A case of the Mondays

(Written for the New Times, May 2010)

I have a friend who dabbles in the Fantasy Stock Exchange- an online tool in which you ‘buy’ stocks and then monitor them in light of their real-life performance. My friend checks his stocks at least three times a day, and his mood can be greatly dictated by their ups and downs. It’s an interesting thing- he doesn’t actually own any stock of course, but this imaginary stock is real in the sense that its’ movement in reality is accurately tracked.
Anyway because my friend gives me feedback into his stock exchange situation, I’ve found myself picking up patterns. For starters, bad news is almost always more consistent than good news. A rise in stock value will often be short-lived, but its decline could go on for weeks. And you can often tell in advance what days will be good days on the market. Mondays are almost always bad, but then the market usually starts to pick up on Tuesday. The good news then frequently peaks on Wednesday before sliding again inexorably to a flat Friday. Obviously this isn’t a statistically sound way of drawing a conclusion, and there are frequent variations to the trend but this is a general trend I’ve noticed over the preceding months.
It makes me wonder about the effect that the day of the week has on workplace productivity. The ‘Monday blues’ have become something of a cliché- that day of the week where you would rather be elsewhere. (Infact-and I never thought I’d write this sentence- it is a condition perfectly captured in the pop song ‘Just another manic Monday.’) I don’t know if there are any studies on this, but I think it’s fair to say that this is the day of the week when productivity across the workforce is likely to be at its lowest. It could be tricky to be at your mental best at the beginning of the workweek, and Monday offers the furthest proximity from the oasis that is Friday (We’ll call it the PTF-Proximity to Friday-Factor). If we take proximity to Friday as one angle to measure changing productivity, then theoretically productivity will increase steadily until it starts to drop on Thursday and then bottom out on Friday. Presumably the weekly rise and fall of stock values are at least a partial reflection of that, but I’m making the assumption that it is fairly consistent across a wide spectrum of jobs.
While having a Country at optimum productivity throughout the week would obviously be ideal, it is not surprising- and even quite healthy- to have a working culture that reflects other things. Having the weekend as your touchstone and motivation presumably gives people the kind of target that could make them very productive in the long run. It is mixing business with pleasure, but only in a psychological sense. It is intriguing to think how such supposedly trivial things might affect economic indicators over the long-run.
So the ‘graph of productivity’ I set out above is a kind of model of rational human nature (Working towards the reward, with the reward here extending beyond just financial remuneration). But what happens if the PTF Factor goes awry? A few days ago I read a report noting that South Korea’s suicide rate has steadily risen in line with their rapid economic growth. Before its runaway success, it had one of the lowest rates of suicide in the industrialized world, but today it has double the rate of the United States. People work harder, sleep more and socialize much less. It is a rupture in the Business-pleasure continuum. Workplace productivity and the resulting economic indicators are only one aspect of the human condition. We need much more than that to be happy and fulfilled human beings.

"Writing to reach you"

(Written for The New Times)

