The Ministry of Mystery

Not sure if you’re familiar with John Cleese and the Ministry of Funny Walks, but every time I have business at the Ministry of Education and Higher Education (what? No department for Highest Education?), John Cleese comes to mind.

The Ministry of Education and Higher Education at 7:40 AM. It is January 23, but the tree is still up

I have had to be there - in my experience - quite a few times, either to exempt children from Arabic state exams (entirely my own fault) or to baseline foreign university degrees. And it has always been an ordeal. Today went smoothly, but still I hope - with all my heart – that this will be my last visit ever.

The workings of this ministry are strange and unusual, and the Ministry of Mystery might be a better name. Let me show you how that goes.

Back in December, I applied for an exemption for my daughter from the Lebanese State Exam. Although the program in itself is of an excellent level, most of the subjects are given in classical Arabic, a language which is Chinese for my daughter. She has struggled since grade 1, and has reached the point where she can actually read Arabic relatively fluently, but as she does not know what the words mean, it is still Chinese to her. I will not point any fingers as to whose fault this is.

When you ask for the Arabic State Exam Exemption, you come with your paperwork (it’s in Arabic so I am not able to tell you exactly what papers they are, and the English web site of the ministry does not work), two black & white copies of each (color not allowed) to this famous Ministry of Education in Beirut and you present yourself to a man behind a desk at the 2^nd  floor.

This '2^nd  floor' in itself turned out to be already quite a feat for me, entirely my own fault, but as you walk into the front door of the Ministry, you do not realize that the back entry is actually one floor lower. As such, the entrance is not on the ground floor but already the 1^st floor. If you take the elevator, you do not notice this dilemma, but when you take the stairs, as I tend to do, and think you are at the ground floor, you obviously walk two floors to get to the 2^nd  floor. However, you have actually reached the 3^rd  floor, but since there is an absolute absence of any sign whatsoever in English, you have no clue as to where the offices are that you need to visit. It is all in Arabic.

Anyway, once that hurdle is conquered, and they direct you back to the 2^nd  floor, there is a man that gives you a ticket with a number (grateful for that, no pushing and shoving here) and tells you to get a stamp from the 1^st  floor (entrance floor, in this case). 

You go down and get your stamp. Back up to the 2^nd  floor.

Now they need you to go to the 3^rd  floor, to get these papers, with the stamps, certified by someone on that floor.  

Behind a little window on the 3^rd  floor is a friendly lady who tells you that you need stamps for that too.

So you walk down to the 1^st  floor, buy your stamps, and back to the 3^rd . 

The friendly lady then quite vigorously stamps everything, than on top of that stamps the date and then signs over the stamps. 

Back to the 2^nd floor now. 

Note the pen, attached with scotch tape and a little rope.

There you wait in line until you are ushered in a little office where another lady takes your paper work, checks it for irregularities, and provides you with a slip of acceptance and the exact date it can be picked up, which is about 3 weeks later.

 Today I could pick the paperwork up. I thought I’d be early since I am supposed to be at work. So 7:30 and I am at the door. After all, my job, also in education, starts at 7:30. 

But I am the first one. 

“We open at 8.”

No problem

At 8 I may go to the 2^nd floor.  But when I enter the hallway, it is empty. The guard has just walked in and is turning on the lights. This is clearly not a non-smoking ministry as there is a very strong odor of tobacco.

“They come at 8:30,” says the guard. But he’s helpful. “Do you have the stamps?”

“Stamps?”

“Yes, you need 35,000 LBP pounds in stamps.”

No problem, I walk down to the 1^st  floor where I bought my stamps last time. 

“No, these stamps you have to buy at the post office.”

 As in a symbiotic relationship, the post office is very conveniently placed facing the ministry. I assume people must be walking in the whole day for stamps so I go to the front desk to buy my stamps.

“No, those stamps are on the 1^st  floor,” and via a very narrow stair case I get to a more unofficial part of the post office for the stamps.

With my newly acquired stamps I go back to the ministry’s 2^nd floor.

There I get a ticket from an in the meantime arrived employee, who sits down with his first coffee and cigarette for the day. The cancer rate must be high in this office. It reads number 1. I am the first customer of the day!

The link on this paper is the link I had been looking for on the Internet, but could't find. The English part of their website does not work. So how you are supposed to find this information is a mystery to me, unless you actually come to this office. The tie stamp is not accurate, I notice.

 And indeed, at 8:30 sharp, I get called in. I give my stamps, get the original paperwork, stamped to a T, and then get a copy certified in another office.

By 8:45 I am out again.

It was by all means a smooth morning. The staff was on time, they were friendly and helpful, no complaints.

But I cannot get this Ministry of Funny Walks out of my head.