Orange is not just a color. Nor is it just a fruit. It is
also the name of one of the major internet providers in Botswana. When we moved
to our sites last November I went to the Orange store and bought a flybox (for
wireless internet) before I bought pots and pans. Being connected to friends
and family is what has sustained me here. It has also helped me integrate into
my community, as I can offer students and teachers information from the
internet and can work with other volunteers to create our monthly Peace Corps
newsletter.
In the past couple of months my internet connection has been
failing me. Sometimes I cannot get on the internet, other times it is so slow I
could take a shower while I wait for a page to be uploaded. Our Peace Corps
tech person checked out my computer and pronounced it fine, saying the fault
lies with my internet provider. Thus began my odyssey through customer
‘service’ at Orange.
I returned to the place where I bought the flybox—the Orange
store at Game City Mall. I brought all my paperwork, my computer, and my flybox
and arrived to find a sign saying “we will open at 9:30 today as we have a
staff meeting.” Since the store is all windows, I sat and watched them have
their staff meeting and was the first one in the door. Isho, a lovely young
man, looked up all my paperwork, then proceeded to plug in my flybox and
confirmed that yes, it was slow. “You have to take this to the bus rank office
to have them test it,” he said. HUH? I pointed out that he had just tested it.
Yes, he said, but I had to take it over there for them to test it to find out
what was wrong. My inner ugly American began to surface. “This is not the way
to do business,” I said. This is not my problem—I paid for a working flybox,
it’s not my job to figure out why it doesn’t work.
Isho began to tell me how much he wanted to make me happy,
which, if I were younger and prettier could have sounded like a pickup line,
but since I’m not, it was clearly what they were told to say to unhappy
customers. A few more go-arounds with Isho and he decided to call someone to
see if he could give me, as I requested, a new flybox. I stood patiently while he
made phone calls and finally returned to tell me that could not be. Isho is a
nice young man, and actually seemed to understand my dilemma. “I will take it
to the bus rank for you,” he said. I said I needed it, I could not afford to
have it gone for days (which happens quite often here). No he said, he would
give me his phone number, he would take it to the bus rank and bring it back in
the afternoon—I could pick it up there. I decided to trust him, handed over the
flybox, took his phone number and began walking down the mall to the Mug &
Bean where I could sit with a cup of coffee and get free wireless. Two stores down I heard him calling Miss
Jeff-er-eees. Turns out he had to take my laptop to the bus rank too. NO, I
said, I am not giving you my computer. “They have to test it on your computer,”
he said sheepishly. NO, I said, that is not going to happen. We can go
together, he said. No, I said, I have work to do. Back into the shop, I picked
up my flybox, and told him I would go to the bus rank store myself next week….
The next week I loaded up my paperwork, my flybox, my
computer, and headed to the bus rank. It took three requests to find the
entrance, which was ‘down there’ ‘that side’ ‘go (direction of pointed
finger).’ In other words, very well hidden from the main road despite the fact
that the building takes up a whole block with ORANGE all over it…
Once I found the entrance and explained my problem I was
directed to the ‘service area’ ‘that side.’ Inside the door I had to give them
my passport number and sign in before I was allowed to sit on a bench inside
the office and watch men eating at their desks and texting on their phones.
Finally I was called to sit in a chair next to one of the men who proceeded,
after I explained my problem, to ‘test’ my flybox. He plugged it into one of
their computers, then sat texting for 5 minutes. Once again, my inner ugly
American began to surface. “Is there a problem?” I asked. “I need to test the
speed,” he said, and began telling me I should take the box home and run the
test, call him and tell him what the speed was. I tried to quietly explain to
him that this was not my job. “But I need to tell the engineers what is wrong,”
he said. I may not have been as quiet when I told him I was not asking him to
come home and do my job.
“Where do you stay?” he asked. (stay=live in Botswana) I
told him I ‘stay’ in Kopong. “You are
the only one in Kopong to complain,” he said. It took me a minute to recover
from that. How could he know I was the only one? And so what? I explained that
I use the flybox in a number of different places, that I travel with it. “I
need this for my work,” I said, “I am a writer and I need to send my stories
in.” This is sort of true. I am a writer, but I’m not sending all that many
stories anywhere… “What do you write about?” he said. “I write about companies
and how bad their service is.” It just came out. I couldn’t stop myself.
The power of the press—he then began calling people and
setting up for me to get a new flybox. First he wanted to know if I had kept
the box it had come in—eight months ago. Why? I asked. “We need to see the
serial number on the box to be sure you have the right one.” I pointed out the
serial number on the contract I had in hand. That seemed to confuse him, but a
couple of phone calls later he smiled and said I could get a flybox if I gave
him mine and waited a couple of days for one to come from the warehouse. I
began to laugh. As I often say about life here, It’s a Monty Python sketch that
isn’t working. I told him once again that NO, I was not handing over my flybox
until someone handed me a new one. Well, then, it seemed the only thing I could
do was go to the Main Mall (the other side of the city) to their main store and
start there.
I have work to do I said. I have a job. I can’t run all over
your country. I paid for internet connection, it is your job to provide
internet connection. He really wanted to make me happy, he said. I could see
where this was going…
Okay, I said, packing up my flybox, my computer, my
paperwork, and my exhausted self. Go
Siame. I will go to Main Mall.
That was a week ago. I did indeed have work to do. I do
indeed have a job. Right now I’m resting up and doing my meditation in
preparation for my next visit to customer ‘service.’