My recent article on the iphone got me thinking more about the things technology had changed. I am still pretty young- I was a mere toddler when the cold war ended- but I do remember a time before the internet when things were a lot different. I am thinking here specifically of the art of letter writing.
‘Art’ may be a strong way of putting it of course. As anyone who has ever written a disjointed love letter in high school can attest, writing a letter was not always a glamorous thing-sometimes it was merely an act of desperation. However it seems unbelievable that writing letters already seems as ancient as witch trials and the bubonic plague.
These days if you want to tell someone something you could send a text message or write to them on facebook or even send them an email. We are pretty much covered as far as communication goes- a veritable pixel nirvana. You could fire off a message in dozens of mediums and get it to the recipients in mere seconds. All you need is a decent internet connection or credit in your phone and you are good to go. It is almost frighteningly simple even for those of the older generation who are somewhat technologically challenged.
But it seems to me that with the largely positive effects brought to us by communication technology, some simple pleasures have been lost. One of them is writing letters. There was a charm and authenticity to writing letters that simply cannot be replicated in other media. For starters there was the sheer graft of it- writing a letter took time and effort, there were no two ways about it. As such, it was a more sincere and accurate depiction of your desire to communicate with someone else. Granted it was slow, inconvenient and not exactly efficient but that was just part of the experience. And unlike digital communication today, you had to engage your brain first before you expressed yourself which I think improved your eloquence on the page. The delete button is our friend today, but back then unless you wanted to keep tearing up paper and starting again, you certainly wanted to get it right first time.
And it was certainly fun- I have a lot of fond memories of writing letters to my friends while growing up. There were certain features of this that are cringe-inducing when one looks back (dedicating songs at the end of each letter) but overall it was a worthwhile activity. It was a product of your sweat and toil and an expression of a more innocent age. It was not just the writing that was exciting- receiving a letter was an equally joyous event.
But now-aside from official correspondence- we don’t write letters anymore and it seems to me that a lot has been lost. Nostalgia is not always an accurate barometer of necessity, but I miss the joy of having to express myself on paper with ink-stained hands as solid and an aching wrist as solid proof of your toil. We don’t even know what people’s handwriting looks like now unless it’s the scrawl of your doctor. Someone’s handwriting was always an interesting insight into their personality or at the very least, something that set them apart. Today it is pixels that represent us. Don’t get me wrong- I love this digital age we are in and I am grateful to be in a position to enjoy it. Still every now and then I cant help but reflect on some of the things we lost.

Dancing with the traffic police is no way to go through life, son.

A few days ago as I watched traffic policemen pull over a bemused driver near the Sopetrad petrol station, I found myself mulling on the complex dance between law enforcement and law evasion.
Rwanda’s traffic policemen are a regular feature on our roads, day and night. They tend to be relatively friendly and fair, and their refusal to accept bribes is legendary. However there is always plenty of going beneath the surface. The traffic policeman’s job is to ensure that our roads don’t descend into mad max- style carnage. In this context, their primary purpose is obvious- to catch drivers violating traffic regulations.
But the traffic cops’ role extends beyond merely nabbing offenders on the road. Their very presence is presumably intended to act as deterrence to drivers who might be tempted to break the rules. Its’ one of the cardinal aims of any kind of enforcement mechanism- to act as a highly visible deterrent to others. And by stopping cars in what appears to be a random manner, they reason that the deterrence is magnified in the eyes of the public. If a driver is overspeeding or driving recklessly then randomness doesn’t come into the picture, but if often does if a driver does not have a license or is intoxicated.
But the interplay between deterrence and randomness is an interesting one. If traffic policemen stopped drivers on a completely random basis, the rate at which they catch offenders would probably plunge. They need to look for clues in either the drivers’ face, or the state of his car or dozens of other things they could look out for to increase their chances. Of course by the time it hits around 10pm in the evening, pulling over drivers becomes a lot less random, especially on the weekends.
But ultimately pulling drivers over is a largely random affair. How does that change the behavior of would-be offenders? If you are driving without a license, then the seemingly random nature of being pulled over might not offer sufficient deterrence to keep you off the road. The driver would figure that he can take his chances since his odds of being pulled over are equivalent to those who have the proper documentation (although of course the sanctions would apply disproportionately to that driver). The driver can even improve his odds because traffic policemen tend to be in roughly the same places on most days. Once their behavior becomes predictable in this way, the offending drivers can ‘beat the system.’
And what of the interplay between traffic policemen and those who drink and drive? The traffic cops would assume that if they regularly pull over cars late at night-mainly on weekends- and either fine or imprison drunk drivers, then the rational response from most drivers would be to either cut down on their drinking or create an alternate arrangement of transport to get them back home after a night on the town. However the desire to have a good night out despite the risks can often override the deterrence provided by traffic policemen. In this case, drivers will then rely on the fact that-as mentioned in the previous paragraph- the policemen tend to be situated in the same places most of the time and they will then find alternate routes. Should this prove ineffective, then people will simply get drunk much earlier than they normally would, and try to get home earlier. There will still be drunk-driving, but at much earlier hours than the police would normally anticipate.
Its interesting to ponder this dance between drivers and the police and the way deterrence and enforcement meet incentives and the realities of day-to-day living. It is a cat and mouse game with no real winners. Strategy is king.

