The Kistlers and Their PIN

A story of our experiences at the Kenyan Revenue Authority:
So we needed to get our Tax PIN which registers us to pay taxes here. We have a Kenyan administrative assistant who knows her way around who usually takes care of these things. Unfortunately, Kenya recently changed the rules so that she couldn't turn in the application and apply on our behalf. So we went into the Kenya Revenue Authority on the 3rd of April, dropped off the paperwork and the supervisor told us to come back in a week. Due to the Easter break we didn't have time to come in until this past thursday, but figured the extra time wouldn't hurt. When we went in thursday after language lessons, we found the office we dropped our paperwork at, but they pointed vaguely to some counters and said "ask over there if they have your PIN." So Steph and I go to separate lines (to save time) and both of us are told to go to "counter 7". We walk over to counter 7 and see that counters 1-4 say "PIN and VAT registration." So I get in line at counter 4 and Steph takes counter 7. My line moves quickly and when I get to the front the woman at the desk tells me that I need to go back to the office I dropped the paperwork at (office 2), that the supervisor there needed to take care of our issue. Now, I begin to realize that due to switching over to a mostly internet-based system, the office was not particularly well-equipped to deal with paper applications (we couldn't apply online because we are foreign nationals). It has now been about 30 minutes and it was lunch time. I go back to office 02 and I tell them the story, and the response is "come back at 2pm and we'll see if we can find your PIN." Steph and I were getting cranky so we called the administrative assistant (named Wambui) to get some help. Luckily, she was just in the same building working on our drivers licenses and was only a few blocks away. She came back and now we felt a little more capable of dealing with the many counters and supervisors. All this time steph was working her way to "counter 7" and now she and Wambui got to the front. Wambui is laying into the people there, because clearly they were not able or going to help us. She asks for a supervisor and we are told to wait for mr. office 02 (wearing a nice pink shirt I might add), and that he'd be back at 2 from lunch. We stand in the hallway eating some bread scraps we brought along trying to figure out what on earth was going on. After about 15 minutes, the lunch hour ended and a rush of people who had been waiting outside was let back into the office area. Now we are fed up and ready to get things done. We find Mr Pink Shirt and he clearly is ready to move and show his authority. He grabs a stack of papers and heads over to counter 7. We walk behind the counters and he says, "look through these." Here were about 30 PIN applications, shoved into a folder, and I (and soon about 4 other people) was supposed to look through these myself. Our papers weren't there. This wasn't much of a surprise as I could now see a mob of people looking through, taking, marking and generally mixing up all the applications. At the same time, I watched the people working at counters 1-7 and saw the access code for their computer system, noted they had no password, and wondered if I could get myself a PIN if I just sat at one of the terminals. I decide to not break every law at once, I find Mr. Pink Shirt, now giving orders to people from counters 1-4, and tell him, "its not there." As the only white person there, I wondered if people thought I was getting preferential treatment, but didn't really care.
It dawns on me that the application is lost. I wondered if the whole trip was a waste of time and was about to despair. But never fear! Mr. Pink Shirt finds two blank applications and has Steph and I fill them out. Thankfully, we had brought along copies of our passports (thank God!) which we needed to complete our application. We fill everything out with the help of Wambui and Mr. Pink tells us to come back tomorrow, they'll be ready then. He promptly takes our papers, walks out of the building, and is gone. We are all left wondering if we'll ever see our PIN numbers (or Mr. Pink Shirt) again.
Friday comes, and we are back at KRA. We roll in at 2, knowing nothing will happen after language lessons (done at 1) and before lunch ends (2). We go to office number 2 and ....no Mr. Pink Shirt. The undersecretary there hears my story and directs me to a woman walking in, helping an Indian couple. As soon as they're done, a man barges in and tries to get the supervisor to leave with him. I'm desparately trying to tell her my story before the chance is gone. She tells me to follow her. Back to counters 1-7 again. We again go behind the counter to the application folders. This time, one of the computer-jockies is stamping out cards! They are the PIN cards. I look through the cards and see steph's and mine. The supervisor woman asks, "is that what you want?" I nod my head vigorously. She signs the cards and gives me a clipboard to fill out. It asks for some info I don't have. I wonder if I'm about to come so close to success and still come up short. The supervisor woman is being distracted with 5 other things and I fill out as many of the questions as I can. I watch her and she hands me the cards again asking, "this is what you wanted?" I grab the cards before she can look at the clipboard and walk away with a quick thank you. I make a beeline for the exit before she notices my lack of passport numbers. I'm soon outside without anybody chasing me, so I know I'm home free! Thus ends the story of the Kistlers and their PIN numbers!