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I never thought I’d be the kind of person who pays someone just to get an appointment.

I’m from Tumen, Jilin. I studied metallurgical engineering in Beijing. I make portable coffee cups — small, quiet, barely profitable. My monthly revenue hovers between $10,000 and $50,000. Not enough to sleep well. Not enough to stop worrying about invoices.

I came to Gafsa, Tunisia, last October to register a local entity. Not because I loved the desert heat, or because I believed in North African markets. I came because I thought — maybe here, the rules are simpler. I was wrong.

The system doesn’t work. Not because it’s corrupt. Not because it’s hostile. But because it’s broken.

The Appointment That Never Came

I spent three weeks trying to book an appointment with the Centre de Formalités des Entreprises (CFE) in Gafsa. Not for a visa. Not for a tourist stamp. For a company registration. A basic, legal, official step.

Every day, I refreshed TLScontact. Every day, I checked Almaviva. I set alarms. I cleared my calendar. I told myself: Just one slot. Just one.

I didn’t get one.

I watched other foreigners — mostly Europeans — book appointments in minutes. I asked one of them how. They smiled, shrugged, and said: “I paid someone. Not much. Just to get in the door.”

I didn’t want to believe it. I thought: I’m not rich. I’m not connected. I’m just trying to do business legally.

But then I found the Facebook group: “Tunisian Entrepreneurs in Gafsa - Support & Tips”.

Dozens of posts. All the same:

  • “I’ve been refreshing for 47 days.”
  • “My wife’s medical visa expired because I couldn’t get an appointment.”
  • “I hired a local fixer. He got me in. I cried after.”

One woman wrote:

“I’m not angry at the system. I’m angry that I had to pay to be treated like a human being.”

That’s when I broke. Not because I was desperate.
Because I realized I’d been pretending I wasn’t.

The Hidden Cost of “Official Channels”

Let me be clear: I’m not saying you must pay an intermediary.
I’m saying that if you’re not paying, you’re paying in something else: time.

I lost 28 days.
I missed two supplier meetings.
I delayed my company bank account setup by six weeks.
I slept 3–4 hours a night, checking phone screens like they were prayer beads.

And for what?

A system that says:

“You can register your business.
But only if you’re lucky enough to click the right button at the right second.
Or if you know someone who knows someone who has a friend who works for the clerk who sometimes lets people in early.”

This isn’t corruption.
It’s collapse.

The official channels are overwhelmed. The digital infrastructure is outdated. The staffing is minimal. And the only thing that moves faster than the queue? The desperation.

So people pay.

Not because they’re privileged.
Because they’re tired.

I paid $120 to a local woman in Gafsa who said she “could help with paperwork.” She didn’t promise anything. Didn’t guarantee a date. Just said:

“I’ll call the office. I’ll ask. If they say yes, I’ll tell you. If not, you’re no worse off.”

I didn’t get a receipt.
I didn’t sign a contract.
I didn’t know if she was legit.

But three days later, she texted:

“Jeudi 14h. CFE. Bring your passport. And don’t be late.”

I was there at 13:30.

I walked in. No lines. No waiting.
A clerk looked up, saw my name on a list, and said:

“Ah, yes. You’re the one the secretary called about.”

That’s it.

No bribes. No threats.
Just someone who knew how the system actually worked — not how it was supposed to.

My Reflection: I Was Afraid to Be Real

I’m 32.
I’m a woman.
I’m from a small town in China.
I’ve spent my entire life being told: Don’t stand out. Don’t ask for help. Don’t complain.

So when I started my business, I didn’t tell anyone I was struggling.
I didn’t admit I was scared.
I didn’t say: I don’t know how to do this.

I pretended I had it under control.

But in Gafsa, I had to face it:
I was trying to run a business like I was still in college — quiet, polite, hoping someone would notice me if I just did everything right.

The truth?
In places like this, “doing everything right” doesn’t matter if the system doesn’t let you in.

I didn’t need to be brave.
I needed to be honest.

With myself.
With the process.
With the fact that sometimes, survival looks like paying someone you don’t know.

What I Learned (And What I Wish I’d Known Sooner)

Here’s what I’d tell my past self — if I could go back:

  1. Assume the official portal is broken.
    Don’t waste weeks refreshing TLScontact or Almaviva.
    Instead, spend your first week asking in local expat groups:

    “Who do you use for CFE appointments in Gafsa?”

  2. Ask for names, not guarantees.
    Find someone who says:

    “I used X. They didn’t promise anything. But they called the office. And it worked.”
    That’s the best you can get.

  3. Pay for time, not promises.
    The $120 I paid?
    It wasn’t for a “service.”
    It was for 28 days of my life back.
    That’s worth more than any invoice.

  4. Don’t assume transparency = fairness.
    The system doesn’t favor the rich.
    It favors the persistent.
    And if you’re not persistent — or you’re too tired to be — then you pay for someone who is.

FAQ: What Can You Actually Do?

Q: Can I legally hire an intermediary in Gafsa to book my company registration appointment?

A:

  • Step 1: Search Facebook groups like “Expats in Gafsa” or “Tunisian Business Support.”
  • Step 2: Look for people who say: “I used [Name] — they called the CFE for me.”
  • Step 3: Ask for a WhatsApp number. Talk before paying.
  • Step 4: Pay only after they confirm a specific date and time — not “I’ll try.”
  • Key point: No formal contract is needed. But keep screenshots of messages.
  • Official path: Still try TLScontact daily. But don’t wait for it.

Q: Is there a way to avoid intermediaries and still get an appointment?

A:

  • Step 1: Go to the CFE office in person on Monday morning at 8:00 AM — before opening.
  • Step 2: Bring all documents printed, in French and Arabic.
  • Step 3: Ask for the secretary (not the clerk). Say: “I’m a foreign entrepreneur. I’ve been trying for weeks. Can you help me get on the list?”
  • Step 4: Be calm. Be polite. Offer tea (yes, really — they appreciate it).
  • Key point: This works maybe 1 in 5 times. But it’s free.

Q: How do I know if a payment for appointment help is safe?

A:

  • Step 1: Use mobile money (MTN Mobile Money or Ooredoo Cash).
  • Step 2: Never pay in cash unless you’re with someone you trust.
  • Step 3: Ask for a simple receipt: “Received $120 for appointment assistance in Gafsa — [Name], [Date].”
  • Step 4: If they refuse, walk away.
  • Key point: Payment safety isn’t about legality. It’s about paper trail.

Final Thoughts: This Isn’t About Gafsa

This is about what happens when systems fail quietly.

No one’s talking about it in the press.
No one’s making a documentary.
But every day, entrepreneurs like me are paying strangers just to be treated like adults.

I don’t know if this will change.
I don’t know if the government will fix it.

But I do know this:
If you’re trying to build something — anywhere — and the system feels like it’s holding its breath…
you’re not alone.

And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is admit you can’t do it alone.

延伸阅读

🔸 Tunisians increasingly pay intermediaries to book official appointments amid system overload 🗞️ 来源: Lvga.com – 📅 2026-04-06
🔗 阅读原文

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