The pirate's gospel

(Written for The New Times May 2010)

Somali pirates have been in the news for quite a long time now, coming and going like a bad rash. Commentators have attacked the problem from many angles- the failed state angle, international criminal law, the future of international shipping- but the social angle appears to have been largely neglected. That’s why I was somewhat delighted-and intrigued- to come across an article discussing the impact of piracy on the ‘marriage market’. The article was largely anecdotal, but it did confirm some of my suspicions about the surprising impact that glamorized criminal activity can have on society under certain conditions.
Despite being a somewhat localized activity, piracy is obviously going to have a big impact on its Country of origin. Some are pretty obvious- the money flowing in has seen prices shoot up, pricing many things out of the reach of many people and causing inflation and increasing income inequality. Some are a bit less foreseeable- for example, the fact that pirates have been setting up rudimentary stock exchanges to deal with the excess money. However the social impact is so widespread that new angles to this situation are emerging. One which I feel has not been given enough attention is its’ effects on marriage dynamics- the adjusted expectations of both prospective brides and grooms.
So here in a nutshell is what happens: a group of young and able-bodied men set sail with guns and repeatedly hijack foreign ships, extracting large ransoms to free the captured hostages. So far so familiar. (And just to be clear- incase my summary comes across as a bit too flippant- I disapprove of piracy) The pirates then return to land and find themselves treated as rock stars, rich men who are now suddenly very eligible bachelors and swashbuckling ones at that. What this does is transform the general conception of what an ideal husband should be and creates a stampede for the nouveau riche in question. But because there is obviously a small number of pirates and a suddenly large number of prospective brides, the market becomes distorted. For one, the ‘price’ signaling a desirable husband shoots up dramatically. In a poor Country, wealth is a much stronger indication of a desirable husband than it would be in a more developed or egalitarian society. But when that society has an influx of suddenly very wealthy men, you can see how the dynamics can become changed.
Of course it is not just the pirate money that changes things - merely being a pirate brings with it an image and ideal that makes the pirate a lot more attractive as a prospective husband. The moral ins and outs of that idea-and what social conditions create it- are beyond the scope of this article, but there seems to be little doubt that piracy has changed the marriage dynamics in Somalia. In addition, what it probably does is then drive piracy expeditions even more as men increasingly struggle to reach the new ‘marriage baseline.’
Furthermore, it is likely that men who were previously marriage material but who haven’t dabbled in piracy suddenly find that their prospects on ‘the market’ have become bleak. Quite how widespread this effect is-or indeed how long it will last- is unclear. But it is interesting to consider that while the media chatter is concentrated on about the bigger, global implications of piracy, there is a social struggle involving marriage going on beneath the surface.

Where we're calling from: why do we need fiction?

(Written For The New Times, February 2010)


