How Not to Do Your French Visa Part 5

​Drama was soon on the horizon as I waited patiently for my visa. I had requested a long-term visitor visa that required nothing from my husband. We had all the appropriate documents for that and figured it wouldn’t take much time. Obviously we were confused.
 
My dossier was left with the agency on Monday. It arrived at the consul on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I received an email with instructions indicating that I was required to show my husband’s resources in France. I sat there fuming. I wasn’t even doing a visa based on my spouse. I was doing a visa based on myself and my resources. What did he have to do with anything?
 
I quickly called the call center, and with exasperation that they were actually required to help someone, they told me all I needed was a letter indicating Moez’s current state of affairs. I was both surprised and wary, but quickly wrote the letter, had him sign it and we drove and deposited it at the agency.
 
And we waited…
 
The following Monday, I received a new email. We needed to get a bulletin de mouvement for both me and Moez. A WHAT!? I called the call center and promptly handed the telephone to Moez. After a few minutes, he hung up and looked at me.
 
As it turns out, this piece of paper shows one’s goings and comings from the Tunisian airport. Of course, the only place it could be gotten was from the Ministre de l’Intérieur – a governmental agency. I cringed, while positive Moez assured me it wouldn’t take long.
 
Our first stop was in fact in the Ministre de l’Intérieur. Because everything in Tunisia shuts down from 12:00pm to 2:30pm, we arrived at 2:30pm on the dot. The man behind the desk was of course sitting there doing nothing as is par for the course in this country.
 
After chatting with him for a few minutes, Moez suddenly jumped up and told me to follow. As it turns out, we could not just request a bulletin de mouvement. We had to get an official request from the court. I wanted to remind Moez at this point about my doubts on getting this done early, but I never say  “I told you so” and wasn’t going to start now.
 
When we arrived at the courthouse, we finally found the correct office, and they informed us that we needed photocopies of both my and Moez’s passports. I reminded everyone my passport was with the French, so they suggested I make a copy of my resident card. Moez’s friend had been with us this whole time, and seizing upon a way to be useful, quickly took our documents to be photocopied.
 
Once he returned, the same woman behind the desk told us that we had to get a notarized letter requesting the official request. I am always amazed how people in Tunisia and France suddenly realize what else needs to be done once you have completed what the previously asked. I suspect this is the only entertainment they have.
 
We all dashed down to a photocopy store and asked for two sheets of paper. Moez’s friend wrote both of us two letters in Arabic and we made more photocopies. Afterwards we hurried down the street to find a notary. By this time, I had decided we weren’t going to get much done today, and was not in a hurry.
 
The notary took a bit of time, and of course a gaggle of obnoxious Tunisian women pushed in front of everyone to be helped without a number. However, once we reached the notary, we were in and out relatively quickly and headed back to the courthouse. We were officially in possession of an official letter to make an official request to get our bulletin de mouvement.
 
When Moez started talking to the woman in the court office, I could tell something was wrong.
 
“What is it now?” I snapped.
“We need a brown file folder for each of our requests,” he responded.
 
Somewhere along the way, we had gotten one, but now we needed two. Thankfully, a woman standing in the office had extras and quickly offered to give us one. As we put together our files, we realized that the photocopy of my resident card was on the same paper as Moez’s passport.
 
“Here,” I snatched the paper away from Moez, almost yelling. I ripped it apart and slammed both down into their respective folders and then walked out.
 
Moez and his friend joined me in a few minutes. “She said to come back in three days,” Moez said.
 
I snorted with disdain. “Big surprise. Someone might have to push two buttons on the computer keyboard.”
 
Moez grinned. “But I begged and she told me to come back tomorrow morning.”
 
At this point, I was so exasperated that I didn’t even care. There would be something else. There always was.