Permanent or Provisional

Two weeks ago, I was notified that I received my permanent residence status. This is stage two of three in gaining truly permanent residency here in Uruguay. Nope, that was not a typo. I’ll explain that later. But first, let’s talk about step two for a bit. After rereading, some may consider this to be a long bit.

For those of you who haven’t read my posts before, a cédula is the national ID card. All citizens — including children from a young age, possibly starting school, though I’m not entirely sure — are required to have one and carry it with them. Individuals who wish to stay in the country for more than 90 days must also have a cédula (even temporary status) or a visa. This is technically the law, though it is not heavily enforced.

Having a cédula makes life much easier when ordering items or obtaining certain services such as bus passes, bank accounts (which we still do not have), or phone service. Each cédula has a unique ID number, and once you receive that number, it is yours for life. It is similar to a Social Security number in the US (yes, I intentionally used the abbreviation “SS” because I enjoy making Americans slightly uncomfortable under their current style of “democracy”). The difference is that it is not treated like top-secret government intel. You are asked for it constantly by stores and various services. For example, to sign up for Mercado Libre (our slightly less glamorous version of Amazon), you must have a Uruguayan cédula number. Some business will accept your passport number as a substitute but not all.

Last Wednesday, we met our immigration specialist, Magdalena, at the Dirección Nacional de Migración (DNM) to process my Resid Legal Prov cédula. We arrived shortly after 09:00. We were a bit late due to misinformation regarding the bus route. However, being late is acceptable here. Remember, this is a relaxed country. Magdalena was there patiently waiting for us.

If you are considering fleeing to Uruguay, I strongly suggest you get an immigartion specialist to assist you through the process. After hearing others talk of the challenges with their specialist I know we made the right decision hiring Magdalena. She has been wonderful to us. If you would like, I am happy to pass on her contact information. No, I do not get any commission for the referal.

We were called into the first office, and Magdalena came in with me to serve as a translator. It is a requirement by the DNM that if you cannot speak fluent Spanish, you must provide your own translator.

Magdalena explained the purpose of our visit, the woman behind the desk got to work. She pulled up my file using my cédula number and printed two documents. The first confirmed that I understood I was receiving my Resid Legal Prov cédula. The second verified my name, date of birth, address, and cédula number. Once I signed them, she printed out a slip of paper, which Magdalena immediately took possession of.

I have learned that I do not take ANY papers handed across the desk during this process. Much like a child learns not to touch a hot stove after doing it once or twice… OUCH.

Then it was on to the next step. You go to another section of the building. I make it sound as though I crossed the Grand Canyon, but in reality it was just through a door on the same floor. Magdalena took the paper from the first station to a window where another employee entered my name and number into the queue for the next step.

When my name appeared on the screen — well, technically my cédula number appeared for the entire lobby to see — we moved to the second station. As I mentioned earlier, your cédula number is not treated like some deep, dark secret hidden in your mental closet.

At this point, they ask me questions about my address, phone number, and parents’ names, and they confirm your cédula number. Then they took my picture and fingerprints again. I am not complaining when I say this. Some people wait years between receiving temporary status and getting their Resid Legal Prov card, so it makes sense they want updated information given one’s appearance changes over the years. No one has a portrait of Dorian Grey hanging in their attic. Now I am think about Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews. STOP, going down a rabbit hole based on pop culture.

This time, I was handed a piece of paper that I was actually allowed to keep. Progress!

On Wednesday, I can return to the second office and pick up my new cédula with my updated status printed on the back. I simply hand over the paper, and they magically produce my new ID card from wherever important government cards live before being claimed.

On a side note, the people I have encountered throughout this process have been amazingly friendly. I think my brain went into shock during our earlier process to get our Res Temp cédulas because these people are genuinely nice and helpful. They seem happy in their jobs and truly enjoy helping others through the process. Out their attitude in in juxta position with workers at US DMV. Think about that, no matter where you are in the US, you are going to get treated the same at a DMV. Even The Simpson have a long running joke on this one. It is like going to a Catholic mass. Same story just in a different location.

Maybe part of that job satisfaction comes from workplace culture. Whenever someone starts or ends a shift, they greet each coworker individually. Not with a tap on the shoulder or a handshake, but with the standard Uruguayan greeting: a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. This happens between men and women, women and women, AND men and men.

