I’m sitting in the public works office of the council right now, trying to get some work done. The radio is blaring “Wind of Change” by Scorpions, making it hard to concentrate. Two guys are browsing Facebook, with one of them casually sitting on the other’s desk. Two women have decided it’s too hot inside and are enjoying the breeze on the balcony overlooking the lake.

I’ve been here for an hour already. I don’t mind waiting; I came prepared with my laptop, internet modem, and charger. I’m ready to stay all day if I have to. What am I waiting for? A letter. A simple piece of paper that I was promised 10 days ago.

Ten days ago, I took the director of public works to my 90-acre development to show him around. I had to pick him up and drive him around because getting a council car was apparently too difficult. I presented him with two options: either they benefit the whole village by getting land for a football field, access to our roads, water from our well, and space for a school or health center, which they would then maintain, or we handle everything privately, and only our residents get access to these services with a service charge.

As we toured the land, he nodded and sweated excessively. I needed his approval to split my land into 250 parcels and get deeds for each. He said he wanted to estimate the cost and potential additional property taxes for the village. Fair enough. I asked if he could approve the division of my private property into 250 plots if we went private and it didn’t cost the village anything. He agreed.

Back at his office, I typed my application on his computer. He promised to write a letter on behalf of the council to request the cadaster to split the land and submit it with my application that afternoon.

A week later, I checked with the cadaster office, and they hadn’t received any letter. I went back to the council guy, and he claimed he had submitted it. When I asked who he gave it to, he couldn’t provide a clear answer. I had to gently ask him to resend it and email me a copy. He promised to do it that afternoon.

I believed him and left. But when the power went out, and everyone was outside cooling off, he didn’t follow through. He did nothing. I know people are busy, but it’s frustrating when someone lies to your face repeatedly.

Two days later, I’m back in his office, waiting again. Five workers are now gossiping and laughing. I pay taxes to support them, but I’m pretty sure I won’t get my letter. There will likely be another obstacle or missing paper. Maybe he didn’t like my insistence on no bribes. After all, a friend who works on government projects told me about similar issues when councils were slow to request aid.

I’ve learned it’s a game with these guys. Once you leave, they dismiss your case. It’s depressing, but I plan to outlast him. It’s been an hour since I started writing this, and now only three guys are chatting about sports and drinking. Another is whistling to Radiohead’s “Creep.” How did this village ever get streets and electricity?

Update: After two hours of waiting, a guy tells me the boss won’t be in until tomorrow. I finally get the correct number and call him to set up an appointment. He invites the cadaster guy to confirm he needs to sign my letter. After calling out his previous lies, he makes an excuse about the internet being down, though his colleagues were on Facebook. I draft the letter for him to copy onto official paper. After some resistance from the other guy, he finally signs it. Now, my architect informs me it also needs the mayor’s signature. Sigh.