  “It’s okay for you to stay.”  Joseph nodded.  

We rushed to the ticket check and he tried to explain the situation to the attendant.  Of course, she had to call her supervisor.  He told Joseph that he could take his ticket to the ticket counter and they could change him to another flight, but that it was too late to get his bag off of the plane.  I quickly shifted my toiletry bag into his backpack so that at least he would have some soap and toothpaste and gave him a peck on the cheek before getting on the plane.  As I found my seat on the plane alone, though I had done the same thing dozens of times before, I felt lonelier than ever.  The weight of the past week started to settle on my shoulders, and the reality that I would be in Bukoba without Joseph for the first time, and for who knew how long, hit me like a punch to the gut.  When we made our 30 minute pit stop in Mwanza, I called Joseph.  I could hear in his voice that it hadn’t gone well.  “They wouldn’t let me in.  They said I was too late.  So they just took my photos and asked for my name and said they would give them to the right person.”  I encouraged him to call the number that had called him earlier to try to talk to the woman and figure out what was going on.  When he did, he got a recorded message that the office had already closed for the weekend.  

I got to Bukoba on time and Jesse, the school bus driver was there waiting to pick me up in the school car.  I stood waiting for our luggage, feeling completely defeated.  I pulled one bag off the conveyor belt and waited for the other.  I waited and waited.  It never came.  A woman with an airport employee badge had been standing off to the side watching, and when the conveyor belt stopped, she approached me.  

“Are you missing a bag?” she asked. 

 “Yes.”

“You had two bags?”

“Yes.”

“How many passengers?”

“Two, me and my husband, but he had an emergency and wasn’t able to come.”

“Yes, Dar es Salaam already called us and told us about that.  You’re going to have to pay for your second bag.”

I felt my blood pressure begin to rise.  I have had so many issues with Tanzanian airports and luggage that whenever Joseph and I travel, he handles everything because it causes me so much stress.  And yet here I was.  All by myself.  

“No.” I responded.  “We paid for two tickets, which includes two bags.  He just wasn’t on the plane.”

“Yes, there was only one passenger, and there are two bags, so you have to pay for the extra weight before we can give you your bag.” 

We went back and forth like this for a while.  Me logically explaining that we had paid for the bag already, and her telling me I had to pay for it.  She told me that if Joseph wanted a refund for his ticket, he would have to write a letter explaining why he wasn’t able to make the flight.  Then she quoted me the cost of the extra 50 pound bag.  The price was twice as much as the cost of a brand new ticket.  My blood was boiling as I made one final attempt at, “No, I paid for two tickets already”.  She responded once again with, “But there was only one passenger on the plane.” And I felt the tears coming.  “I’ll come back later.” I told her before walking out.  

Jesse called out to me and waved from one of the benches.  I tried to smile and greet him, but I couldn’t hold the tears in any longer.  I lost it.  I threw my bag in the trunk and got in the front seat, trying to calm down, but the tears just kept coming.  Jesse, having no idea what to say or do, started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.  When we were halfway home, I was able to calm down enough to explain to Jesse what had happened in Dar and at the airport.  He commiserated with me about the insanity of having to pay for the other bag and kept apologizing over and over again until we pulled into KEMPS.  It was a school day, so kids and teachers were around, but I couldn’t bring myself to face anyone.  I took my things inside and locked the door behind me.  I pulled the curtains closed, curled up with my favorite blanket, and took a long nap.  

Meanwhile, Joseph had to find a place to stay for the next however many days.  He talked to a friend who knew someone with an extra room he could rent for $7.00 a day.  He also had to go back to the airport to try to get another ticket.  After what we had gone through already, he booked his ticket for Wednesday, and prayed that everything would be done by then.  While he was at it, he went to the customer service office to ask that they send back his bag.  He told them very simply, “You won’t let my wife take it for me in Bukoba, so you’ll have to send it back to me here.”  After some back and forth, they told him he could come back the next day and pick it up.  

Being home alone for five days seemed like forever.  And while that might seem dramatic, remember that I live in Africa.  It is not lost on me how much Joseph does for us and how dependent I am on him.  He takes care of the animals and the gardens, he runs the errands, he knows who to talk to if there’s a problem and who to go to if we need something.  Without him here, I suddenly felt vulnerable and lost.  I felt discouraged and angry about the whole visa process.  I had tried to be so positive and look where it got us.  Right there, in the middle of my pity party, God spoke to my heart.  

“I am doing a really good thing here.  Don’t you see how hard the enemy is trying to attack and bring you down?  The enemy hates good.  And this thing is really good.”

It was like the curtains had been opened and sunlight was streaming in.  I felt my heart lighten and tears come to my eyes.  Not tears of sadness, tears of joy and love and overwhelming gratitude that the Lord could care for two of his children so, so much.  

On Tuesday afternoon, Joseph finally got his visa.  After eighteen months of waiting and hoping and praying, we can finally say with certainty that we are coming to Texas together.  We can finally plan our American wedding.  We will be together with my family for Christmas.  And we are going to start a brand new chapter of our lives in College Station.  Tears still come to my eyes every time I imagine it.  

We can’t thank all of you enough for your prayers, your love, your kind comments and words of encouragement through this whole process.  Joseph and I are blessed to have this whole community of people who love us and care about our journey, and we hope that someday soon we can give you all huge hugs, and thank you face to face. 

Mungu akubariki,

Allee

If you would like to donate towards my work in Tanzania, you can send donations electronically using: 

Venmo: @Alison-Gomulka

Cash App: $AlisonGomulka

PayPal: PayPal.Me/AlisonRGomulka

Zelle: alisonrg24@gmail.com

If you would prefer to send a check, you can mail it to:

Alison Gomulka

15601 Shady Brook Lane

College Station, TX

77845