JALABOLAS

Newsflash: Franz Kafka wasn´t born in Prague - he came straight from Venezuela. I know of few other countries like Venezuela where even a simple purchase in a store can turn out to become a bureaucratic nightmare. For paying with plastic money, I guess one day you will even have to have your DNA code ready to show - because everything else, from your ID or passport number, to your place of residence and your phone number will be asked everytime you dare to buy a loaf of bread with a bank card. Advice: take along enough cash and risk the chance of getting mugged. But if you prefer THAT to tell the nice cashier your private phone number, be my guest.

Latin American countries are known for their love for ID cards which show that, besides being alive, you hold some status which may become quite handy for anyone knowing you. The more status you have, the more "friends" will swamp your life, asking you favors to help them through the dense jungle of bureaucracy with contradicting laws and rules, and hostile civil servants. You will turn out to be a great "pana" or friend if you use your clout to help friend A to get his passport more quickly, or neighbor B to finally get those new licence plates after two years of fruitless waiting, or relative C to get that particular permit he isn´t really entitled to - but who cares.

Others may call it corruption, and Venezuela is known, by the way, to be one of the most corrupt countries on this planet. As a resident, I try to stick to the rules, accept no offers for bribery and live life the rough way (anyone interested in a diamond studded piece of land, by the way? It was offered to me a year ago in the Mayor´s Office, for hard cash of course, in exchange for a nice letter to some high-placed bozo in the Immigration Service. I declined of course).

Sticking to noble rules in a country like Venezuela means sticking your head in trouble, believe it or not. Whether it´s being run into by a taxi driver who broke all the rules, and still getting the fine because you happen to be a foreigner and the taxi driver was so shrewd to do something I declined to do on the spot - pay the police officer BsF. 300,- on the spot and leave it like that. Or waiting for two years for your ID number to be entered into the database system, only to find out that the immigration service never bothered to do that, and each time making extra turns and paying extra money to get your resident visa prolonged - all these things, including standing for days on end in the queue patiently waiting for your day of luck to be helped - belong to the daily routine of a person who will play it cleanly without payoffs and kickbacks to fatbellied bozo´s, and won´t join the jalabolas culture of just taking it easy and abuse the system to your own ends. I will explain.

A jalabolas is a person who knows "the system" inside out, like his own bathroom. He will also use it like that. He is a person who has mastered the art of looking busy, of flashing around with activity and trample on others who fall into his magic. He or she will promise you the moon, the stars, your residence permit, a really clean contract, anything your ears want to hear. And not do it. But carry out his or her lie to just a masterly level that you probably will never ever grasp the fact that you have been conned. He won´t steal your money, he will get paid by you for no work whatsoever but still convince you that the work will be done, eventually, in due time, when he comes to it, when hell freezes over twice, etc. etc..

Corruption is found with people who haven´t mastered the jalabolas tactic well enough. Those are the dunces who get caught red-handed. But not our jalabolas. His slick tongue, his quick words and his everlasting smile are his trademark and will lead him through a life of apparent importance, quick money and best of all, a total freedom in spending his time. In other words, a good-for-nothing that will part you with your money for being such a gullible fool. Don´t tell me I didn´t warn you!

Needless to say, Latin America is studded with jalabolas. After having bumped my nose into countless walls, I finally know how to distinguish a jalabolas from the common man. However, one thing is to distinguish him, another thing is to avoid him. In this country with a crazy runaway bureaucracy, in which you spend an entire day just to get a stamp, only to discover that you got the wrong form and have to start all over again.... sooner or later you will need that guy with the slick smile and easy talk who could free you from that kafkaesque headache. Or give you one, that of the jalabolas. I just take my chance and tapdance off into the setting sun, whistling.