Friday, October 31, 2014

Tecno, yes? No!

Tecno, yes? No!

I saw the Tecno Z not too long ago in one of the alpha phone dealerships of computer village, SLOT. I was immediately impressed by two things at first glance: the design and specs on one hand and the price on the other. Boasting flagship specs for half of what other OEMs ask for their own flagship devices was something that stood in its favour. And it got plenty attention for that alone. (OEMs - Original Equipment Manufacturers eg Samsung, HTC, Sony, LG, Motorola, etc)

Apart from less serious manufacturers (I'm looking at y'all Gionee, Infinix, Be, iTel, Innjoo, etc) you can't find an alternative to Tecno at that price range (50k +) and the Phantom Z shows that the company has matured in the period it's been known to make Android devices. Tecno's been able to put their experience from the early Phantoms (A and A+) to good use in getting a lot of things right in the Z. I don't know why they copied the iPhone with that button in the middle of the phone just under the screen but *insert a tea-drinking Kermit here*

Now, to the fun part, the one reason I don't buy Tecno personally. They have no plans to update devices to newer versions of Android. Lollipop has just been released (Android v5.0) and no existing Tecno device will get it, no matter how cheap or expensive. But more recent flagships of other OEMs will be updated in due time, with Nexus devices (like the 2½-year-old Nexus 4 which I use) being one of the very first devices to see the upgrade.

Tecno will have to wait for new hardware to be available before crafting Lollipop into these newer devices which will then be made available for purchase in either late first quarter of 2015 or even the second quarter.

Meaning those who get brand new Tecno phones this year or early next year will be stuck with that older Android version for life. For someone like me, who likes being on the cutting edge of tech, that's not such a tidy deal. You know?

Monday, October 13, 2014

Mothers, Fathers and Sons

His father’s voice was rising. Ron knew the sequence of events so well. This was an early warning signal to the complete loss of control. Ron also knew that to prevent anything physical, this was the best time to stop arguing. As much as he wanted his father to see reason with him about his explanations, it was risky to persist. He drew a long breath, heaved a sigh, turned around and walked towards the door.

“Don’t you dare walk out on me, Ron,” his father threatened, his voice dropping a few decibels and sounding particularly ominous. It was made more dramatic by the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Ron did not turn around. And just before he closed the door leading outside his father’s house, he said, “Goodnight dad.”

Outside, a cold draft wafted past. He could feel the rain coming in the chill of the air. He heard a door slam somewhere inside the house. He shrugged. Pocketing his palms, not so much from the cold but for thinking, he crossed the street of the house and began to make his way home.

Long after he was undressed and nestled in bed at home, he still mulled over the same thought that preoccupied his mind all the way home. He knew his father’s proclivity for overreaction but could not have thought that he was not going to be allowed to defend himself. It was the last thing on his mind when he got to his father’s house – a fight with his dad.

He was just beginning to break the news of his new job at the medical facility and what it entailed to his grand mum when his dad had come into the sitting room.

“Did you just say medical facility?” his father had interrupted. A call came in for his grandma and she left to answer it.

“Oh sure, dad. That new big hospital at the junction leading to the Church,” Ron excitedly answered, mistaking the urgency in his father’s voice for shared happiness. This was because of how difficult it had been to get a job for someone with a degree in Public Relations.

That was why his father’s frown and next question, “How come?” came as a shock. His trying to quickly recover from that was not fast enough because his father’s followed it with, “So, you’re not aware of the medical crisis in the country and how people are trying to avoid anything medical that you want to go and kill yourself working in the hospital?”

Not waiting for the words Ron was searching for to formulate a reply, he went on, “Or because the hospital is new, you think Ebola will excuse it and say, ‘Oya, lemme allow you to get old small before I will come back?’ eh?”

It was not a question meant to be answered because he only paused for the dramatic impact of his words. Then his voice lowered as he went in for the kill, “Look, let me tell you, we didn’t send you to school so that you will come and die at your first place of work. Lai lai, God forbid. I will not fold my hands and watch you make that kind of mistake. Not when I can stop it.”

