When you have nothing to do, do nothing

When you have nothing to do, do nothing

Today I had the misfortune of watching a reality show, rather the remote fell from the table to the floor and the button pressed themselves to a channel that had a reality show.  I believe that I must have watched a similar setting of such a show, but must have been many many year ago – emphasis many many.  By then it seemed to have been a program with content.  There was humour and lessons in equal measure at that time.  However, what the remote stumbled upon today was nothing comparable.  

I have nothing against anybody who adores reality, and this particular one.  You are entitled to your liking, that is, if saying the f-word every sentence is your fancy.  Is it to get attention with the viewers or what?  I know that the program narrative usually starts with many strangers being forced into a house over a course of 40-days, during which time one or two of the housemates are eliminated until a winner emerges many weeks later.  At least, that is how it was then.  

I do not know how it is now.  I blame the remote for forcing me into watching this day’s version, rather to have some background sound as I blogged away.  I long for the good old days, when reality made sense!  Now it is a matter of curse and swear to get attention, followed by doing nothing to waste the little attention.  The R18 rating is a waste of a classification label.  There is nothing 18 about it.  Swear and curse does not make something 18.  Singing nonsensically over a full hour makes no sense.  

Trying so hard to get attention by the vulgar does not add any value.  Even the scenes that should surely have been x-rated and no longer anything close.  If dressing skimpily, commenting about body parts, lamenting loudly about going to the washroom (instead of just going!) and playing nonsensical games deserves an x, then so be it.  Shouldn’t viewing a program leave you enriched?  Give you some lessons?  Draw some ironies and life lessons?  You have a higher chance of learning something from square pants than that biggie program.

But could the portrays on this program be what it means to people when they have nothing to do?  Doesn’t the saying already tell us that ‘if you have nothing to do, then do not do it (here?)’.  You are better off doing nothing on a long queue waiting for government services, than being behind this screening.  Oh Yes, doing nothing on a long queue waiting for GOK services….

It started when the government decided to migrate my data from the forms that I had filled, into an online system, without my consent, knowledge or information.  However, that was not the big deal, since it is expected that the forms that we routinely fill-in would end up in a computer system anyway.  The big deal was that they made an error in spelling my name when doing that data migration.  I had checked the information on the online e-gova site and noted this error about two years ago.  

I had immediately sent an email to the address given for such purposes and asked the provider to make the changes.  The email was not acknowledged or acted upon.  The phone numbers provided on the site were not going through.  It was not an urgent issue at that time, since I could still undertake renewals using manual methods without the need for integral system data.

The government then started the process of changing of driving licenses from the current ‘red book’ to a smart card, where the information is stored in a chip, unlike the book where renewals are printouts that have to be affixed in the book.  These small almost ATM card size receipts had been bulging the red book with every additional renewal ticket.  

This would be no more with the anticipated changes.  Just an ATM size plastic card was all that was in the offing.  A chip in that card would carry all the data.  That is simple enough and good enough.  This project was not urgent over the last two years, since the migration would be phased, and would be rolled out upon the subsequent renewal.  With renewals running either one- or three-years, with the latter the preferred, the transition was surely expected to be phased and likely smooth.

My renewal was due early in the year, and I had decided to migrate to the new smart version.  Despite that, the powers that be had already decided that all renewals from 2020 would be to the new smart system anyway.  This renewal and hence change to new card was however only possible by initiating an online application on the same system that had an error on my name.  The same system that gave a warning that one should not undertake the renewal if there was an error of any sort in their data.  Such erroneous information was to be reported on the online system for correction first.  

I did this reminder online correction request in January, knowing that I still had upto end of February before license expiry.  That online correction request of January, just like previous requests, was never responded to.  An email and a reminder email in the same month for action on the correction were not answered either.  The phone number given on the website was going unanswered and other numbers shown were non-existent.  By March, I had decided to probably just go to their offices and have the correction done.  Then….. then corona hit and everything came to a standstill and the country virtually shutdown.

