ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Non-Pretty Telecom Ramblings

It wasn’t always likely that I would have spent half a year in one of the world’s biggest telecommunication’s markets – the United States of America – without a mobile phone. Surely, six months ago, I couldn’t have envisioned my current position. Two feet away from my left hand at this moment is a telephone that could only remind me of Nigeria. Not even the current day Nigeria, but the Nigeria of 1990. The telephone is hooked into the wall via a transparent cable. It has a dialing pad attached to the receiver, and it doesn’t have an answering machine, and it has a coiling cord that always used to give me nightmares. The last time I came across a phone with this kind of winding cable connecting the receiver to the box was in my grandfather’s house in the early to mid-nineties when we made the best of times by making prank calls to local Fire and Police Stations telling them of a raging fire. I therefore could not immediately believe when I walked into my designated apartment back in August that I was indeed in the United States of America. It was a kind of culture shock to come in contact with a land line phone of this ancient kind. There is usually a three-lettered abbreviation to respond to this kind of encounter. I went with OMG!

Cut to six months later, I am surprised to have survived it. My little nephews and nieces who are used to Nigeria’s now ubiquitous mobile phone services might be shocked now to see that phones exist in this kind of form. The only reason I can think of why I backed down from my promise to buy myself one of either the Samsung Omnia, the Nokia Maemo, the Apple iPhone, the Palm Pre, the Google HTC or the Blackberry among so many others new inventions competing for attention then was the contract system that made it a prerequisite that one had a payment plan with a major telecommunications network before getting a good smart phone. No can do, I said to Apple, which was my very first choice, and effectively walked away from the rest of them. There was no way I could sign up for a two year plan when my programme was going to end in eleven months. For phone calls home therefore, I depended on Skype, and Rebtel. For text messages, there was Skype, and my good old smart Nokia that followed me from across the ocean. For calls within campus, there remained my good old ancient line now hooked to the wall. It works just fine except I manage to step out of the room when the incoming call rings.

Needless to say, the non-possession of an American-network-powered mobile phone has never failed to generate very long conversations within friends and acquaintances whenever I bring it up. “Why don’t you just buy one of those little mobiles that you can recharge and use at will without a contact? Walmart has them,” I’ve been told. “I just can’t care less,” I respond, “In Nigeria, you can just walk up to any shop and buy a sim card without a contract, then buy the kind of smart mobile phone you want and still get all the services you require; a service you can walk away from at any time without loss. In America, it’s well almost an impossibility without a certain discomfort. Even the new iPad comes with the prerequisite of an AT&T contract. I mean what kind of exclusivity is that? Thankfully, I have been able to do without them all. Not like my friend Vera however. Read what she has to say about a phone contract with T-mobile. It is not just the figures, but the whole thing about a contract that just ticks me off.

It is just the sorry sight of this land line on my bed that reminds me of why Nigerians quickly got rid of the military government, and welcomed a civilian one. Today, even for “third world” Nigeria, I would never buy a phone like this. Not when I can buy the new contract-free Google Nexus combine it with an MTN simcard that costs less than a dollar. This sight reminds me of why I am a true ghoul in the forest!

PS: Amount so far raised via KTravulaid for Jos, for Haiti = $230, out of which $100 has already been sent to Jos. Thanks to Dee, Clarissa and Tee.

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Adventures in (Dis)honesty

There’s no reason why I should be impressed, really. This is how things should be in a normal society. But I guess that the event has sufficiently moved me to write about it only because a few months ago, an even far less careless slip had cost me so much more. What happened then was that I had gone to Six Flags for the first time, with friends, and at some point decided that I would join some of them in swimming. Now my small point-and-shoot Canon camera has always had a spot in its pouch around my waist. My belt always held it firm, and it was easier to bring out at the slightest notice of any memorable sight. Then I had to remove my jeans in public since none of us wanted to go into the locker rooms. We were all outside, beside a tall tree full of leaves. The process must have been: remove shoes, remove socks, unbuckle belt, unbuckle jeans, remove jeans, take everything off the ground and proceed to the pool. Approximately thirty seconds later, when I must have taken not more than twenty steps from that spot, it struck me that my camera was missing, and there was only one place where it could have been: that spot outside the locker room. I went back there and it was missing, for good. I made a report, asked around, hoped and prayed, even searched Craigslist for lost items, but I didn’t get it back. It wasn’t so much for the camera but for the photos in it. In any case, there was no reason for me to have hoped that such a crowded public place like Six Flags would have been a safe place to leave a camera for that long, even for less than a minute. It kind of reminded me of some places in Lagos.

That could be why I may have been impressed when I arrived in class on Wednesday and found that my iPod earphones were still on the front table, exactly where I had forgotten to take it off from after the class on Monday. I have tried to rationalize it this way: the table is used mostly by Professors when they stand in front of the class, and it is not likely that any Professor would fancy a used $30 Apple earphone that doesn’t belong to them. I made a similar rationalization for the many students who had used the class between 3pm on Monday and 1.30pm on Wednesday, yet I did not doubt that a few of them must have noticed it lying there idly seemingly belonging to no one, and just ignored it. I should really not have been impressed. Nothing extraordinary has happened, right? Wrong. Right. I have no idea, but I am not taking up the challenge of my now mischievous self to make an experiment with my iPod classic. Place it carelessly in a public spot and come back after two days to see if it’s still there. That stuff cost me $250!

