We have just entered the second month of the year and already the memories of the past summer vacation are fading. No need to walk miles to the shops after struggling to find a parking spot and lo and behold, even the queues are not intimidating any more. There is one place where the queues are still totally daunting and that is at Home Affairs.
The problem exists countrywide and our local Home Affairs branch at Park Rynie is no exception.
This past Wednesday, our daughter popped in at the Park Rynie branch at about 10h45 and obtained two tickets, one for me and one for my wife. The ticket numbers were 77 and 78 and since the cut-off is at 80, we were in with a chance.
We rushed in and joined the queue. Ahead of us were a couple who, on the same day, had tried two Home Affairs offices in Durban but had given up any hope of obtaining entrance at either of these offices, so they took a chance and headed for Park Rynie. Making small talk helped to pass the time, but ultimately it was just a case of waiting.
This reminded me of my days in the army when “Hurry up and wait”, seemed to be the army way of doing things. Well, my wife and I hurried to Home Affairs and boy, did we wait. Almost two hours later, we were called in and queued up to get another set of numbers dependant on the reason why one was at Home Affairs.
We were renewing our passports and, as such, we were directed to the photo booth. There must have been about thirty people in the section waiting with blank looks on their faces.
No surprise that the passport photos look as though one has been dragged out of the grave for one last snap before being interred. We waited and waited, sitting on metal chairs that became harder as time passed.
The reason for the delay was because the person operating the photo booth was on lunch! About forty-five minutes later a lady sauntered up and started the biometric process. She was facing the waiting crowd and I wondered whether she felt anything, let alone the slightest degree of discomfort at seeing more than thirty pairs of eyes staring daggers at her.
After the biometrics had been done, it was waiting in the queue to have our applications processed. And then waiting in another queue at the cashier’s window.
During the time we spent waiting, there was ample time to read all the notices posted around the different areas.
“No drinking or eating in the hall” was one that caught my attention – three hours that required one to stand in the sun for at least two hours, and then another equally long wait in a hot and crowded hall where the air conditioners only came on intermittently is a recipe for dehydration.
So, instead of waiting for the renewal of passports, such conditions could result in one changing queues and heading the registration of deaths! The Batho Pele posters one sees in government offices indicates means “People First”.
In this context, Batho Pele means putting other people first before considering your own needs/yourself. How? By identifying small, but important, things that can immediately improve the quality of service you provide to your customer”.
I did not see any evidence of any of the staff complying with this Batho Pele concept. The staff that were not on lunch at the time carried on discussions with their colleagues which obviously had Sweet Fanny Adam to do with their job.
On one occasion, the young lady processing applications called out to the woman at the photo booth and they both had a short conversation smiling and laughing while we, the public standing right in front of them, were kept waiting until they had completed socialising.
My Wednesdays are usually reserved for me to do a longish cycle – how I would have preferred to spend four hours in the saddle, rather than spending the time watching and waiting for service at Home Affairs.
Oh crickey, I’ve just remembered that the process is to be repeated when we go to collect our passports!
