The other night, a monk came to our house to let me know that there were two packages at the post office for some of the volunteers. He also said that it would cost 3,500 KSH to obtain both of them. I read the contents of one of the packages and realized that it was for me, but I could not understand how I had racked up the bill without doing anything! The other package, we thought, belonged to a German volunteer who is currently touring around Kenya. I told Felix, the monk, that I was not going to pay for both packages and could barely afford the highway robbery that was going on with my package. He said, “then don’t” and proceeded to wash his hands of the situation. We will come back to this later.
That little conversation pushed me towards the edge of a cliff the other night and the ensuing soccer match almost threw me over. Luckily sleep has a very calming effect and was the next thing on the schedule for me.
The ensuing morning, I went into Nairobi alone as Simon was still under the weather and the nun who had previously tried to obtain the packages but didn’t have enough money gave me her postal identification card and said that if I presented it she did not need to go to the post office with me. I didn’t complain as she is very nice, but is not quite as fast moving or mentally sharp for catching extortionists in the act. Also there is a fairly sizeable language barrier between us.
Things didn’t get off to the greatest of starts as the matatu I was in decided to let everyone out just on the outskirts of downtown because they spotted a police officer and it spooked them. I didn’t hang around to find out why. So I meandered my way through downtown Nairobi cruising past the rest of the inhabitants who might as well be called the slowest pack-walkers in Africa. I arrived at the post office around 11am or so and stood in line under the “Parcel Pick-Up” sign. I waited for almost an hour while some woman counted out close to 200 individual envelopes and had them weighed only to find out that I had to go to the next floor for my package. Great.
I make it up the stairs and into the customs office where some woman on the phone looked at my slip, printed something out, and tried to send me off without a word to me. I didn’t accept it and motioned that I needed to talk to her. She finished her conversation and then asked me what I needed. I told her that the customs taxes on my package didn’t make sense. She explained to me that the duties are high because the government doesn’t want people importing anything and that my fees were accurate. I then told her that the estimated cost of the contents was incorrect and she told me to talk to her boss. So I sat and waited for 30 minutes before her boss came back. And she told me to go and get the package and bring it to her…after lunch (in one hour). So I bought a newspaper and sat down for some tea before returning to the post office.
This time I went straight to the second floor parcel counter. The lady brought out the package addressed to me (I used the slip with my package ID and the wrong contents). I then told the lady that I thought there was a mixup and the packages didn’t match up with the contents. She told me I was crazy, literally. So I went off like a cherrybomb on the 4th. I said, “ok, let’s open the package shall we?” I opened it, pulled out the items one by one and checked to see if it was on the list of contents. I then turned the box upside down and said that I didn’t think the other contents were in this box. She wasn’t too amused, but couldn’t do anything about it because she was completely baffled as to how the confusion had happened.
They brought out the other package and put it in front of me. I then explained to the other woman that I was here to collect my package. I then asked why my package had been previously opened without my being present. She said that I had sent someone to collect it and it was opened in front of the customs officer for taxing. I calmly went off again trying to explain that no one else had the authority to open a package with my name on it, let alone have it processed with another package belonging to someone else. (I was initially tipped off on the mixup by seeing that the form with my contents had an address line that read ‘benedictine monastrery.’ My parents can spell monastery correctly and we technically aren’t at the monastery) They gave me the little spiel about how someone with authority came in and claimed the packages together and the paperwork could not be undone.
I cant remember how many people I talked to trying to get it sorted out. I was finally sent to the floor customs officer. She also told me that there was nothing she could do. I ended up following her into her office and standing in front of her desk for close to 15 minutes without saying a word all the while she was trying to work. She then looked at me and said that if she had any money she would help me pay the fee for both of the packages so that I could leave. I told her that I wouldn’t have accepted the generous offer. I would have accepted her letting me leave with my package! I then found out that after two months of not paying the packages are sent to a warehouse where they are auctioned off. To that point I argued that the bank would not be getting the full estimated value of the package and that letting me take it by itself at full price would be better than not giving it to me. She said that she couldn’t and that money was a tricky affair. Yeah, no shit. She then told me that if I wanted to I could pay and then file a claim for overpaying, which would have taken close to 3 months.
I said fuck it and amidst glaring eyes from the other disgruntled people in the office, I politely (and sarcastically) thanked them for their patience as they had verbally complained that I was taking up too much of the officer’s time. I then went back to the main customs office and sat in the secretary’s office. Her boss was at a meeting in another building and she told me I could wait for her or come back another day. Coming back wasn’t an option so I said I would wait.
The secretary then offered me a cup of coffee while I waited to which I obliged. Then the pleasantries started. I commented how the building should be staffed by more people like her…and that it was my birthday on Saturday…which led to her talking about her son and family…which led to something else and was finally broken up by another man walking into the office and questioning why I was still there (4 hours after I had initially seen him). I replied and then the secretary asked me to describe the problem one more time. Bingo. Never underestimate the power of being polite and complimentary of secretaries.
I explained everything that had occurred along with the responses of each worker as to why nothing could be done. She said nonsense, crossed out the receipt numbers, called her boss (who was in a meeting), lowered my tax rate, and printed a new receipt for me. I then had to book it to the bank a few blocks down to pay the taxes before it closed. Next, I returned only to find out that I had to get a secondary receipt from another window and then pay the post office handling fee of a dollar and get that receipt before I could actually take my package.
But even before that there was another problem. The secretary had told me to use the slip on which my contents were written, which incidentally had the postal number of the other box. So they wouldn’t let me go with it. I offered loads of solutions to this problem and after 15 more minutes of them standing there and wondering what to do I was ushered into a back office. The floor director then decided with another worker that it would be alright to switch the numbers on the boxes…thanks glad that took 15 more minutes of my time. I thanked them both and then said that they would never have to worry about seeing me again, to which I received the reply “Oh no! We still want your business. You know, part of this was our fault as well.” Ha, no shit. I smiled and proceeded to leave. But in passing all of the other inconsiderate and incompetent workers, including the customs officer, I smiled, held up the box, pointed to it, and whispered “I got my box.”
Some of them were overjoyed at the fact that I was finally leaving and the customs officer was surprisingly happy for me although she was confused as to how I had done it with supposedly the only person who could do anything about it in a meeting on the other side of town. I loaded my backpack and ran out of the building. I then spent the next 2 hours walking around Nairobi trying to find the correct matatu pick-up location. I asked numerous people where to go and it wasn’t until I was on the wrong side of town that a bus driver picked me up and took me to where I needed to be. It was ridiculous and I was tired. I had been in Nairobi for over 9 hours and roughly 6 of them were spent in the post office.
That’s dedication and a very strong desire for the girls scout cookies that were packed inside!
On a final note, when sending packages to Kenya, declare the value of goods inside at a quarter of the cost. The import taxes are 41% of the declared value. Highway robbery I tell you…
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