Every time I write, I renew the best intentions of making it a more frequent habit. Post, post, post. But these past few weeks have left me battling a blinding head cold, molasses slow internet and two computer breakdowns. Yes- not one but 2 of the computers available to the house crashed. Or had help crashing. And so, nearly the entire month of April has gotten by without any witty and clever observations added to the blog roll.
The angst is behind me however (well, momentarily to be sure) as I received the good news of having one of the tortured machines returned to me unexpectedly in good health. The Mac is back. This is grand news on many levels- not the least of which involves the fact that as school draws to a close I must transfer all of my documents, photos and other life consuming technology pieces from one computer to another. I had no idea what that "other" would be or where it would come from. I'd browsed a shop downtown to see if there were any quality computers available and couldn't really be sure enough to make a purchase. For once, happy to have procrastinated in search of perfection.
Our IT tech at school is basically a genius. He is the perfect combination of IT whiz, capable electrician and hard-working positivity. I've never seen him without a smile on his face, despite what is surely more work than one person can handle. Although he is part of a 3 person department, I know if I need something repaired, prepared or explained, he is the person to go to. (Most of us know that, which is why he is horribly over-worked. That and the fact that he never says no.)
When my mac screen opened displaying the file of death with the infamous question mark, I thought it was over. Actually, I knew it was over. I asked his opinion and found out another mac user at school was suffering the same fate. A few days later, however, he came to me asking for a stab at my computer. He thought there was hope. Never one to bask in the sunshine before the clouds have truly parted, I handed it over with lingering doubt. Two days ago I happily got word that my machine was "under observation" but appeared to be working and in good health. He let me know he'd spent about 3 hours working on it and had used a compilation of parts from my previous dead mac. (Macs and I have a history- brief and deadly as opposed to the long and creative relationships I hear so many others raving about.)
I asked him to let me know how much it would cost and I was met with silence- and a smile, of course, the ever present smile. Nice to look at but completely useless in presenting a course of action. I decided to confer with one of the Congolese assistants with a bit of technology background, thinking he might have an idea about going rates.
While he didn't have any advice about dollar amounts, he did suggest a gift. I was a bit confused. Honestly, I thought- who doesn't want money? Or, to be brutally honest I thought, what Congolese doesn't want money? Because life is hard and salaries are small and Kinshasa is tres cher. However, he suggested that since my offer of money wasn't met with a price I could either leave something in an envelope kind of anonymously or offer a different kind of gift. He thought a gift of money might be outright refused and would even make future exchanges awkward- could perhaps be construed as an insult. He went on to elaborate that in all conversations he'd ever had, I'd always been referred to as "my good friend" or - and here he mentioned a Lingala word I didn't quite get but it meant to express endearment- someone that all else would be dropped for in order to help out.
Hmmm. It sounded good but not quite right. I'd recently reread Night Studies: Stories of Life in a West African Village- a charming, quick read about a guy living and teaching in Nigeria. He spends a lot of time with neighbor children and seems to enjoy getting to know the culture and succumbing to it's rhythms. Just like I want to do here. Except I can never seem to figure out the hidden rules.
Offering just a gift made me nervous about possibly insulting my colleague and IT godsend so I did what all good students do- I sought out a second opinion. Cultural Expert #2 said it was crazy not to offer cash and suggested I put $50 in an envelope and give it to him, with an adage that he can get some (phone) credit. While the idea of giving cash had been my original plan, I was still stuck on how much. Too little seemed equally as insulting as too much. Of course, in my mind I had been saved from buying a brand new computer so too much was relative to being saved from that impending doom- priceless really. In the end, I simply wanted to be fair (to both of us) and I was frustrated trying to figure out what fair was. Couldn't someone just give me an hourly rate?
I was reminded of the police and their Cocas. The most common way to give money to the traffic police or guards outside a store is to offer a small amount and suggest they buy a Coca. Sometimes they will make a drinking motion as you drive buy- a request for a little bit of cash to quench their thirst. This approach serves two purposes. One- it allows you to show some appreciation for a service. Two- it allows you to acknowledge whatever you are giving is probably not enough but the other person should accept it graciously anyway. I'd finally arrived at a solution (and a small feeling of confidence and understanding of culture after all. Maybe I wasn't as far behind Benjamin Madison as I thought. He makes it all sound so damned easy in his book- so lighthearted and carefree.)
What I am left to wonder about, however, is Cultural Expert #1. How could his advice be so different? He suggested I buy a nice shirt or a jersey and offer that, saying sometimes a gift says more. Unfortunately, doing the wrong thing in a cross cultural situation could send a whole lot more of an unintended message. While a huge part of me detests things that are illogical, unclear and hard to follow a small secret part of me is a bit relieved to feel a genuine understanding of this puzzle.
Yes, by offering $50 to "buy credit" the receiver then has an opportunity to express how expensive phone calls are these days and suggest that perhaps more is needed. We can then ensue a conversation about an entirely fictional thing, all the while negotiating the price for a real life service that was offered and received. Who needs price tags? Price tags are for foreigners, she thought, as she smugly sipped her Coca.
