Brian Dylan

My wife recently got accepted to the University of Auckland and we found ourselves thrown into the chaotic world of immigration.  Paper work and myriad logistical details stood between us and a two-year stint in Kiwiland.  It was an intimidating process because we immediately felt like the entire thing could have been sabotaged by one missed detail.  Oh, fuck, I needed to fill out NZ0010 instead of NZ0011.

Since my wife applied as a graduate student, we had the first hurdle of the application process.  She had the qualifications and the experience.  So, the actual application process was trivial, no more complicated than applying for a job at a gas station.  It involved a two page application and some web forms to register her classes.

Getting her questions answered proved to be the difficult part.  Time zone differences, miscommunication and what can only be described as “Kiwiness” got in the way.   When she could get a hold of someone, they frequently transferred to someone else who then transferred her to someone else.  The usual destination for her phone calls ended up being the graduate student voice mail box that no one checked.   When the phone failed, she switched to email.  After repeated exchanges of reply alls, she finally got all her answers and got accepted.

Then, it was my turn.  Since I was piggy-backing into the country, I had a lot of questions about my rather murky eligibility.  My background in IT puts me on New Zealand’s list of long term skill shortages  which is a fast track to getting a work visa.  Unfortunately, I needed to get a job offer first and most job offers were only open to people who had the legal right to work in New Zealand – residents or people with work visas.  Heller be damned, I would not be undone by an oxymoron.  One of our innumerable guides mentioned that spouses of graduate students got a visa, but I could not readily discern what kind.  Did I get a work visa, a resident visa or a guest visa?

After scouring the web site, I decided to call the embassy directly.  My first phone call put me in contact with a Kiwi woman with a bad attitude and a thick accent.   She punctuated every third word with something that sounded a lot like “Kweh.”   I suspect she may have been speaking Maori, but there were nowhere near enough syllables.   I could not understand her and that irritated her until she eventually directed me to the immigration web site and then hung up on me in the politest way possible.   “Mhmm, mhmm, please visit our web site.  Good day!” sounds so much better when you are cut off by that delicious accent.

I did more research.  I called again.  I would not be blackballed by an expedient official; this time I faced the very long automated menu options.  Like my wife’s attempts to get a hold of someone with the answers, I spent the afternoon getting routed around from automated message to automated message.  The introduction message had to address every possible scenario – visa, New Zealand citizens in trouble and defense inquires.  Once I had found the right option, I had to listen to a three minute general overview of the immigration services.  Each of these services then had a general overview with a deeper list of services.  I patiently waded through all of them and I went out to the main menu many times.

Eventually, I got to talk to a real live Kiwi.  She informed me that the immigration department was not answering their phones because they were so busy.  Fortunately, all my time on the website allowed me to ask her very direct questions that convinced her I was not going to waste her time.   She played ambassador to the immigration department by putting me on hold for short periods of time.  I imagined she took just enough time to turn to her sequestered coworkers and relay my question.  In between pauses pregnant with hold music, she told me that I need to fill out a work visa, that I did not need a job offer and that I needed to apply for my visa at the same time my wife did.  Once I had gotten past her filters, it took thirty seconds to point me in the right direction and lead me into an ocean of paperwork.

Suddenly, we had all the details – a clear path to legally living in New Zealand.  Now, we just have to pay for it.   I hope student loans and credit card limit extension prove to be a little more straight-forward.