One of the very first things Papa Rudy told me the first day he gave me his bike to take home was this: “Never ever forget to lock the bicycle up whenever you’re outside, cos they’re gonna steal it. That’s why I’ve given you a lock with it.” He spoke in earnest and I did not doubt his conviction for a second that the bike would be stolen if I ever left it outside the house without fastening it properly with a solid lock. The second time I heard this kind of talk was from Holly, my friend the artist. It was Halloween night. According to her, all the times her bicycles had been stolen, it has always been on Halloween nights, and not always because she didn’t lock them properly. People always seemed bolder on that prank night that they get away, it seems, with anything. For that, she had warned me sternly to not think about coming out of the house with my bicycle – lock or no luck – for that one night. Last week when Mafoya and I went to the swimming pool with Ben, I went with a lock in my bag. But when we were putting our stuff in the available lockers in the gymnasium locker room, Ben looked at me calmly and said, “You don’t have to worry about that. Nobody’ll mess with your shit,” and I sighed, then smiled. My “shit” included a passport, an iPod, my wallet and cards, my camera and some cash, so I shrugged and locked it firmly away anyway. It felt better to be safe than sorry, but we both came back to find our things still intact. I remember having lost my bike helmet on campus more than two times since August. I always found it at the same spot where I left it, untouched. It might be safe to say that this campus environment is generally a safe one for personal items.

The last time it snowed here, I had gone out for a walk behind my apartment when I noticed a mobile phone in the snow around a series of small footsteps that went out towards the parking lot. Nobody else in sight, and the phone wasting away in the snow, I picked it up and took it into my apartment. Later in the evening, I told Mafoya about it, and we both waited for the owner to show up. He did about seven days later while I was out, and was very grateful that someone had kept his mobile phone for him even though he had no idea where he had lost it. He was a teenager or so. Now, I wonder whether, like me at the sight of my earphones lying there on the table, he was impressed that nobody had taken the item and made it theirs. Perhaps he was relieved, and grateful, that it didn’t take him too long to locate his property after countless calls to the number and no one answering. (I’d left it in the living room and I always missed the calls, not deliberately.) Or perhaps he took it for granted as a contented citizen, believer in the power of good: “Nobody needs another person’s phone anyway. This is America. Everyone has their own mobile phones…

I would never know, because I never met him.

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In A Country Of Opposites

14082009870Sitting home alone at the begining of a Labour Day weekend in the United States, I think back to my first day in Cougar Village when I mistakenly locked myself out of my apartment after going out on a needless stroll. There’s only one reason that I can now offer for my inability to immediately open the door when I came back with the right key. In America, things are not always what they are back home, and this doesn’t have anything to do with disparity in development but only a matter of national individuality, and difference. The American nation was built on deliberate indifference and sometimes outright rebellion from all things conventional or – let me say it – British. It is well documented in books and literatures the American preference for simpler spelling and speech forms in written English and why LABOR misses the British U, and why COLOR, BURNED and LEARNED are no longer written as COLOUR, BURNT and LEARNT as we still do back home. American lawyers don’t wear the gown and wigs as we do at home, still gullibly aping an old British tradition that scoffs common sense of the African weather-influenced dressing style. Thinking about that fact right now, I do not envy the accused, or even the witness, in a Nigerian electoral dispute court case who has to stand for hours in the middle of scores of sweating legal practitioners in a heavily crowded room with camera lights, body heat, and overworking ceiling fans. At least in Britain where the gown-wearing practice began, they have the cold weather as an excuse for such elaborate clothing for their lawyers.

The reason why I could not open the door that day were two, as I later found out: one I had only one key and I couldn’t immediately fathom that it was possible for just one key could open the two locks on the door. I have since discovered that the same key also opened my room, a little store room in the corridor of the house allocated to my apartment, and my post office box situated within the Commons Building Post Office on the other side of Cougar Village, just two minutes away. The second reason of course was that I was busy turning the key to the right within the lock, as I always did at home, when I should have been turning it to the left. Whoever came up with the idea of turning everything British around must have been a friggin’ genius. The light comes on when you push the switches on the wall up, not down. The toilet’s flushing lever is situated not on the right side of the tank but on the left. And to put off my bed lamp, I would keep turning the lamp’s switch clockwise, just like I do when putting it on, instead of turning it anti-clockwise to switch it off. Besides, it’s called “counter-clockwise” in American English, and unless I intend to unscrew the knob, I only need to keep turning it clockwise to switch it on, then off, then on again, ad infinitum. Need I mention the intersting American sockets and their inability to accommodate British-like plugs like that of my Nokia phone charger without an adaptor. I mean, in Nigeria, you could still plug the American-styled flat plugs into the general sockets, right?

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There are many noticeable opposites I’ve found since I landed here than can be listed in a short post. Some tended towards simplification, (personally, I think the British are sometimes too stuck-up in conservatism to accept much needed change. More on this later.) while the others are just different for no other reason than plain American individualism. A few more are just plain ludicrous. In the whole of the world, the United States is the only country that writes its dates months first, so today’s date in America is 09/05/09. I don’t write like this, by the way. I also noticed while in Boston and Rhode Island how everyone was always on the phone while driving. It looked almost like an incurable disease that seemed to have infected everyone at the same time. One hand on the steering wheel, and the other holding a mobile phone to the ear. And what about the big healthcare debate of the moment which has had the president reducing his policy message to these few words on twitter and facebook: “…thinks no one should die because they cannot afford health care, and no one should go broke because they get sick.” in order to get the message as clearly as possible to those in opposition who have opposed his healthcare reform with all the strength they have got, and all the vile? I am now hearing of parents in the United States who have sworn to prevent their children from listening to the President’s planned televised broadcast to school children next week because they believe the President is only trying to brainwash the little children into his “socialist” policy. What? Yes, you heard right. Here is a country of so much laws, yet so little order in things that should ordinarily amount from common sense. Well, there’s a name for that. No not madness, silly. It’s called Democracy. It’s called Freedom!

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