|
What 3rd World?
Most Westerners who start a business in places like Ghana, Venezuela or Sri Lanka do so either because they fell in love with the country or with one of its inhabitants.
Both reasons are valid starting points, but one will nevertheless soon begin to miss simple amenities such as fresh cheese, a bakery, the cinema or reliable plumbing, to name a few. Sending a registered letter takes half a day, and paying the electricity bill is a challenge even for the locals. Traffic in the 3rd World either combines truck racing with a German highway or, alternatively, does not move an inch.
All this may be outweighed by the feeling of doing something special instead of waiting for retirement in the cold somewhere.
But, to be honest, there are borderline cases. I had just renovated a house in the only residential area in Colombo town with broadband access. We moved our business to 512kbit and celebrated a fast connection to the virtues of global communication. Where there is a will there is a way. Or so I thought.
The following week our neighbor started a new business involving the extensive use of three chainsaws, non-stop, from dawn until midnight, seven days a week, including Christmas and New Year.
Simultaneously, our broadband died down to a 15kbit narrowband. (For the non-techies: That is not enough to open hotmail before the PC hibernates)
Thanks to the chainsaw I could hardly understand my own yelling at the Telecom people. After three (!) days, the Telecom emergency (!) squad checked the lines from the switchboard to our house. They proudly localized and removed one crow and one bat (both rotten) from the cables. Nothing changed.
The Telecom squad then concluded that it must be our modem. I scared the hell out of the modem supplier until he first exchanged and then upgraded the modem. Nothing changed.
Meanwhile I noticed that the line was great from midnight until dawn.
The modem seller: "Oh, yes, sure! Interference with the chainsaw."
The chainsaw???
From what I had learned in 35 years of high-tech life this was simply impossible. Nevertheless I searched two days for an "anti-interference" modem. A fortune and one week of nerve-wrecking installations later we made it to sad 17kbit.
I was at the end of my capabilities and no Buddhist wisdom could help me calm down. The neighbor happily chainsawed my brain and our business model into slices.
Finally, I put on my best smile and went to visit him with a bottle of the finest local Arrack. I offered him everlasting friendship and buckets of money if he only stopped chainsawing. He felt criticized. He felt offended. I felt deeply nervous, and threatened to call the police.
"Good idea!" he said, to my surprise. "Let's call the police."
Three hours later the local sergeant arrived: 250 pounds of corruption stuffed into a dirty uniform, staring at me with booze eyes.
I immediately felt sick, but did not despair. Determined, I made my case, logically, friendly and reasonably. Surely, anybody could see that I was right. How may one chainsaw 7/18 in a residential area?
The sergeant did not say a word until I finished my speech. Then he slowly turned to my neighbor and addressed him in Singhalese. They both laughed.
From the little Singhalese that I know I gathered the sergeant was my neighbor's brother-in-law.
I longed for a quiet office job in the cold somewhere.
While I search for a new house, it is good to work at night, especially from midnight to dawn. Maybe I will find a house on the beach.
That would be nice, wouldn't it?
Edward Bristol
|