Ron had never felt more dumbfounded. He was going to be at the administrative segment of the hospital, handling customer-hospital paperwork, liaising between patients and hospital via social media and phone calls. Even at that, the hospital had gone far to emphasise personal and environmental hygiene in and around his office and went to great lengths to provide all they needed to maintain a decent working condition. Therefore, he was in more danger from contacting Ebola outside the office than he ever was inside.

He searched for words to capture these thoughts and convey them to his father but like wispy phantoms, they eluded his grasp when he reached for them. Hard as he tried, he could only afford a moronic stare.

Somewhere in the house, he heard his grandmother’s voice, in spurts, meaning she was still on the phone. He surmised that it may be one of their relations abroad. He wished she were here to buy him time to conjure a fitting defence. If it really was an international call, then he would have no help from her anytime soon. He was in dire straits.

Believing the matter settled and wanting closure, his father coughed to get his attention and asked, “Have you heard?” It was Ron’s cue, if ever he was going to defend anything.
“Excuse me, sir,” he began. “But…”

“But?” his father blurted not allowing him go any farther. “But? But what?” Again, these were only rhetorical. “You want to say you didn’t hear anything I said?” He shook his head giving himself time to catch his breath. “If you want to kill yourself, are there no better ways?” he clicked his tongue to emphasise the sarcasm. “Just say Ebola is hungrying you and we’d understand. How can anyone with half a brain be going to get a hospital job at such a time. We send you go school go read medicine? What the meaning of all these, eh? Where’s your sense sef?”

Yes. The voice had gone up. Nothing could bring it down until he could return to calmer thoughts himself, usually after physically bringing about a restoration of the recalcitrant to sensible reasoning along the line of what he considered sensible. That was how he raised his children. It was the rod unspared to bring the child up as he or she should grow. And that was the point where Ron knew he had one move left. To leave. Quickly.

Another low thunder rumbled across, bringing Ron back to the four walls of his chamber. In his reverie, the power supply had been cut in anticipation of a heavy downpour. He welcomed the thought of rain. At least, It will drench the foul mood he was in. He still felt bad not being allowed to talk. How wrong he was believing that being all grown up, his father would begin to appreciate the fact that he was responsible enough to be treated maturedly. But old habits die hard. To his father, he was always “Ron, my boy.”

He could appreciate his father’s concern but would have loved for nothing more than to be appreciated in return. He believed his father cared and that is what drove him to vehemently demand that Ron left the job. But as usual, even from back in Ron’s secondary school days, Ron just wished his father listened and it pained him tonight that even at his age, nothing had changed.

He said his night prayers. The argument, if it was not too one-sided to be so referred, had occupied his mind for too long and he was not going to let it steal his sleep as well. Lightening streaked across his window, illuminating his room in a flash. Another one followed in quick succession, casting shadows across the adjacent wall from the stems of a giant tree in front of his room. He closed his eyes. But no matter how many sheep he counted or how many times he tossed about, sleep just was not budging. He gave up. He got up, dressed and left the house. He was going to go back and have that talk with his dad. Come what may.

Twice he turned to go back into his room and twice, he decided against it. Standing next to the tree, he steeled himself. He stung his right knuckles with a punch to the tree’s bark and made his way to his father’s.

There, the first thing he saw shocked him. He found his father alone at the front porch. Although Ron knew it was one of his favourite pastimes, he never recalled seeing him there any time later than 7pm when Ron knew he would get up, eat supper while watching the Network News before going in for the night. But it was now past 9pm. Indeed way past what he considered his old man’s bedtime. Quickly recovering from his shock, he was happy he was not going to ask that his dad be woken up as planned. Now, he quickly began his prepared speech.

“Please dad, allow me to explain to you the details…”

“Aren’t you going to even greet your father again?”

And for the second time that day, his father knocked out the air from his lungs. The tone was not bellicose. Amicable, almost. Another bout of moronic staring was beginning when he quickly checked himself with a stammered “Go--oood ev---eening, sir.” Ron could not even imagine why he had not greeted him at first as was his custom.