I revived the issue of data correction and renewal last month, when I took my sabbatical break from the many runs that had been my routine since March.  I sent new reminder emails, which still went unanswered, while the online application for correction remained unattended.  The phone numbers provided on the site were still not being answered and the corona thing also meant that probably there was no one of the other end of the phone.  I was getting desperate to at least renew the license.  Had there been no error on my data, then the process would generally be smooth – I would just have applied online, paid for the service by mobile money or card, then gone to a registration centre in the country and applied for the new license. 

I was searching the web to get sentiments on how services were being offered and what my other country-people were feeling about this new license thing.  The feelings were worse than I thought!  There were complains from Moyale to Kwale!  I was even forced to get to FB, which I have not done in a long time, just to get a sense of what the people were saying on the providers site.  I observed that it was a general concern and frustration about this issue of correction of data and generally non-responsiveness to emails.  

I also saw that going to a registration centre for the application process was a frustration in all ways possible, from the centres not having tools, delays in process, repeat visits, delayed receipts of final licenses to long queues.  However, I was still in the process of data correction first, before I could start the real frustration.  Checking the FB at least enabled me get a new email address, which was not on the official site, and which was offered for communicating issues of data correction.

I was not holding my breath when I resend my email to the new address.  I had already resigned to the fact that I would never renew the license until I get back to the city, which would be sometime later in the year.  And this would mean going to their offices in person.  I was even contemplating renewing the license with an incorrect name, and then start the process of name correction later.  All these options were now on the table.

It was therefore pleasantly surprised when I got a response to my email, hardly 24-hours later, that the correction had been done.

“This can’t be true!,” I murmured as I quickly got online to check on my details to confirm the correction.

It turned out to be true.  The one misspelt letter, M instead of W, was now corrected.  I did not even wait to reconfirm.  I was quickly initiating the renewal process and paying up the 3,050 for the smart license so that I get this done with.  For the second time I was seeing this breakdown of 3,000 as the license fee, while 50 was a ‘convenience fee’.  The first time was when applying for a passport two years ago.

I have never understood the logic of this convenience fee.  It would only make sense if all options were given, each with its associated cost, so that we can judge the convenient option and then decide whether to use that option and pay its fee, if we believe it is the ‘convenient’ option.  But this is a fixed amount that all have to pay in a tupende-tusipende style.  I would strongly suggest that they just include this fee in main charge, other than giving it a separate name and forcing everyone to pay it nonetheless.

Anyway, I was just glad that this process was now underway.  After the payment, I had to pick a ‘collection point’, which is where I should collect the smart card.  The list had many towns in Kenya.  I picked Eldy.  It was then just too good to be true, when the next process asked me to pick a date and time when I should visit the collection office to register my biometrics.  

Well, ‘collection point’ was now more like ‘registration point’.  But this still did not make sense.  Doesn’t the big brother already have this data?  Why the duplication?  I provided all this info and more during the Huduma number registration process!  Including these very self-same biometrics!  Did I not even provide a retina scan in that Huduma number process of last year June?

Nonetheless, I needed this project done with, and so I picked a date and a time.  The time slots were being picked from a green array of small rectangles drawn on the screen.  Any unavailable time slot was marked as a red rectangle.  None of those coloured rectangular arrays, about 50-per-row, for a total of about 4-rows had any indication of what time they represented.  There was just a display of about 50-rectangles, most green, some red, in 4-rows.  You just had to guess and click on some box, before the time that the rectangle represented would pop up.  I scanned row number two of the green rectangles and clicked somewhere on the first half of the array.  I saw a pop up showing, “10.10 – 10.12” as the box turned red.  I clicked it once more and it turned back to green colour.

Too early, I thought.  I clicked another green box, about ten boxes away to the right.  It showed “11.57-11.59”.  I unclicked it, then decided to click the box that was five columns to the right of this particular one and I got a slot that I liked, “12.10-12.12”.  I clicked it and it turned red.  Thereafter, the screen indicated that I was booked to visit NTSA offices at the indicated time on Thursday, September 4.

