Yesterday, April 5, I had my rescheduled appointment with the immigration department, SEF. My original meeting was in September 2023, just a few weeks after my Visa was granted and our arrival in Portugal. But when the day of my meeting arrived, the department was in the middle of a system change, which would eventually culminate in SEF becoming AIMA. Two hours there, the h texting me Is everything all right?, I made it almost to the end, all my paperwork (proof of housing, proof of banking, proof of private health insurance, proof of employment, NIF, plus assorted other forms)…had my picture and fingerprints taken by a swanky machine…and then everything ground to a halt. I sat there with the SEF employee, Pedro, waiting for it to finish processing my application…and waiting…and waiting. It is slow, he said. How do you say slow in Portuguese? I asked. Lenta, he said.
Like the Italian, lentamente, I mused.
He nodded. It’s good you speak Italian, you will learn the Portuguese - he snapped his fingers - like that.
I laughed. Nao e verdade, I said. A aprender Portuguese mais dificil dai a falar Italiano. It was the longest sentence I’d spoken to date and my accent was horrendous but he apparently understood, as he gave me a nod that I have become familiar with when lamenting the difficulty of learning Portuguese - both rueful and proud. Sim.
We’ve been changing to a new system, and every week it is a bit slower, he told me, clearly watching what I like to call the spinny wheel of death on his computer screen. This week, really slow.
We sat quietly, waiting. Sorry, I texted the h. Technical difficulties.
Finally he gave up. I’ll send you a new appointment date in two weeks, he promised. I did not receive a call or email, so after four weeks I started calling the office. It became a daily ritural - I called at 8a, 1p, and 6p every day. The Facebook pages dedicated to moving to Portugal - there are many - are full of the Legend of the Unanswered Phones of SEF. In more than 100 attempts the phone was answered exactly twice. The first by a woman who cheerfully informed me there were no appointments available, I’d just have to keep calling.
Todos os dias? I asked. Every day?
That’s a good question! she said in a bright voice. Yes, everyday is good as the situation is constantly changing.
When I next got through a man with the rich mellifluous voice of a radio DJ kept me on hold so long I began to fear we were in fact disconnected. He returned to the line to tell me that my appointment was made.
Muita obrigada! I said, and then he gave me the date - April 5. There was a long silence as I counted the number of months between the now and then. I was sure I didn’t understand, and yet Abril and cinco are two words I definitely know in Portuguese.
Yes, he said in his weirdly jovial voice. It is a long time! We are very backed up. Congratulations, he added. Your Portuguese is very good!
Despite everything I hung up in a good mood. Learning Portuguese is like that, at least for me - the least bit of approval and I can overlook almost any bad news, I am so thrilled.
I was a bit stressed getting all the paperwork together the night before my long-awaited appointment - I didn’t go to sleep til well after 1a. Then I woke at 7a and did all the morning chores associated with having no plumbing or lighting or indoor sink, then fed all the animals. By the time I finished, it was 9a. The h made coffee and we agreed we needed to leave by 9:50a. I spent twenty minutes sitting on the front step while Princess Leia cheeped and pecked around the courtyard at my feet, chanting to myself “It’s going to be so easy, it’s going to go so well, you’re going to be so happy, it’s going to be just swell.” Laugh if you must.
We’ll be back by 2p, I told Jake. Then you’ll get lunch and we’ll go for a celebratory family walk. He always seems to understand, going to the couch and laying down, watching us make our preparations.
At the SEF office, I had zero confidence that my name would be on the list but when I presented my confirmation email to the guarda at the door, he said “Ah yes, Senhora Sandra Miller, right here. He highlighted my name in yellow. I gawped.
My appointment was for 11a, it was 10:50a when I arrived. He handed me a scrap of paper with a number (everything in Portugal involves a line, and a number from a little machine). We’ll be ready maybe at noon, he said. Or one. He gave an elaborate shrug that said, It is what it is.
I was so overjoyed my name was on the list, I simply said Claro!
