Reflections on sunday

Being “de-wired” by the minute! As someone said, they are ‘trinkets that tease simple minds’. Think of it, what are these toys that have become so indispensable to us? Take the mobile phone, I-pad, I-pod, notepad (whatever you call them), lap-top and myriad other modern-day gadgets that my aging mind cannot register – why can’t we imagine life without them? This cynicism started to creep into my system the moment I realised I’d lost four cellular phones to street urchins in two weeks! Of course, that doesn’t speak kindly of the strength of my mind. But a man has to have time to think up another tall tale to tell for a living. Put simply, when I was thinking up what to write here for my daily bread, petty thieves were busy relieving me of such gadgets. First, the unflattering commentary on my person. What kind of simpleton must I be that plain kids can play the same trick on me without raising my warning antennae? And yet, having practically lived on the streets of bigger cities like Kampala and Nairobi, I thought I’d seen all the trickeries that street-wise swindlers could cook up. To me, the laid-back Kigali village bumpkins – which I took the Kigali smart-alecs to be – had no trick that could lick me. Alas, my bloated ego was severely punctured! I was in a car in a traffic jam, with my phone lying in the hollow between the two front seats. Then a kid to my left called out in that familiar, broken Kinyarwanda-Kiswahili of Kigali: “Muzee, the tyre!” I stuck out my neck to check on the tyres but they were intact. Then immediately my brain was alerted and I looked at the hollow. Too late, the phone was gone! But, at least, I’d learnt something. So, two days later when I was in town, I made sure the window glasses were raised. And when a kid to my left knocked on my window, I turned confidently knowing his accomplice on the right would get nothing. When I checked and again found the phone gone, I realised I was irredeemable! Incorrigible me, couldn’t I have remembered to lock the doors? The following week… (I can hear your groan)…yes, there was a next time. I had locked all doors, raised all glasses and was waiting to enter the main street. Then I heard a popping noise like we used to hear in Chemistry classes when identifying hydrogen. Well, I knew there was no hydrogen in the streets, so I was sure it was a tyre burst. I pressed the central-lock-system button but before I could even step down, I resignedly sat down again. Definitely, my brain was kaput! Unbelievable as it may be, there was a fourth time! But no, lest you unleash agents of mob justice on me, I’ll spare you the disgrace. Today, no town visits for me. And even confident you, I’d urge you to desist from carrying any fancy gadget around, if you don’t want your over-confidence to be like that in the Runyankore adage. You may remember what happened when God urged some part to wait for a cover and it ignored the plea…. Anyway, at least for the sake of old geezers, police should think up tricks to counter these petty thieveries. All the efforts, however, should be on top of individuals being vigilant. In fact, there is a simple way of preventing the theft of mobile phones. Every individual with such a set should be aware of it: on your phone, press *, then # and then enter 06 and press #.You’ll get the serial number of your set. Armed with that, police can track your phone and retrieve it, failing which they can ‘burn’ (whatever technical term) it so that it ceases to function. Police can only help publicise this information on FM radio stations. But why all the fuss, anyway? In my time, we had no such encumbrances and yet communicated equally well. I’ve told you about Gakara, the umumotsi (equal to ‘town crier’) of our area. Gakara was a ‘mobile phone’ that needed not be mobile. His vocals did the mobile part and what he needed was to give them the necessary impetus. The act of giving them that impetus only required him to kneel on his bed, bend over and call out to the object of his message. Understandably, his fee was not small beer. You needed to ensure that his beer stock was catered for and that his throat well oiled or, to be exact, ‘liquored’. Some inconvenience and expenses, yes, but you were saved the hustle of moving around looking like a wired-up robot. Otherwise, his voice could carry to the most distant ridges. If your desired ridge was too distant for his vocals, he’d relay the message to the next mumotsi. All the bamotsi always co-operated so that a message could be transmitted to any corner of the earth. This, apart from saving one from ‘clothing’ oneself with gadgets, was not cancer-inducing. It was more environment-friendly and created employment. It was great investment. Me, give me umumotsi in place of a mobile phone anytime! E-mail: ingina2@yahoo.co.uk Blog: https://ingina.wordpress.com