The pre-appearance formalities were pretty straightforward. I had gone to the website of the Nigerian Immigration Services, filled the passport renewal form online; uploaded the data page of my expired passport and my age declaration (only few people of my generation have birth certificates); and paid the princely sum of one hundred and four thousand Naira online for the renewal of my passport for ten years.

Almost immediately, the efficient Nigerian Immigration Services, promptly sent to my email a copy of the filled form; payment receipt and an appointment date for the capturing of my biodata.

It sounded unbelievable!

I offered silent prayers to the Minister of Interior, Olubunmi Tunji-Ojo, and the Comptroller General of the NIS, Kemi Nanna Nandap.

I then proceeded to the Alimosho Immigration Centre for the biometric capturing.

Getting a parking space was the first hurdle I had to cross. Mercifully, there are about four eateries around the area, so their security guards do brisk business by allowing visitors to the passport office to use their car park.

Of course, as soon as you approach the NIS gate, passport agents swarm over you, offering their services. I ignored them.

On approaching the front desk, the female immigration officer appeared surprised that I was armed with my printed form, appointment letter and my payment receipt.

“Who filled this form for you?”, she queried. I gave her a quizzical look.

“Did you fill the form yourself?” I nodded.

She grudgingly collected the papers from me and waved me to a seat under a shed, where I was in the company with other passport seekers.

I came prepared for a long wait. I had a novel, a phone charger and refreshments. Didn’t our elders say the vulture is a patient bird?

I looked around and fixed my gaze on the various inscriptions on the wall.

I began to read them one after the other: “Every interaction with you brightens our day.”

Really?

“You are not just customers, you are family. Thank you for being the reason we love what we do.”

Interesting!

Voices complaining that some officers were bringing in people who had just come or who were not on the queue interrupted my thoughts. I wasn’t bothered.

Nothing unusual, if you ask me.

I returned my gaze to the wall. I love the inscriptions: “Quality is your right; your feedback helps us grow.”

Yet another one: “Big thank you to our amazing customers. We truly appreciate your patronage.”

All these by civil servants!

Not done: “Your support means the world to us, thank you for being an incredible part of our journey.”

A thought crept into my mind: In this Tinubu economy, what kind of support are these immigration officers referring to?

A phone call interrupted my thoughts.

“Editor, you are a Prophet! You said yesterday that the Man U coach would be sacked and now, he has been sacked.”

I checked my time, it was 4pm. I had spent seven hours sitting, just to capture my face on camera.

I was called in and spent barely five minutes.

And asked to come in January to pick up the passport.

No sweat!

No plans to travel soon except I win a lottery!

But I must confess that the officials were firm, polite and professional, working under difficult conditions.

There were only two cameras to serve hundreds of applicants.

The authority may consider sending at least three more cameras to that office: one for the exclusive use of children, one for senior citizens and one for VIPs.

That’s what all civilised countries do!