Entering Rwanda the hard way

Or: How to use your head, but not like Hemmingway
Or: Why I'm proud to be (a) British (passport holder)

Rwanda, a progressive country people say. Rwanda has a rule against plastic bags - can't take them into the country, presumably to avoid the proliferation of litter that afflicts other countries (other things like plastic straws and plastic bottles litter the country instead). At the CHOGM meeting in Trinidad, November 2009, Rwanda was accepted into the British Commonwealth. The migration service website notes that 'due to bilateral agreements, Nationals of the following countries can enter the country visa free'. Yes, I was going to Rwanda using my British passport.

Arriving at the immigration post I fill in my form and hand over my British passport. The lady rifles through the pages several times. She's looking for the Congo exit stamp which is in my New Zealand passport - which I show her. You can't enter on your British passport, she says, unless you have an exit stamp in the same passport. Despite the assurances of the Rwanda embassy in Kampala that this wouldn't be a problem it clearly is. I did the obvious: I went back to the Congo immigration post and asked them if they'd kindly stick an exit stamp in my UK passport.

They asked why, of course, and they thought about it. They spoke to their chief. And they said no, which I expected, because my Congo visa is in my NZ passport, which is the reason they gave me.

Back at the Rwanda immigration the same lady presents my options:
A) Get an exit stamp in the British passport
B) Buy a visa (for $60) for my NZ passport.

However, cunning as a fox and primed to expect the unexpected after the Jordanians pulled the same silly stunt, I was prepared. My options were now:

A) Bribe the Congo immigration something less than $60 for a stamp in my UK passport
B) Buy a visa
C) Find a way of bringing down the system from within

So I called the British High Commission in Kigali - this was my preparation for the unexpected, writing down their phone number - to ask their opinion: what else could be done? The lady I spoke to, Tim*, was very kind, noted that they hadn't heard of this before and agreed with me that it did seem wrong, that I should be allowed in. What to do though? Could Tim speak to the immigration lady? Sure.

Immigration lady was a little surprised to be offered a chance to chat with the British High Commission but happily did so.

After ten minutes she gave me back my phone and told me to wait on the benches for ten minutes.

Three hours later she emerges from her hut to ask if I've received a call back from the High Commission. No, because they don't have my phone number. Still, Immigration Lady triumphantly reiterates the rules and walks off. Still, she expected news from the High Commission so I called them back. It's now approaching 1600.

Tim explains: Rwanda does indeed have a silly rule about putting an entry stamp next to the neighbouring country's exit stamp. I still don't know why, after all the entry stamp has the date and place of entry, but as Immigration Lady noted: c'est ca.

Tim continues: Immigration lady needs a senior decision-maker to let her make an exception to this silly rule to let me in on my British passport. Apparently after the first discussion between Tim and Immigration Lady, Immigration Lady agreed to contact her superiors for an answer. Which doesn't explain why she was expecting me to get a phone call from the High Commission, but c'est ca.

A query from Tim: when are you crossing the border? Tomorrow or the day after? No, no, I explain (again), I'm here now, sitting in the parking lot. Oooooh, says Tim.

Tim chats with the Immigration Lady again, and again a little later and afterwards speaks to me. Now it's just after 1700.

So, says Tim, we're going to contact Rwandan immigration ourselves. Immigration Lady won't act unless she has written permission to proceed. When do they shut their immigration post? I check, they close at 1800.

At 1755, Immigration Lady comes up to me, asks for my passport and entry card, tells me emphatically that what I'm doing is 'completely wrong' and to 'not to do it again'. Then she stalks off and stamps my British passport. Customs aren't interested in me so I wander into Rwanda. I get a follow-up phone call to confirm that I'm through; Rwanda's senior immigration officials sent their apologies too.

What would I have done if the British High Commission hadn't have lept into action? Well, the UNHCR shack opposite the immigration post looked quite cosy and there was a fine grass verge on which I could have pitched my tent should I have missed the deadline. Stubbornness has its rewards.


* Name changed for security reasons. Hush, hush!