“Ehen, good evening Ron, my boy.”

Huh? Where did this come from? He shook his head to clear the cobwebs of confusion beginning to becloud his senses. Just then, the door to the front porch opened and his grandma walked out.

“Won’t you…,” she began before she noticed him and with an “Oh, Ron,” she folded him in a warm embrace but quickly recoiled in horror.

“How come you’re still in such wet clothes? Did you have to come in the rain? And shouldn’t you have got out of the clothes the moment you got here? Take them off immediately.”

Not pausing for a breath, she turned on Jon, Ron’s father. “Tell me you didn’t notice him come in the rain. You see what you’ve caused? Did you have to tell him to come tonight? I hope you’ve apologised?”

As Ron stood there in his briefs, he understood the turn of events. His father had not called him but his chastised façade meant he had gone through the sequence of his anger and was now sombre. Ron guessed his grandma’s influence was responsible. When she had gone in with his wet clothes after giving him warmer replacements from Jon’s wardrobe, she left them to discuss.

Later that night, when Ron laid down to sleep, he blessed the memory of his mother whom his father had admitted missing during their chat. And just before he closed his eyes, Ron recalled the look on his dad’s face and laughed at the fact that his dad remained a child to his grandmother as he to his father.

In the morning, with dad’s blessings and grandma’s love, he went to work in the “new big hospital at the junction leading to the Church.”

Monday, October 6, 2014

Smartphone Users and "Ringxiety"

Do you sometimes hear you phone ring, vibrate or play that sound you hear when there's a notification yet, when you check, there really was no call nor did you get any notification? There, you're witness to a phantom call/vibration and may have "ringxiety".

Calm those nerves however! It's not fatal. Not yet, at least *winks*

It's a novel area even for those involved in the psychological undertones of the sensation. They explain that unlike generations before who knew never to expect a call when they're out and about because the contraption wasn't mobile nor wireless and was on the table at home or in the office, people in today's increasingly connected and wireless world have become attuned to expect a call at anytime.

This has worked to configure the brain into such an expectant mode where it tries to balance the psychological interpretation of whether or not the sound heard or the vibe felt corresponds to the ringtone or the vibration of an incoming call.

Like in every other aspect of psychological interpretation, there are "hits" and there are "misses"; hits when the interpretation is spot on, and indeed there was a notification waiting for you when you reach for the phone; or misses where it was just a phantom call or vibe. They conclude that more misses are recorded in noisier conditions where the mind has to work extra to differentiate sensations and pinpoint it's origin than in quieter environments, but do not dismiss the "ringxiety" that can still be recorded in quieter places when one is expecting a call or message.

Give yourself a break sometimes and turn that thing off. Use "Airplane Mode" if you prefer. You'd be glad you did. Thank me later.

*phone vibrates* Yo! Catch you later, lemme see who it is.

Friday, October 3, 2014

Politics That We Like

I shared the text of Fashola's independence speech where he criticised those who were taking the glory of Nigeria's containment of the Ebola Virus Disease for themselves. He proceeded to mention the names of those who really "saw Ebola". Then, from out of left side, he's being accused of being political. Oh, is that now a sin?

I will not rule out any political undertone from any speech delivered by any politician. That's who they are: POLITICIANs. It's what they do: POLITICS. However, the people are rational enough to look at the content of what they say. What does it purpose to serve? This here statement, for example, serves to give honour to whom it is due. It brings to the fore those who made heroic sacrifices, people who, if a person of Fashola status didn't mention, would have largely remained anonymous. People that, in other climes, will be publicly celebrated so that other Nigerians will be encouraged to want to selflessly serve the fatherland.

We have no sense of patriotism because not only have we grown to understand that there's no glory in being selfless and that no one should care for anyone but himself, we also have not seen the public adulation and  recognition of those who have placed country first, even at the cost of their lives, whether they be uniformed women and men or bloody civilians.