Not the American “bro hug,” where both men aggressively hugging with each one holding one arm between them and one around the other for three slaps on the back in a desperate attempt to reassure the entire planet that they are definitely, absolutely, unquestionably heterosexual. (And yes, I always privately think at least one of the two secretly finds the other attractive.) Just like the homo seat in the moving theater, you’ve seen it. When two men put a seat between them. STOP, another rabbit hole.

I have seen this greeting everywhere — airports, stores, offices. Mikey says they do it at the beginning of choir rehearsals and again when everyone leaves. We are beginning to do the same with our friends. It is another example of the strong community culture here.

I know Human Resources departments in the US would collectively swoon if this happened in an American workplace. Someone would immediately schedule a mandatory training session titled “Appropriate Workplace Boundaries: Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.” Like many aspects of living abroad, I have had to stop assuming American standards are the ONLY standards.

Now, to quickly explain the three-step process of permanent residency. When your cédula says Resid Legal Prov, you are actually considered a permanent resident by the government. We have nearly all the same rights as Uruguayan citizens except for voting.

However, financially, we are still considered temporary residents until our apostilled birth certificates are translated and notarized by the Uruguayan government. Currently, the notarization process for birth certificates can take up to a year.

Holy SHIT. Are you serious?

Yes. Yes, they are.

At this time, there are only TWO people in all of Uruguay trained and authorized to notarize birth certificates. And they are not just handling expats. They also process every newborn birth certificate and every legal name change that impacts a birth certificate, such as adoptions where a child receives new maternal and paternal last names.

Talk about a bottleneck. I think the original Coca-Cola bottles had wider necks than this process.

The government recognizes there is a problem and is working to improve it. Unfortunately, government speed is still government speed. They first have to hire someone already working in government service because the position functions more like a promotion. I assume it also helps if the applicant can read at least one additional language other than Espanola. Then training takes up to six months before the person can officially begin notarizing documents.

So, after this very long explanation, the short version is: we are considered permanent residents of Uruguay. We will hold this status for the rest of our lives unless we decide to give up our US citizenship and become formal Uruguayan citizens. (I know some of you just physically cringed reading that sentence.) The jury is still out on what we going to do in the future. We have five years before we can even take that final step, and I already know my thoughts on it… but I’ll save that discussion for another day.

Mikey received his permanent residency approval and completed this same process back in early February. He was approved just over 30 days after applying, which is considered unusually fast. My four-month wait is much more typical. Applications are apparently not processed in the order they are completed and submitted for verification. It is more like, “Whichever file the employee grabs next wins today’s immigration lottery.”

A glimpse into a bipolar mind: a few weeks after Mikey received his approval, I started worrying about my own file. My brain immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios: “They lost my paperwork,” or “I must be missing something.” Within days, I went from mild worry to severe anxiety. I convinced myself I was going to be deported. (And honestly, given current global politics, it is not exactly difficult to imagine countries suddenly deciding to throw immigrants out.)

The anxiety eventually spiraled into severe depression.

The day we went through Mikey’s process, I was already emotionally overwhelmed. I had not received notice about my own status, we had been denied a bank account at one bank, there was confusion surrounding registering a small business under my name for our mutualista coverage, and I learned I had to be classified as an employee under Mikey’s business in order to qualify for healthcare coverage — unless we waited months for another apostilled copy of our marriage license to arrive so we could register it with the government.

In my mind, it felt like one domino falling after another.

I could not just “let it go.” Whenever someone tells me to “let it go,” I always want to respond with, “Damn. Thank you. I never once considered that incredibly simple solution to my chemically imbalanced brain.”

So yes, I unloaded on Magdalena.

When I get into those mental spaces and later reflect on my behavior, I carry a tremendous amount of guilt and shame. So when we saw her again last Wednesday, I apologized.

Her response?

“No, no need to apologize.”

And honestly, I think she truly meant it.

Weather today: high of 12°C, low of 8°C, with rain, strong winds, and gray skies. We are currently sitting in the apartment with the heaters on, mentally preparing ourselves to discover just how cold a bathroom can become without a heater nearby.

Thank you for sticking with me. (Feel free to share my posts.) As always, be kind to yourself, and be kind to others.