I was told it would take a while.
The border into Mozambique is not crowded. There was no one in front of me and there is no line behind me. Nevertheless it is a 15 minute wait for someone to come to even begin considering issuing me a visa.
A few friendly border guards greet me in English. They ask me where I am going. I know that getting in as a "missionary" or as an emissary for an organization is difficult, but that's OK because my mission trip is over. Now I am just a "tourist."
I get called into the office of the chief of the post. I put on my best "aw shucks I'm just here for the beaches" expression. It makes no difference. He questions me about why I have come to Mozambique, where I am going, what I plan to do. I am starting to be suspicious of myself.
Dissatisfied with my answers, he calls Mancoba in. Mancoba answers the questions the same as I did. Then he sends us out of his office and places a call. Mancoba this maybe he's calling the embassy. Perhaps they'll acknowledge my secret work for the CIA but I doubt it.
Finally he seems satisfied. The tone becomes more friendly. He give me a form to fill out, and I asked for a pen. He told me someone had taken his pen, but borrowed one from a subordinate. I breathed a sigh of relief that there was not additional scrutiny regarding my worthiness to borrow a pen. I was prepared to give him my shoe for collateral.
Finally, form filled out and checked, photo taken, fingerprints of both index fingers acquired, fee paid, and pen returned, I was permitted into Mozambique. I expect a bouncer with a velvet rope line, but all I got was a soldier with rusty pike gate.
Time elapsed 55 minutes.
Welcome to Mozambique.
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