Your Portuguese is very good! he said, ensuring I wouldn’t mind the wait no matter how long it lasted. He suggested we go have a coffee.
Number two, he shouted. Number two! I checked my scrap - 27.
For a wonder, it all turned out just swell. We had a lovely late breakfast at a vegan spot we have been to a few times. As noon approached, I took a seat on the church steps with dozens of other hopeful immigrants, all of us clutching our papers. A toddler chased pigeons around the square. A bouquet of languages bloomed in the air around me. A scouting troop walked through, one member carrying a flag. They huddled at the foot of the steps, consulting a map, then walked off in single file, the safety-vested scoutmaster pulling up the rear. The church bell rang at twelve and the pigeons flew up, delighting the toddler.
I listened to the guarda shouting names and numbers while I worked on a short story on my iPhone. A shadow fell over me, one with teddy bear ears. I looked up, the toddler with his bear-eared hoodie stood next to me.
Well hi, I said. He grinned and slapped a pudgy palm on the zippered plastic envelope on my lap, which contained all my precious papers for the immigration meeting. It’s brightest blue, covered with colorful flowers.
Yes, it is pretty isn’t it, I said to him. He slapped my phone case, which is also covered with colorful flowers.
It is important that functional things are also beautiful, I told him. He laughed and stamped his little feet. I tweaked his fat cheek. He grabbed at my phone with a surprisingly strong grip. His mama smiled and tried to pull him away, which he resisted.
Desculpe, she said.
Nao faz mal, I told her. O que um tao bebe fou fou ! (No problem. What a cute baby!)
The guard, sounding distinctly harried now, called a bunch of numbers in rapid succession. I went to the door, unsure if 27 had been among them.
The immigrants crowded closely into the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. An English speaker behind me said, We have no idea what to do. I turned.
Hi, I said to the American man behind me. His face lit up at being able to understand something, anything, on this stressful day.
Do you have your email confirmation of your appointment? I asked him.
His wife, who stood behind him with a pile of folders in her arms, waved it.
Great, I said. Just show it to the guard, and he’ll give you a number. I showed him my number.
Wonderful! he said, his face flooding with relief. So it won’t be long then?
I laughed. My appontment was for 11, I told him. I’m still waiting.
We heard about the nightmare bureaucracy, he said.
Oh it’s not that bad, I told him, meaning it. Everything eventually works as it should (it does). Just don’t get stressed.
I’m going to lunch, the guard shouted in a “I’ve had enough” tone.
I showed him my number. No, we haven’t called it, he shouted. Then actually looked. Yes we called it! he yelled. So they had called my number in that long string of shouted Portuguese, which I hadn’t understood. That’s the thing about learning Portuguese - speaking is one thing, understanding what you are hearing is a whole ‘nother ballgame.
Go see Katrina, table….He started to walk away. Then turned from the middle of the square and shouted One, two three!
I went up the steps and into the room where the immigration paperwork processing took place. There were seven tables, and I saw a blonde woman at table 3.
Katrina? I asked.
Sim, tudo bem! she gestured me over.
Desculpe, I said. Ainda estou a aprender Portuguese.
She smiled. Nao falo Ingles, she said.
My heart fell a little but it turned out not to matter, I was able to follow most of what she asked. She nodded with approval at the way I’d clipped together the different documents, each with a different colored mini binder clip. She scanned each document while I watched.
Wait, your photograph is already in the system! she said with some surprise.
I explained the last time I was there, the system was being changed, and the wait was long. A maquina era lenta, nao tinha trabalhado, I said, not at all confident I was saying it right. But she smiled with what I’m going to call an “Ah yes I remember it well” expression.
Your Portuguese is very good, she said in Portuguese.
Obrigada mas nao e verdade, I demurred.
My appointment lasted an hour. After, we walked over to our favorite pizza place and ordered two pies to go, having a glass of wine to celebrate. The proprietors are an Italian couple, the place has only 26 seats, closely packed. The pizza oven was a marvel of tile and stone. The owner rolled the dough and made the pizzas at the counter facing the front door so he could greet customers as they entered. He shook hands with all the men. A wall of basil plants formed a permeable wall next to him. I watched him pluck leaves for my pizza margarita and arrange them into an artful flower at the center of my pie.
