After waiting around all morning the doorbell finally rang. Empost delivering Mom's appeal from immigration. He asked for the receipt. Receipt? What receipt? Thank goodness J has been keeping everything in one binder. It was there! Whew!
The momentary feeling of relief fades quickly as I see the papers the courier hands me. They are the whole application with a blue rubber stamp on the top page with a tick mark on one of the lines. All of the writing is in Arabic and there are no new pages. This doesn't look good How can I find out what it says?
I grab a few things and head outside. Maybe I can make it downtown to the legal translator before I need to be back to pick up Little Girl from school. Oh, but there HAS to be someone in the complex who can read this!
I stop by the computer room; no one there can read it, but someone suggests the Lebanese guy who works in the gym. So I walk over to that building. He's busy, but I leave the sheet and come back after Little man's nap, trying not to stress the whole time I'm waiting.
I head back and the girl at the desk says apparently he had trouble reading the hand written portion, but he could work out enough to tell me the appeal has been denied.
Curse words!
I spend the rest of the day wishing I had a liquor license and knew where to find the bottle shop (liquor store).
I'm feeling better today, but I still don't know why the visa was denied or really what our options are now, I suppose we could plan a cool trip every thirty days.
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