Bringing Gus to Rwanda

Last night I received a panicked email from Ritchie with a link to a pet import form, saying “Can you fill this out and submit it to the Ministry of Agriculture ASAP?! It will be best if you can get the approval tomorrow.” He’d waited until the last minute to look at the requirements for shipping Gus the Dog to Rwanda, bless his heart. I suspected that it’s impossible to get same-day processing and approval for pet imports here, but I promised to try.  

If only it were this easy (and inexspensive)

I was feeling very capable and urbane as I drove to the Ministry of Agriculture, got myself scanned at the security checkpoint, and waited while the guard looked over the paperwork before vaguely gesturing down the hall toward the left. Luckily for me, there were only two doors on the left and only one of those was open. I went in and handed over my paperwork. The clerks looked at the forms and chatted with each other animatedly for about ten minutes. Finally, one said, “You know the Rwanda Agriculture Board? You have to go there.”

I took my forms and got back in the car, still feeling capable, then drove across town to the RAB. At the RAB, the clerk examined my forms. “You have to go next door to the secretariat,” he said.

Feeling less capable and slightly deflated, I went next door to the secretariat. It was a single room crowded with desks and stacks of papers, which did not make me feel hopeful, but the clerk greeted me with a nice smile. I handed her my paperwork. She looked them over and said, “You need to take these next door to RAB.” And gestured back the way I’d come.

“I just came from next door!” I objected. The futility of my efforts was just starting to dawn on me. “They told me to come here.”

She glanced at my paperwork once more. “Okay, you can leave them here.” Then she put the papers on top of a messy pile and nodded toward the door. My cue to leave. I didn’t feel satisfied with this outcome.

“What happens next?” I asked. “How will I know when he’s approved? Will you contact me?”

“Come back in a few days. Then we’ll see.”  And she smiled at me nicely once more.

I left feeling entirely unsure of the outcome. Would they even look at my paperwork? Will Gus languish endlessly in customs or wherever it is that they store un-cleared pets until it’s time to ship him back home? Luckily, these worries don’t translate into dog and he is blissfully unaware of his own vulnerability.  Ritchie, on the other hand, might be sending more panicked emails.

Is anyone interested in adopting a charmingly stupid and partially trained mutt? You know, just in case.