That technology was just top notch.  Despite that time booking system lacking in details on what each green block represented, it was still quite something.  Good stuff!  Great technology!  Booking users in 2-minute time slots was just pure genius.  No more congestions.  Just be there at your time and you are sorted.  It even sounded too good to be true. 

I was at the designated offices at exactly 12.05pm on the designated Thursday.  I had given myself a five-minute advance arrival to clear any preliminaries, including the gate access, where the sentries tend to take their sweet time (and stubbornness, depending on temperament).  I can however not say that I was any surprised, when the sentry told me with all politeness (thankfully), that the service was not being offered at these offices and that I should go to Huduma centre instead.

Though I was not very surprised, I still felt cheated out of the seemingly smooth process.  It had just been too good to be true.  The true colours of the real process were now coming out, surely and progressively.  I did not know for sure, but just guessed that Huduma centre should be at the Post Office.  It usually is.  So, with pure instinct as my guide, I rushed towards the direction of the PO.  I still guessed that I had a 12.10pm appointment.  I would just barely make it, but I would make it nonetheless despite being probably a bit sweaty.

When I reached the PO, I immediately knew that this was the Huduma centre, even without any signage or being told so.  I could see the two long queues leading to the entrance of the building, as I approached the gate to the compound of the PO.  Did I really have an appointment at all in this setting?  I approached slowly without much hope that I would be served at 12.10pm.  It was now already 12.10pm.  I approached one long queue that was winding round the building, where I probably was the fiftieth person.  I asked the forty-nineth person whether the queue was for license renewals and he confirmed that it was.

I was stuck!  So much for booking an online appointment!

I was just about to ponder on whether I was ready to stay on queue until midnight when someone who had a windbreaker sweater with the words ‘huduma’ on the right breast pocket walked along the queue, repeating every often as he walked along, “Walio kujia license warudi kesho au Monday.”

I could have chanced and waited to be served, however late it could have turned out to be, even if it was midnight had the promise of service been assured.  But now, an official was already telling us to leave and come back another day.  Most people on the queue did not react to the statement.  They stayed put.  I had a different approach.  I obeyed his call and left for home.  My appointment was already disappointed and I would just have to try another day.  That ‘other day’ would be the very next day, Friday, but with a new approach that would cater for all the experiences that I had encountered and the lessons learnt from them so far.

On Friday I took the fifteen-minute walk to Huduma to ensure that I would be there at exactly eight, when the centre would open up.  Oh, my, my!  How wrong would this strategy turn out to be?  I was approaching the gate of the PO compound when I saw the long queue already winding around the building.  This was just crazy!  I almost just turned back without even trying!  I would instead join the queue at the exact position that I had joined in the previous day – with about fifty people still ahead.  The centre had not yet opened up.  The time was just about eight.  I just joined the queue and hoped for the best.  I had a Swahili story book about Mau mau rebellion at hand and headphones at head.  I had not planned to use these two arsenals at all, but they were now proving to have been the right tools for the day.

The queque remained static for some time.  A staffer of Huduma would soon get to our standing position moving progressively from the first person.  He was checking on our documents.  He wanted us to show the copy of invoices that we had printed, and also a screenshot confirming the online booking.  None of these was a requirement when applying.  If anything, the whole information was already online and printing the very same just to show out was an overkill and a waste of trees.  Those without printouts were told to get them either immediately, or wait to get in and get them printed at the cyber.  

I recalled one complain that I had read amongst list of frustrations was that when the invoice ‘disappears’ from the online system then it is surely disappears, without any way of getting it back whatsoever.  In my case, I have made a habit of just saving everything savable, and printing progress screenshots when dealing with gava websites.  This is because you never know the surprises that may be coming your way in terms of something needed later that was not mentioned at all.  

