Humanist

I remember, yes I do, life before the internet.

I remember how we managed to memorize a lot of telephone numbers for fixed lines. I wonder how we did it? And each time you made a call you had to dial the number afresh.

I remember how you had to be nearby the fixed line if you were expecting a call.

I remember answering the phone was war among my siblings and I. If present, I wanted to be the one to answer all in-coming calls. And most times, this daddy’s girl got her way.

I remember how when answering the phone, you could not just say “hello.” You had to also identify the owner(s) of the phone.

I remember phone answering protocol was something like: “Good afternoon, this is number 24, Bugonga Road, the residence of Eng. Owaraga, Norah speaking, how can I help you.”

I remember how a good ‘telephone answering service provider’, such as I, had to remember to cover the mouth piece, while informing the one whom the call is intended and to receive further instructions.

I remember how if you just shouted out, without blocking the mouth piece, and therefore not giving the owner of the call a chance to lie that they were not able to come to the phone, you were penalized and disallowed from answering calls.

I remember the ring, ring, sound of the phone and how it caused action in the home. The one who wanted to be the one answering runs up to answer. The other expecting a call, waiting patiently to confirm.

I remember how some perfected one-word responses when they knew there was an audience, such as I, who had been nicknamed the “BBC correspondent reporting from number 24, Bugonga Road.”

I remember how good I was at remembering things that happened at home all day, and reporting them to papa when he came home from work. Yes, in our days, before the internet, we had to wait till papa came home.

I remember how when you tried to call papa, getting past the telephone operator, to his secretary, and then to him was a nightmare and, in fact, it was forbidden.

Fabulous memories indeed!