We walked over to the sea wall and watched the little kids racing in and out of the surf in the shadow of the huge new ferris wheel that looms over the shore. Then we walked through the central park of Caiscais where all the vendors have their stalls and I bought a little spotted ceramic hen. I can see why so many immigrants choose Cascais to live, despite the higher costs. It is like your dream of Portugal - the sailboats waving in the light breeze on the harbor, the beds of flowers everywhere - sometimes marigolds but today, a tiny flower in all shades of violet, purple, azure - the tightly packed houses either restored or new modern construction in sun-washed pastels, the long beach studded with palms bordering all.
I’m so happy! I kept telling the h as we walked along. We caught an Uber home, where Jake gave us about an hour before putting the pressure on for the promised family walk. What do you want, the h kept asking as Jake went through his legs or laid on the pavement at his feet, a paw on his shoe. Finally he went to lay at the carport gate and gaze at the street.
I promised him a celebratory family walk, I reminded the h. I was wearing a black cotton shirt and jeans, the h was wearing a black wool top and black technical pants, so I changed into a white linen top so we didn’t look like two morticians escorting Jake to the park.
We went to the big municipal park, where there are many trails and a wide creek flowing through the middle. Many people were out enjoying their pre-dinner passeio Boa tardes were exchanged. The h found a deep spot in the creek where Jake could truly swim. Jake barked expectantly. Swimming is hardly worth it without retrieving something, that bark said. There were no sticks on the bank of the creek so the h heaved a log into the creek. It was longer than Jake and easily weighed more than 5 pounds. Jake towed it to the shore and struggled to haul it up the embankment, refusing to take the shallower way we kept pointing out to him. He dragged the log to the h’s feet.
Woof! he shouted, in a way that can only mean AGAIN! He sounded so much like the SEF guard I laughed. Jake shook the water from his coat, spraying us good.
Heave, swim, scramble up the bank, shake, repeat. Jake’s energy never flagged.
After his swim Jake met some friends, a large portly chocolate lab and a German shepherd. Both were on leash and calm enough but with a certain nervy energy that made me wary. Jake was his usual jake self, allowing them to sniff him all over. When the larger chocolate decided to mount him, we pulled away.
He wants to be in charge, the owner apologized.
Woof, said Jake, and bounced off, confident who was really in charge.
It’s an interesting word, reside. As opposed to abide, which means to tolerate something, which, in this house with no running water or electricity I have definitely been doing. I also preside - over chickens. Presiding means to be in a position of authority, I’m not sure I’m really the boss of these chickens so much as they are the boss of me, but at least I know that I’m presiding over the ones who enter my house regularly - Alphonse, Potsy and Princess Leia, for now.
But residing is different. To be a resident is something a little less than a citizen but definitely much more than a tourist. To your neighbors, residency means you’re in it for the long haul - a person they can risk getting to know, a person who plans to have longevity in the area. A person putting down roots.
When we got home from our residency meeting neighbor Alberto met us in the driveway. I told him about the meeting, we asked after his wife, recovering from knee surgery. We go to physical therapy today, he said. But first, he walked up the cottage steps with the h to inspect the greenhouse, which is almost fully erected.
We’ll put tomates here, he indicated. I grow for you now. He indicated with his fingers how small the seedlings are.
Should I come tomorrow, Tiago asked the h.
Oh no, the h tells him. Not on the weekend. You deserve a rest. Enjoy your family.
But I want to help make your house nicer for you to live, he said. I come, no charge. He is out there now, midday on a Saturday, trimming weeds and hauling branches.
I’m so happy I could cry, I told the h.
I know, he said, and put on his Carhartts and grabbed his chainsaw to go help Tiago.
A moving, pleasing curve of narrative in this piece . Almost had a tear in my eye by the end! Congratulations on your residing. It seems to me that tomatoes will be the cherry on the cake!!!