This past week, I went to one of the government departments. For you to get service before sunset, you have to arrive at around 3 am and strike a friendship with a security guard. When you arrive at that time, you will be number 83. I arrived at 5:00 AM (thanks to an alarm clock that did not go off), hopeful. By 9 am, I had made a friend and 3 enemies from the staff. By noon, I had started a WhatsApp group. By 3 pm, I had written a memoir titled ‘Still Here: Coursing Through Breadline 2.0.’ I learned to meditate. I learned to complain. I learned to forgive. All these lessons came at me faster than Letsile Tebogo approaching the finish line. As you wait for your turn to be served in your mind, you coin up a ‘Queue Improvement Manual’ that contains ways to expedite service and ensure clients do not age while waiting. Queues all over have the same characters and issues. There is the queue jumper, the disappearing clerk, and the system is down. The latter is for the African version, though. The Queue Jumper always arrives late, always knows someone inside, and always gets served first. Then there’s the Vanishing Clerk. You blink, and they’re gone. Coffee break? Lunch? Sabbatical?
No one knows. The system is down like a BTV signal during a thunderstorm—flickering between hope and despair. Then there are some Murphy Laws for queues. The most common ones are • If you leave the queue to buy airtime, your number will be called. And skipped. • The printer will run out of paper just before your document is printed. And the paper is ‘still in procurement,’ whatever that means. • The person ahead of you will ask 23 unrelated questions. Including how to apply for a passport, register a business, when the next lunar eclipse is, and how to get a birth certificate for their goat.
