Within an hour, Yasmine’s father, wearing a djellaba and looking confused, appeared on a consulate iPad screen. A notary in Marrakech held his hand. Yasmine, via a phone held to the screen, translated the legal jargon. Omar sat in the waiting area, patiently knitting a wool cap with his arthritic fingers.
Yasmine checked her phone for the tenth time. She had taken a day off from her marketing job in La Défense to be here. Behind the thick glass doors of the consulate, the line snaked forward like a tired serpent. She clutched a green folder containing her father’s passport, her own ID, and the procuration forms. procuration consulat maroc
The Consulate General of Morocco in Paris, a bustling hub of administrative activity. The air smells of mint tea, anxiety, and old paperwork. Within an hour, Yasmine’s father, wearing a djellaba
“Dossier?” asked the security guard. Omar sat in the waiting area, patiently knitting
Mme. Leila stopped. She pushed her glasses up. “Scanned? No, Mademoiselle. For a procuration at the consulate, the principal—your father—must appear in person before an officer, or we must receive a notarized original from Morocco. We do not accept pixels.”
Omar chuckled. “You young people. You think we old ones don’t know the internet. Since COVID, the Moroccan administration created a video verification system for procurations for those who cannot travel. If the consulate here has the equipment, your father can appear via secure video link from a registered notary’s office in Marrakech. He signs on a tablet. The notary prints. The consulate here witnesses.”
“Monsieur Omar is correct,” Mme. Leila said. “It is called visio-procédure . It is slow. It takes two hours. But it is legal.”