Patiently Perplexed at the Post Office

Oh where is our parcel? When we left Canada we thought we had all of Raven's schoolwork with us. As it turned out, we were missing 4 sections of math as well as a chemistry section. Cathy and Dave live the closest to SIDES (South Island Distance Education), so we asked them to pick it up and send it to us. (SIDES doesn’t mail outside of Canada, much like Canadian Tire MasterCard, but that is another story). Cathy and Dave mailed the parcel in early November, and it left Canada November 8^th. It never arrived at it's destination. By late December I was getting really worried that it was lost, strayed or stolen somewhere in the third world. We had received only one small package to the VSN office, so I knew the mail system worked, but I didn’t trust how well, as there was another small package mailed from Canada at the same time, and we never received it.

By early January I decided to go in person to the main post office in Sundara, downtown Kathmandu. I was sure that the package had arrived, but was sitting in limbo, on a shelf, waiting patiently for me to claim it after paying an exorbitant amount of ransom, baksheesh or customs cash.

Friday was my first visit to the large central post office. It consists of two large airy cement buildings, one each for outgoing and incoming correspondence. I was sent from building to building, then room to room after my enquiries as to where I should commence my search. Once I entered the correct building, I was directed to one table in an open hallway where I searched for my name in a pile of papers housed in the folder for unclaimed parcels. While I was searching, a frustrated European woman stood next to me and was asked for R10 by the man behind the table. She had a bit of a temper tantrum, venting about the amount of time she had been at the post office, how much money she had had to pay to receive her package at customs and why should she pay more money? Whenever I come across someone raging, I ensure to calm my mind and place a smile on my face to increase my own patience. My name wasn’t in the book so I was sent to a room with both incoming and outgoing parcels behind a long counter. I was ensured that my package could not possibly be in that section, as only outgoing parcels to Canada were held there, never incoming. Back to the first table I returned, where I was then ushered through the hallway into a vast room, room 29. Room 29 seems a bit of a misnomer, as it is also the hallway table in front of room 29. I enquired of one man behind a desk about my situation. There were many boxes stacked haphazardly behind him. He asked me for the tracking number, which I didn’t have on me. I asked him if I could look myself (the incoming boxes were right there....) “It’s not possible.” “Are you sure?” I asked, “The boxes are right there.” “It's not possible. We need the tracking number.” I thanked him and asked for his name and phone number before I left.

The next working day, Sunday, I left the package details with Mahesh, our house father, and he kindly called the post office officer on our behalf while we were visiting the zoo. When we arrived home he excitedly told us the package had just arrived. (Sure it did...) What great news! I jumped up and down, hugged him and gratefully thanked him for his trouble. He is so caring that he offered to come downtown to assist us in picking it up. That would have too much. We were planning on going to town to pick up our Indian Visas on Monday afternoon, so the timing was perfect. My only worry was that I knew I needed to show my passport for ID to claim my parcel, but as the Indian Embassy had ours until 5pm, I planned to take along a photocopy and hope that would be sufficient.

Monday morning I volunteered at the women's centre until noon, then our family lunched together. We weren’t sure if we all needed to be present to pick up our passports and visas, so we decided it would be a more efficient use of Raven's time if she stayed at home and completed schoolwork while we went. Luckily the bus dropped us off in front of the post office. (Sometimes it takes us a little further down the road). We went directly to the officer I had previously spoken to in room 29. He was in his office and remembered me. I think he must have been a manager, as he had his own office. He ushered us to sit down. I gave him my tracking number and he looked it up on his computer. Gotta say, the fact that the post office had a computer system completely floored me. He stated again the that the parcel had “just arrived”. I almost believed him. He found my number, wrote down another number, told Heath to stay in his office, and walked me over to the pile of boxes I had seen the other day. It took a few minutes and the help of a fellow worker to locate the medium sized brown paper covered box with my name on it. It was so close but I had to follow due process. I was given a slip of paper or form with the parcel's information on it and told to take it to the desk in front of this warehouse room. The man at that desk looked at my form, asked me for a copy of my passport (phew!), stapled it to the form then directed me to room 30. In room 30 I handed in my form and was asked to fill out a pink sheet of paper (old school carbon copy in triplicate). The pink form was all in Nepali script, so the woman directed me where to write my name, country, local address and phone number. She also asked for R35 before sending me to room 31. In room 31 I found a man in a suit behind a desk. He was the customs officer and I showed him my pink form and he signed it, then sent me back to room 30. Room 30 sent me to room 29. I gave the pink form to room 29 (which is actually the hallway in front of room 29) guy, who motioned me to “basnus” (sit). I sat, and a different woman from room 30 came out, sat next to me and indicated that getting my parcel would take half an hour. That perplexed me a little, as I could have jumped up, walked through the door and grabbed it in under a minute. At this point I remembered the frustrated woman from before, so I chose to laugh at the situation instead. I wondered what kind of a conversation Heath was having with the post office manager.

Luckily I only waited a few minutes before the box appeared. I identified it as mine, and the name on the parcel was verified with the name on my sheet in front of buddy from room (hallway) 29. With a big box cutter he opened the parcel and looked inside. Content that the box contained nothing hazardous, he dropped it on the floor behind the counter, signed the pink sheet and motioned me back with it to the customs officer. The customs officer signed it again, then sent me back to room 30. In room 30 I was motioned to a different desk, that had a small sign “cash counter”. Oh no- here it comes I thought. This is where I get soaked of some serious cash...

Happily, this was not the case. This worker signed the sheet then sent me back to room (hallway) 29. Room 29 asked for R10 before handing over my parcel. Now to collect Heath and continue on with our day! The whole zany process took about half an hour. Lets hope the rest of the day goes as smoothly I remember thinking. Heath was sitting in the office where I left him, and the manager had just ordered tea. They had been chatting about America, as he is in the process of obtaining his green card. Apparently he teaches as well, and has been working at the post office for 30 years. He sounded pretty pessimistic of the Nepali postal system! Tea arrived through the window! We stayed as long as politeness dictated, then as we were leaving he asked for our Pepsi Cola phone number because he may be coming this way tomorrow. Sounded a little strange, but we gave him Tej's and told him we'd be at the school facilitating winter camp..

The rest of the afternoon was incredibly productive. We withdrew money from the bank machine, drank tasty cafe o laits, purchased bus tickets to Chitwan, bought bakery snacks for Raven and received our Indian Visas (waiting only half an hour longer than we thought we would!) Back home again on a rush hour-standing room only-bum touch-neck tilt bus just in time for some tasty dhal baat. 

 There are not many horse riding traffic officers, but here is one!

 Raven and Heath walking along a quiet moment in Kathmandu