I have also learned to carry with me originals and copies of anything and everything when seeking gava services.  Though the Huduma staffer had just checked on two of the documents, my brown A4 size envelop had many other documents in original and copy, just in case.  This included ID original and copy, the red book original and copy, birth certificate original and copy, KRA pin certificate original and copy, job ID original and copy and my CV, just in case.  My A5 size Swahili story book was also in there.

The queue would remain stationery for long.  However, at around nine, the queue started moving and it moved quickly.  At this rate, I would be through with this process by ten.  I wore a faint smile in nostalgia.  Then the line once again just came to a standstill.  I was now about the twentieth person from the entrance.  All movements ceased and we stayed stationery.  Another staffer from the centre would at some point force us to move back in the name of keeping to social distance markings on the floor of the corridor around the building.  We continued waiting, with people getting agitated with each passing minute. 

What was really going on?  Nobody knew and nobody said.  Soon murmurs would start amongst the people on the queue. 

“Lasima ni huyo mashini,” I heard one of the two people ahead of my position say.

“Hiyo mashin ya chana?,” his colleague responded.

“Huyo mashini chana nagataa.  Aligataa mbaka watu najoka na gwenda du nyumban.”

“Chana nagua mpaya san,” the colleagues agreed.

“Chana mbaya san.  Lagin leo lasima tabata huyo lesens.”

“Nazahau saa saba pia hao nafunga na guenta lanj?”

“Na imachin mimi ni gujugua du lesens ndio nadaga!  Una panga du lain refu gujugua du lesens!,” the first speaker lamented, loudly enough for the benefit of all and sandry.

I had already gathered so much.  This registration may happen.  It may as well not happen.  I had now kept an open mind that I may be making another trip to this queue on yet another day, especially now that we were not moving at all.  That standing on the corridor and doing nothing was really tiring.

It was at 11.30am, after more than three-and-a-half hours on the queue, when I finally got through the entrance scan and security check, before getting into the centre.  I registered my name and telephone number at the reception before I was shown a seat.  The seat was about the fifteenth, each seating two people with the social distancing forcing a seat to be blank between any two people.  I was therefore on another waiting queue of over thirty people.  At least I was inside the shade of the centre and was even having a seat.  However, the seating was going to be long, at any rate.

We kept moving forward through the seats, one person at a time.  I was now in the deep of things.  There was no giving up however long it would take.  This would be the day.  Unless something drastic happened, which was still possible anyway, I was determined to stay here even upto midnight, provided I completed the process on this day.  Of course, there were no washrooms, and you either had to keep it in the pressed in the reservoirs or lose your queue position by going for the public pay washrooms two streets away.  Occasionally, you would get good queue-people who would allow you to take the ten-minute break and later rejoin the queue at your initial slot.  If you did not get such good people, then that washroom break would cost you over twenty positions back on the new queue.

I was now in the centre, though the service was painfully slow.  It seemed like the license people were the majority in the open space.  The rest of the counters with all manner of services were virtually empty.  A load balancing scheme would have solved this particular impasse, but in gava the left and right hands are very distinct, and so are differences between the fingers of the same hand.  Thirty computers would rather be unused since they do not belong to that department, while two computers are spewing dark smoke due to overuse.

As I said, I was here to stay, for as long as it would take.  Then we had a new development.  When we still had about twenty people ahead on the seats, one staffer came about and asked us to provide him with the invoice copies for those registering or ID copies for those collecting their licenses.  We gave them out and he went with them to the serving desks, which I could see just ahead.

We now just waited to be called, some to collect their DLs, other to register for the DLs.  At about 1.20pm I would be called to the counters, to participate in a process that took like a minute.  Just register name and telephone number on a sheet, followed by signature, then face a monitor-mounted camera to take a photo, followed by placing the two index fingers on the fingerprint scanner and that was it.  Get back your invoice copy and you are out!  So, why was this one-minute process taking forever?

I was moodless as I walked home from the centre, knowing very well that I would have to face another long queue in three-week’s time to collect the card.  Of course, for my troubles, I did miss my Friday run even as I took my missed breakfast at two o’clock.

WWB, the Coach, Eldy, 5-Sep-2020