At the risk of turning this into a literary corner, my column last week was only intended as a prelude to a somewhat bigger discussion. Nostalgia about a certain genre of books is all well and good on its own, but the question is: just what exactly is the point of fiction? Why has making stuff up been such a crucial part of civilization since the dawn of time? And why does it still matter now?
Of course I am already a convert to the cause- I shudder to think how much duller my life would have been without fiction. However I am playing the devil’s advocate and asked myself that question. What is the necessity of fiction? Why are so many driven to write it and even more driven to read it? After all, it invites us to enter a world we know is not true and to become so wrapped up in that scenario that for a moment, the story is treated as if it was actually real. This temporary self-delusion is necessary for any work of fiction to capture your attention, but an alien species might find this behavior very puzzling indeed.
The more obvious explanation to me is that we are driven to be imaginative, both for evolutionary and for practical purposes. Fiction is simply a manifestation of the same imagination we use to solve countless other problems. Every jump to the next stage of civilization has taken a lot of imagination- from using tools to inventing the internet. And of course you don’t have to be the writer of the book to have your imagination thus stimulated. Reading fiction is an immersive and participatory experience.
And I think fiction also helps us to confront our worst fears and exorcise them in some way. Reading fiction with its conflicts and tragedies help us to articulate our darker side and confront it. People might disagree on the importance of this point, but it strikes me as important. We confront our fears in many ways, and it seems to me that fiction is one of them. The other side of the coin is fiction as wish-fulfillment- exposing yourself to things that you want or positive messages you wish to reinforce in yourself.
Furthermore, fiction frequently provides intellectual nourishment on a few levels. For one, the mere act of reading is a form of mental gymnastics. And secondly, it often proves to be a way to learn new things about the world. Whether you are reading ‘mainstream’ writers like Michael Crichton and John Grisham or more ‘serious’ writers like Phillip Roth and Ian Mcewan, you take in plenty of factual data and intriguing ideas.
On a more mundane level- and one I briefly discussed last week- fiction is just an escape from reality. I would only be half-joking if I suggested that too much exposure to reality can be a bad thing. People need to get away and temporarily at least exist in a place far removed from the daily grind. Reading in this sense becomes akin to therapy.
Obviously there are other reasons for the appeal of fiction beyond the scope of this article, but these ones strike me as the most salient. And, despite my misgivings about the kindle and other electronic means of reading fiction, I feel that the motivations and magic behind reading fiction will not change.

The ghost of Darwin

(Written for The New Times July 26th 2010)


I wish to respond to Ivan Mugisha’s article ‘Darwinians back for world terrorism’ which appeared in The Sunday Times issue of July 18th 2010. The article was such a cocktail of untruths and logical fallacies that I feel compelled to jump into the debate. I am no scientist, but I can spot absurd arguments and glaring factual errors when I see them.
The author shows an ignorance of what evolution actually is. ‘Survival of the fittest’ is not what evolution is about- indeed, it was Herbert Spencer not Charles Darwin who coined that term. And when scientists do use it, they do not mean ‘fittest’ in the conventional sense of the word. The animal that survives is not the strongest or the most ruthless- it is simply the one best suited to adapt to its environment. As a result the ‘weakest’ could survive and have done since time immemorial. This is easily one of the biggest misconceptions of evolution. It is from this that the author extrapolates all kind of immoral tenets that people who believe in evolution supposedly support. However as any school kid knows, science is not supposed to address moral concerns. The idea that it strips morality from life government is absurd- morality does not come into it. Why on earth would people look for morality and spirituality in science? There is no morality or immorality in scientific theories- that is not what they are for.
And the author also fails to realize that people who believe in evolution do not advocate for the hilariously cartoonish portrayal of life in the wild that he presents. They set out how life is rather than how it should be. It is descriptive as scientific theories tend to be. They can no more approve of the evolutionary struggle as they can approve of gravity. It is also in this vein that scientists do not claim that evolution conclusively proves that religion is wrong. It is of course entirely possible for God and evolution to co-exist- especially if one believes in a God who is generally non-intervening-but that is a debate for another time.
The parade of logical fallacies reaches its height when the author tries to link ‘Darwinian ideas to terrorism. The day a suicide bomber kills innocent people because he was inspired by Charles Darwin is pretty much the day the world will collapse in itself. Can anyone seriously believe that Osama Bin Laden believes in evolution and Darwinism? Since most religious leaders-and indeed most religious people- believe evolution is blasphemous, how on earth could it possibly motivate suicide bombings and other? Anyone who watches the news even once a year would know that their concerns are strictly spiritual.
But let us assume for the sake of argument that there is a group of people (‘Darwinians’) who not only believe in evolution but firmly believe that it provides a blueprint for how life should be. That is patently untrue, but let us gloss over that and pretend it is accurate. Going along with that logic, then people like Hitler and Stalin were either directly or indirectly inspired by evolution so Darwin then takes the blame for the people they killed. This is what the author is arguing. However the question would then be- what about the millions of people who have been killed in the name of religion since time immemorial? The author asserts that this is only because those people were killing are doing so in contradiction of religion killings. In going through the mental gymnastics trying to create this logic, the author does not wonder whether Darwinian theories may also have been misinterpreted by his so-called disciples. Truth unfortunately is often an inconvenience.
This ‘analysis’ of Darwinianism is flawed on every level. Anyone who has read up on Charles Darwin would know he was a humane and compassionate man who vigorously opposed slavery. The idea that he is a man who would have encouraged racism and slavery is laughable. You may argue with the science of evolution- it obviously has its flaws- but calling it a cult and linking it to terrorism is scientific and logical illiteracy.

