The official who attended me had neon green nail polish.
She took the paper I had worried about without batting an eye
and then went on to query another part of my application.
Mmmm, I am not sure about this. I’ll have to go and consult, she said.
And left me there, freaking out, for what felt like an eternity.
The cross on a church outside
was reflected in the window opposite
and I kept my eyes fixed on that.
Then she came back and said the magic words, We are going to give you a religious visa.
I am so filled with love and gratitude that I will refrain
from mocking the woeful translations into English of the information on display.
Other than that, Migración Colombia is a marvel of organization and order.
I’m just so thankful I won’t have to go near it again for another two years.
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