When we came back to the U.S. in July of 2009 for home assignment, we had an amazing supporter set us both up with cell phones. One was a nice basic phone (basic for 2009, that is) and the other was a new Blackberry. I, being the tech toy addict, gravitated to the Blackberry, and my wonderful wife reluctantly agreed that the highline gadget would find better use in my hands.
It was a tumultuous year with my Blackberry, filled with hours talking to AT&T and dozens of emails to tech support, but in the end, I figured out why they call it “Crackberry.” Me and my palm-sized assistant were inseparable. And to make matters even better, both of our new cell phones were purportedly “international phones,” meaning that we’d be able to insert Kenyan SIM cards and use them on the mission field.
The week before we left the U.S. I began the process of unlocking our two phones. Heather’s was easy. Mine was shockingly impossible. It seems that AT&T doesn’t have access to the unlock codes for their highline phones, so they have to petition directly to Blackberry. Although I was assured by AT&T that Blackberry would release me the code, they didn’t. My appeal then failed too, and I was left with the shocking reality that my Crackberry would be only useful as a paper weight in Kenya. I felt so violated. My love would be locked in a tower, held by the greed of King Corporation and his dragon of legal exclusivity.
I detoxed pretty well. Unpacking our boxes and suitcases in Kenya was a fortunate diversion away from my useless and lifeless handheld. After a week back in Africa, we did a shopping trip to Nairobi, and I began asking around the phone stores if anyone knew how to unlock a Blackberry.
And that’s when things got interesting.
Tomorrow, the story of the back alleys of Nairobi and how I came to find a man who needed his soul unlocked.
0 comments:
Post a Comment