Fresh from high school, I still didn’t see the need for a phone.
I could tune in to a radio station and listen. Now that I had free time, I noticed a pattern. Kiss FM, for instance, could repeat a song around three times a day. This was after I was done with house chores and flipping a few pages from my present read.
Having a phone was an option.
My other option before it all went south was getting a bank account. I had whimsically applied to become a polling clerk and was accepted. My national identity card and MOCK exam slip were the only official documents I wielded. After the first day of training, they wanted us to get a bank account.
No cash.
I had to open a bank account. A week later, the national results were announced. I passed. The call came from Equity. I was to work as a cashier for a few months, make something enough to pay my campus fees, and satisfy my pockets and stomach. But before that, I had to get a phone.
Why?
Because the training preceding full incorporation into the company was a week long. Seven days away from home. Seven days I will never forget. Or was it more? I can’t recall. Time flew fast. What I remember, however, was the first girl who asked for my number.
0734…
She stopped me midway.
An Airtel number?
She asked in puzzlement.
Choosing the service provider was an option. But after her question, I had to change.
Safaricom became an obligation.
Parking, Safaricom, getting a car, QR-code menus, and concerts
*Utazoea — Swahili for familiarity or getting used to something or someone.
When an option turns into an obligation, choices are made for you. Nassim Nicholas Taleb would consider this an asymmetrical rule dominating over other rules.
Think of the contractor. They have received the blueprints of a building. It’s to be situated somewhere in the heart of the city. Since cities are not cities in the present-day without cars, they have to include a parking lot. Have to. You have no choice.
In the past, parking was an option. You could park where you wanted and if you wanted to. Parking fees have now been introduced. Establishments are making money off it because parking space is no longer an option for the car owner. It’s an obligation. If a car is your primary transport means, then you have to park it somewhere. Safety comes first. You’d rather pay and ensure it’s safe than risk and come back to find your side mirrors missing. Or worse.
Talking about cars, a man, allegedly, needs to have a car. I have the same sentiments for cars as I did for a mobile phone when I was in high school. I don’t see the need. Maybe one of you should convince me. To me, it’s still an option. For now. Over time, I’m certain my Luo ancestors will never welcome me to Luo heaven if I don’t get a German Machine.
Vako za kisource (Utazoea)
Ladies will be more open to listening to a guy if he dangles some car keys. It’s a signal. In the jungle, men are the ones who floss. The lion and its mane. The bower bird with its well-furnished nest. The antelope with its long windy horns. Humans have many ways of flossing. Shoes. A heavy wristwatch. A thick jumper. The drink you order in a club. And of course, a car. These were once options. Now they are obligations. The boy child is going through a lot.
Saka form bank account iwache ku-underperform
And when they get stranded, they can run through their contact list, hopefully, to get an olive branch. Depending on the service provider, the more aligned they are, the better. What I mean is a Safaricom line can make calls to another Safaricom line. Not any other. Well, Airtel has some sweet offers, but you don’t want to walk throughout the whole of the Central Business District (CBD) to get an Airtel Money attendant.
What was once an option has morphed into an obligation.
Options sing:
You take me so for granted
Open your eyes and see
You’ll never find a better lover
Okay, two final ones, and I’m done.
The first one is the QR code. Walk into a restaurant and find a black-and-white cryptic code on the side and a clean table. Nothing else to fold on top of it besides your anticipated fingers. The QR code is an addition to most restaurants that I frankly feel is a regressive step in hospitality. It excludes the customers who want to distance themselves from the online buzz, takes long before the menu folds, and further demands more from the customer besides a decision from a menu they will struggle to figure out.
Initially, it was an option. Today, hotels have blindly taken it up thinking it’s progressive. It’s turning into an obligation.
Now, I present you with an option. If there was a strike against QR code menus, would you participate?
The final one tugs at my heart because I have seen it time and again — concerts. Concerts are meant to be live events. Today, I wouldn’t be shocked if artists complain that nowadays, they feel like they parade themselves to be sucked into devices. Nothing live. People witness the event from a hand-sized piece of technology. The same piece of technology could have been used to see the same artist while at home. The argument? They want to save the memory.
Well, thanks to dopamine, the hormone of anticipation, our memories are heightened and focus sharpened. We don’t need a phone. But everyone is doing it. So you flush yours out and do the same. What was initially an option is, through social pressures, turning into an obligation. This is one behaviour I will never endorse. I will preserve my option and let the live event simmer as it unfurls.
It’s not that I don’t have enough space in my phone to record the artist’s performance. It’s letting the moment whizz past me amid a canopy of other hands trying to ‘capture’ the moment. I don’t mind someone taking a photo. But spending a huge chunk of the time recording? Catch me dead. I cried when I saw Lauryn Hill perform. I will never forget it. I didn’t record her performance one bit. When it’s magical, I don’t want the magic flushed by a flashy device. I’ll preserve my options.
And to that, I shall tell whoever tries to convince me to join the bandwagon:
Utazoea.
Success cards, gifts, and groceries
Options remain.
These are small lists of examples of the pleasures we take for granted. Success cards come to mind because I had to buy some for my younger siblings. Twins. They are about to have a taste of the real life. The sweet life is behind them. They’ll soon realize that one day they will wake up and never go back to sleep.
You don’t want anyone to pick the success card you’d want to send to your son, daughter, brother, sister, friend, or family. You’d rather select it yourself. You have an option. Sending someone else to get it will leave you wondering if they chose the best one on the rack. The option grants you the feeling that you conveyed what you intended.
Gifts are no different. If I intend to give you a gift, I don’t just waltz into House of Leather and find the closest item. I have to think about it. It has to match the moment. I have an option. I can take something cheap and imbue it with meaning and most importantly, my currency — words. I can never run out of words. I have options.
If the other two are not relatable, then the last one will definitely hit home. Let’s say you intend to make a meal that will leave you sleeping on the sofa with the movie playing in the background because your body needs to take its time to digest the fantastic meal you prepared. At the grocery stand, the grocer hands you some tomatoes. Will you pick them? No, you won’t. Why? You will feel robbed. They have robbed you of the ability to decide. They have taken your options.
An alternative is to parade all the vegetables and fruits and let you decide. Nothing can compare to that autonomy. I get to choose which tomato is the juiciest and largest for the same price as any other in the same partition. I get to choose. Take that away from us and we’ll never buy from you again.
True story siexaggerate
Unashindwa kukataa
What I’m trying to say is …
Options are an intangible gift.
They hitchhike on the intangible aspects of a system such as choice. Rules, for instance, can tell you what’s optional and what isn’t. Parking fees are a rule. They are an obligation.
A trip back upcountry can reveal to you the kind of options many ran away from to chase city life. In the upcountry, you can choose to take your meal from your backyard garden, plantation, or granary. In the city, most have to wait for their boss to pay them. Sometimes it delays. Sometimes it doesn’t come. You’ve been robbed of your options.
Now you know.
I oblige you to never relinquish your options.
If you do:
Itabidi ume zoea
This song inspired some of the lines used in this article. Source — YouTube