Residence Evil: The Quest for the Carte de Sejour (1/3)
Working outside of your home country is not for the faint-hearted.
This isn’t because moving is hard or learning languages is hard or immersing yourself in another culture is hard. Don’t get me wrong—these things can all be difficult—but the real reason is The. Paperwork. Is. A. Nightmare.
I mention this to underscore my good news: I finally have my official Moroccan residency.
Well buckle up, reader, because this is going to be a wild ride.
Total time between arrival and official residency: 10 months, 10 days.
The timeline goes like this:
Pre-arrival: I was asked to bring my passport, diplomas and certificates, and a background check, and to have a recommendation letter sent as a pdf to my manager.
August: When I arrived in Morocco, I was given a bit of assistance at work in searching for apartments online, but for the most part they left me to my own devices. I met a young Moroccan woman from Meknes subleasing the extra bedroom in her apartment. I asked about a contract, but was told that because the landlord was a family friend, there was no contract. She said this is very normal in Morocco. This should have been a red flag right away, but I was feeling rushed. My job provided ten nights in a hotel and those were quickly ticking by, so I moved in. After all, I had subleased in Madrid without an official contract with the landlord, and that hadn’t interfered with my visa or residency there.
In August I also signed my work contract and was accompanied to the muqata for the first time, where we had the contract legalized. The muqata is sort of like a DMV, but instead of specializing in motor vehicles, they handle contracts and notarization of all kinds of official documents. We had copies of my diplomas and passport legalized there as well. Legalization involves lots of stamps and signatures on the photocopy itself, as well as sometimes signing in a large spiral bound register, since most of this process has yet to be digitalized here in Morocco.
September: I was asked for “the original” of my recommendation letter. This, of course, did not exist, because I’d been told to have it sent in digital form directly from my reference to the manager. When I explained that I had never seen the letter nor did a hard copy even exist, I was told patiently, as if I were a child, “But the original, Sibley. Give me the original letter. The one on paper.” Thus, it became clear that this nonexistent hard copy was necessary, so I had to get back in touch with my old department chair and request that she print the pdf, sign it, and then fax it to Morocco. (Thanks Lauren!)
At this time, I offered my background check to our office administration and asked if there was anything else they needed. It was given straight back to me, and I was told they would let me know if they needed other documents from me.
October: As autumn wore on, I heard new friends talk about the process, mentioning things like contracts and medical certificates and unknown French words and acronyms like “recipice” and “ANAPEC”. Once again, I asked about it at work. They said that the process was taking so long because the owner of our franchise was out of the country, so my work contract still hadn’t been signed and sent to the labor ministry in Rabat. But I was assured once again that they would tell me if they needed anything else from me. I went home for my brother’s wedding in October, which restarted my 90 day tourist visa, giving us more time, so I wasn’t worried. I thought I had submitted everything I needed, and later, when they mentioned sending someone to Rabat to check on the process, I thought we were almost finished. Any day now I would be told that my carte de sejour had been approved.
Oh sweet, naïve, little past-me.
January: Less than two weeks before my second 90 day tourist visa would expire, I met a friend for lunch who told me about her struggle to apply for the carte de sejour, and how she had to move to a new apartment in order to get a rental contract. She asked me if I had encountered the same problems. I shrugged, and repeated what I had been told. I had given my office administration everything they needed, and they were taking care of it. I assumed that because they hired multiple foreign teachers every year, they had the process streamlined enough that it was practically automatic.
That very same day, when I returned from my lunch break, I was given the good news. My paperwork was back from the Ministry. “Now to apply for the carte de sejour, you just need to take these papers to the police station along with your background check, medical certificate, and rental contract. Do you have those with you today?”
I hadn’t been told I needed the medical certificate or the rental contract. I did have the background check in my work folder, so I produced that, at least. “But Sibley, this isn’t translated. Why didn’t you give it to me before so we could have it translated?”
You may recall, earlier in this tale of trial, that I did give it to them. Twice, in fact. Both times, it was given straight back to me. On neither occasion did anyone mention a translation.
Furthermore, as I recalled my conversation from lunch, I looked at the date. It was close to six months old at this point. My friend had mentioned that they’re only valid for 90 days.
I was zero for three. And things were just getting started.