While the grim reaper slept (or No country for old men or meat sellers)

So there I was, sitting on the bus and heading to Kampala on an absolute whim. I've taken the Jaguar bus which as I will discover for the umpteenth time is NOT a good idea. And my oooh-arent-children-cute policy will be tested to the max when I end up sitting next to a crying, kicking child who later eyes my cake and juice with such longing intensity that I feel guilty for even eating at all. And the kid had just been fed which makes his decision to covet my snacks even more mistifying. The kid will later revenge by aiming sly kicks at my thigh throughout the journey, but this is not his story.
Anyway Jaguar has been kind enough to screen for us one of those Nigerian films which have been overdubbed by a hysterical guy narrating every action in Luganda. Said narration makes even the dourest family drama sound like Rambo. The masterpiece being screened today is called 'Titanic Tussle 2: Final tussle'. You get the distinct feeling that whatever tussle is involved, it is pretty big indeed-even by Nigerian standards, that is a pretty overblown title. The film seems to be about a confused priest, a very emotional woman and a tyrant father who pops up every few minutes to scream hysterically about anything he is not too thrilled about, which turns out to be nearly everything under the sun. Halfway through, I wonder idly if anyone watching the film will suddenly think to themselves "So THAT'S why they call it Titanic Tussle..."
I am only aware of these events because Im on the bus and I cant jump off while I am halfway to Kampala. I'm reading Stephen King's Duma Key which is wonderfully creepy and so absorbing that even Titanic Tussle only occasionally invades my consciousness. Infact by the cinematic standards of our Jaguar friends, this is almost welcome. The day when they screened Bodyguard from Beijing five times back to back will always live in infamy.
All this is a rather long-winded way of saying we nearly ran over an old man who was determined to answer the call of nature on a barb wire fence by the side of the road. We were cruising along pretty fast (and in the book life was becoming increasingly difficult for one Edgar Freemantle) when the old man made a mad dash acros the road right infront of our bus.
Why he chose that precise moment to run for the fence on a road with hardly any traffic is anyone's guess, but he did. As a result we came amazingly close to running him down. The bus missed him by mere inches and screeched to a halt right next to a startled group of meat sellers and one or two disinterested goats. The old man paused briefly in the middle of the road and looked up at our bus. I thought that he might have some sort of epiphany about his brush with death but it was not to be. He broke out into a broad smile and then carried on running until he reached the fence which was by the side of the road and clearly visible to everyone. Then he proceeded to urinate right there while everyone stared at him partly in disbelief and partly in amusement. Then he zipped up and ran off lauging uproariously, his tattered and dirty shirt flapping wildly in the breeze. He looked drunk, dirty and slightly lost. Everybody on the bus began to chatter excitedly about the event and the young men selling meat outside joined in. This brief-although admittedly emotional- camaraderie between passengers and entepreneurs would be rudely halted when our bus drove off without anyone buying meat. The men stood around glaring at us as the bus sped off and they became specks in the distance. The old man was instantly forgotten about and 'Titanic Tussle' resumed in all its tediousness.
Later I wondered about the old man who had brushed aside a near-death experience with such casual insouciance. How many people would remember him when he was gone? And by what cruel twist of fate had he ended up in his predicament? I remembered the faces of the people who had stood around laughing at him. There had been no compassion or pity in their eyes. Even he had laughed at his near demise and he would probably keep bringing it up with his friends. Thinking about it on the bus, it was tempting to think that the whole thing had not really been so funny after all.