I had a bad day at the Philippine Consulate General in Jeddah Monday when my wife, our 12-year daughter and I had to renew their passports in preparation for our summer vacation. We arrived at the consulate before 1 P.M. It was closed for noon break and the Saudi police officer detailed there told us that the mission would reopen at 1 P.M. Since I was low on gas, we drove to the nearest gasoline station to make use of time instead of idly waiting inside the car. A few OFWs, who arrived almost at the same time as we did, had to look for shelter under the shadows of buildings across the busy highway or take the taxi to go elsewhere. We went back to the consulate a few minutes after it reopened and, though I wanted to get two new copies of the application form for passport renewal, I decided not to because the man in charge to give the copies was not in his post. I told my wife to just complete filling up the forms I got from the consulate the day before. Inside the consulate, I noted at once that there were no signs where you have to start transacting business. I had to ask other OFWs where to start. They pointed me to a receiving room with teller windows where the cashier also works. Because there was no system like in a bank where you are assigned a number, anybody could just go to the teller widow and transact business. If you were not the aggressive type, you would be left out. Anyway, fast-track to the time when my wife had to take their completed forms. She asked the cashier, after paying the fee, where we had to go. She pointed us to another room where an encoder was putting the data on his computer and assisted applicants in putting on their thumb marks. We thought that we just had to fall in line and take the last seat in a row when it became vacant. I started to feel uneasy when I saw that there was just no queue to follow. After waiting for a long while, we suddenly heard the encoder call out the next number. We and other OFWs who also did not have numbers, started asking where to get the number. We were directed to the man who was supposed to give the application forms. I started fuming when the man asked why we did not get our numbers when we came in. I hated the idea of him blaming us because he was not in his post when we came in the first place. I went back to the cashier, who made us wait for a while because she was on her cell phone, and suggested to her that she should assign the numbers because all the application forms go through her. It wasn't her job, she said. All told, everything was patched up when an officer inside the tellers' room came out and tried to help. It was after we lost precious hours which my child could have spent reviewing for her long test the next day, because, although there were two computers to be used for encoding, only one encoder was at work. That experience reminded of two things. First, the common attitude of public officials and rank-and-file employees at agencies assigned to help the OFWs, including foreign missions, to consider their jobs as a privilege more than public service. The second is the government's empty platitude for the OFWs as modern-day heroes because their remittances have kept on propping up the ailing economy back home. The government, including its foreign missions, celebrate a day for OFWs as modern-day heroes every year but how come we couldn't give them decent services when they transact business in public offices? How come we couldn't provide them with a space to stay during noon breaks so that they don't have to take shelter under the shadows of some buildings nearby or take the taxi to while their time away elsewhere while waiting for our missions to open? I hope these two questions will give officials at the consulate in Jeddah a fodder for the conscience to ponder upon. If the consulate does not have any spare space to use as a waiting area for the OFWs who happen to go there between 12 noon and 1 P.M., it should at least post a prominent notice of business hours displayed at the gate. The notification may read: “You, worthless people who have come to delude yourselves into believing the government platitude that you are modern-day heroes, must know that we are on siesta between 12 noon and 1 P.M.” Many OFWs transacting business at the consulate in Jeddah come from as far as Taif and other remote places in the Western province. Don't we know it or we just don't care?