That was why I thought it wise to post the full text with names and their acts of service in the dangerous battle to make sure those of us far removed from the danger, those of us ignorantly criticising medical workers for going on strike so that government can improve the health climate and working environment for all our good, can survive and be proud enough to "gloat" that Nigeria survived the EVD.

Let this kind of politics continue, if it yields similar results.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

To Gloat or Naah?

For someone considered ultimately anti-government and unpatriotic, it was somewhat refreshing to be embraced yesterday by "governmenters" and vilified for gloating by travellers on the other path. Anyone who took seriously to heart my "patriotic" gloating over Nigeria's need to give Americans a taste of their own pills by extremely screening them before they are allowed into the country, needs a refresher course on "The Person of Jude Obafemi".

Let it be clear: I kid (or better still, "was kidding").

How Nigeria wan do am na? Let us imagine for a second that there even was the will on the part of the government to even try it. I know, I know, it's farfetched, but let's allow that conjecture, the structure of international politics no go gree. Real politick, which is politics in terms of national interests, without fancy idealism or ethics - lies in favour of the US. The implication is that it wouldn't be in our national interests to want to be seen ostracising Uncle Sam. Yimu all you like, Nigeria is in no position to call the shots where America is concerned. As the PhD presido had earlier remarked, "America will know."

Thus, singling out Americans for screening because of the rarity in Texas is as foolhardy as going to look for our crashed satellite in Space using a keke Napep refurbished for space travel by the Directorate of National Planning. Safe journey.

Yea. That was to bring those who sent me messages congratulating me for gloating back down to earth. Now, to attend to those about to gloat that America is sending a team to study Nigeria's containment of the Ebola virus, leggo!

It is highly commendable that Nigeria, with the assistance of the international community and the uncharacteristic efficiency shown by the Ministry of Health and Lagos State government plus the personal heroic sacrifices of a few, contained the virus. The briefings that more than helped to calm public panic from the Minister of Health was a breath of fresh air unlike any we've experienced from government. To call it unprecedented would be stating the bloody obvious. It rekindled the hope of a better tomorrow, if things are done as should be. America took notice. That's how interesting it was. That's where the interesting bit stops.

Let's take a breather and see why. Pause to consider the response of two different mindsets here. The country that pulled it off doesn't stop for a while to ponder how it did it so that it can document it for posterity. It rather sees it as an opportunity to raise it's shoulders like the cock preparatory to mount the hen; an opportunity to walk around the block telling anyone with a listening ear that they beat the bully of the neighborhood black and blue and must nowtofore be greeted as Lord of the Mayor and Master.

On the other hand however is America, always intent to improve, to learn, to be better at it's best and to leave no chance unexplored in it's quest for excellence. It has witnessed a country contain the virus and wants to add the knowledge of how it happened to it's already acquired body of work in that area, so it doesn't just do as well as Nigeria but better. Hence, it chooses to learn and improve upon that which it will discover, if any.

No point saying who'd be better off tomorrow. It's black and white. And you can keep your gloating at home.

So, congratulations Nigeria. Welcome America.

(Note that all conspiratorial inferences about the EVD were kept off this piece on purpose?)

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Google's Doodle on Nigeria's 54th

This is us.

Whether we feel insulted or slighted, it is us. It doesn't pretend to mingle with the flashy dazzle and drums rollout high up there in different city capitals and Abuja where the paparazzi tumble one over the other to get those exclusive front-page winner pics that conspire to deceive the world that the oil boom really glitters around this resource endowed nation. Naaah. The doodle leaves all those for the soft-sell Decepticons.

Rather, the doodle elects to reflect the life of the hussle that defines the true Nigerian spirit. Across the country, those who still can, will fly the flag or don dresses with our national colours and whisper some words of prayer for the country, mixed with the legendary "Happy New Month" tradition while enduring the hassles that come with public transportation in one of the tripartite means so depicted.

And the best part? They smile through it all. Fela may be remembered in all these, for better than most, contemporaries and all, he best captured the Nigerian: SUFFERIN' AND SMILIN'.

That is us. For the 54th time.