The word ‘corruption’ is derived from the Latin word ‘corruptiō’, the noun form of the verb ‘corrumpere’. The prefix ‘con’ means ‘together’, while the stem ‘rumpere’, ‘to break’. I have a problem with the latter. You see, where I come from, corruption is what keeps wheels turning. Dear reader, if you will bear with me …
Back in 2016, I was living in China with my then French boyfriend, now husband, Vincent. That year, he quit his job and so he could not renew the work visa he had been on any more. The lack of employment and Chinese family ties left him no legal way to obtain residence. Under the circumstances, he felt compelled to resort to something that, over the years living in the country, he had learnt to build and maintain: guanxi. Guanxi is intricate interpersonal networks within which personal and business favours are exchanged. These networks permeate all corners of Chinese society. Without them, life in China can be hard. There are different relationships in guanxi, and the one that Vincent utilised is based on shuren, or connections. His shuren in turn made use of her own guanxi, and was indirectly connected with a Chinese official based in Kuala Lumpur. ‘A one-year visa is 12,000 yuan (approximately 1,550 euro)’, she reported back to Vincent, ‘and you’ll need to get it in person.’
‘Want to visit Malaysia?’ Vincent asked me.
I have a Chinese passport, which is not a great passport. It stops me from going to most of the places on earth freely, including two Chinese regions: Macau and Hong Kong. To enter these territories, I must have either an ‘entry’, which is a form of visa, or a plane ticket showing that I’m making a transit there. Whichever way, I am only allowed a maximum stay of seven days. By comparison, French visitors can travel to these cities visa-free and can enjoy their time there for up to 90 days.
With this in mind, we started to plan the Malaysia trip. How about taking off from Macau? I had yet to try proper po tats. And my future father-in-law was working in Cambodia. Let’s celebrate Vincent’s new visa with him there. Having set the itinerary, I got down to applying for the visas. To my surprise, both the Chinese and the Malaysian government websites stated that the two countries had reached a new agreement, and therefore I didn’t need a visa. I then proceeded to apply for a Cambodian e-visa and got it straight away. As for Macau, since it would be a transit destination, I could enter with my plane ticket. ‘That was easy,’ I said to Vincent.
Famous last words.
On the day of our departure, we went to the Gongbei Port in Zhuhai, where we would cross the China to Macau border. That was the first time I had been to that port. When we were queuing for customs, which were on the ground floor, I saw that the underground floor was strewn with stalls. Large pieces of paper were taped on these stalls’ counters, and they all carried the same message: ‘selling visas’. I wondered what that meant.
As the queue moved forward, I had butterflies in my stomach. Had I been overly confident about this visa-free treat? It tasted like freedom and China is not known for its freedom. Vincent reassured me, ‘You got the information on the official websites.’ Yes, and I told myself to stop fidgeting.
When it was my turn, I gave an officer my papers. The young officer looked at the plane ticket and went through my passport, twice, before asking, ‘Where’s your Malaysian visa?’
And the butterflies were back in my stomach.
Note from Portia: read Part 2 tomorrow!
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