OVIR

OVIR registration

In the short play, “No Exit,” Camus paints a picture of what Hell actually is as being stuck in a room with people you don’t like—forever. Although I like his analogy, Camus did not know about OVIR, the civil registration service that still exists in parts of the former Soviet Union. Imagine an organization with no real purpose, no accountability, and the power to kick you out of the country if you don’t please them (within 72 hours of arriving in Tajikistan).

OVIR is a leftover of the USSR, when you were registered at an address and you had to get permission to move. It controlled the labor force, essentially preventing mass migrations that would undermine the planned economy. It continues to exist today probably in order to employ several thousand workers at, likely, between $20 and $80 per month (a gross estimate of government salary ranges). This is not enough money to live on, so the public is obliged to provide the remainder of the wage. That is: the government pays a part of the worker’s salary, and when you encounter that worker in the registration process, you are given the opportunity to provide additional financing for that individual’s salary, directly, with an amount decided upon by that worker which is going to be commensurate with the worker’s eye-ball estimation of your wealth. For this reason, and the uncertain timeline and outcome of each step, OVIR resembles Camus’ room.

Lonely Planet recommends avoiding, at all costs, registering by yourself. Of course, I went there alone. At the window, the worker told me I needed a picture. I went across the street to an entrepreneurial 14-year old’s shop and he took a visa picture of me. I went back to OVIR and gave her the picture. “You need a copy of your passport.” I went back across the street to the same shop and got a copy of my passport made. Back to OVIR. “You need your landlord’s signature.” I called her and she came. “She needs a copy of her passport.” She went across the street. “Now give me 5 somoni ($1.10) and go to this other branch of OVIR. You can’t get registered here.” The windows through which you speak to the workers are particularly small, I think to prevent two arms from reaching through to the neck of the OVIR official.

OVIR also requires an HIV/AIDS test. Diana and I both got tested in the States prior to leaving for Tajikistan, because I had read about this requirement. During the registration process, I was not asked about this because I’m on a shorter visa, temporarily, until I extend it for the entire year. Diana presented her results to OVIR when they told her it was mandatory. They looked at the paper, dated mid-August (just three weeks ago), and told her she had to be tested here in Tajikistan. One might think that being married and having a recent negative result from a reputable laboratory might be enough, but Tajikistan requires its own test. I am now looking forward to re-registering with my longer visa and receiving additional reassurance that I am HIV-negative. At this rate we’re being tested faster than those in the adult-film industry.