O Meu Diário de Coimbra

Serendipity and the Nigerian in the hoodie

Went to Leiria, south of Coimbra, yesterday for this morning’s residency appointment at Agência para a Integração (AIMA — Agency for Integration, Migration and Asylum).

Integration, Migration, and Asylum are not, apparently, dirty words in these parts.

I have been in Portugal on an extended visa up until now. It expires in the middle of June.

This is a hurdle.

The residency means I can stay in Portugal for another two years, at which point I can apply for an automatic extension that will get me three more, and then — and by then Trump will be planning to run for his four term as U.S. president, America will be starting its third year under martial law, and many of you will be in gray and brown smocks in large, windowless sanctuaries in re-education camps, bowing down to pictures of the First Family in military garb — I can apply for and receive Portuguese citizenship without giving up my American. I asked Tony, my friend from Ireland/Brazil who, you may remember, is the guy with the “system” at Chinese buffets and someone who holds two passports, what the benefits were.

“When you go through Immigration and Customs and you have dual citizenship, you get to pick the shorter line.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Not exactly the John le Carré advantage I was hoping for.