4 May 2006

Full marks to Mo Q. Chin, who not only got the clue I gave in my last posting, but managed to advance it with further information in the comments section of the blog. Mo, since I can’t give you a prize or even the big hug you deserve, you get acknowledgment on the blog and a gold star.

Still no word on when we’re going to Cameroon. Hopefully we’ll find out soon, but we both really want to get out of here. I edited out some words that might get others in trouble. Nothing serious. I'm just paranoid. Rwanda does that to a fella. I'm perfectly happy getting myself in trouble. I just don’t want to drag anyone else down.

And speaking of getting in trouble, Focus is disintegrating right before my eyes. And you know what, I don’t care. Shyaka likes to blame other people for bad things that happen, but that’s only because he can’t admit when he’s wrong.

The new computers that are sitting next to me in the office are a perfect example of his utter mismanagement and self-sabotage. Last Thursday (April 27) he came in boasting about the new computers that would be here the following morning. Friday morning passed, no computers. Friday afternoon passed, still no computers.

Friday evening he says that he’s picking them up on Saturday. Saturday was umuganda, so that means no work. Umuganda takes place the last Saturday of every month. It’s not a surprise. The schedule never changes. I knew this. The staff knew this. Everyone knew this. Shyaka, who is fond of telling me that he knows the Rwandan market better than me, somehow did not know this. I came in on Tuesday (Monday was a holiday – May 1. International Day of Labor. I’m surrounded by Commies!) to find no computers. “Saturday was umuganda, then Sunday was Sunday then Monday was a holiday,” was Shyaka’s excuse.

Tuesday went by, and still no computers. Wednesday morning, they two refurbished computers finally arrived. But there was a problem. The power cords for one computer and monitor had the wrong connectors so we couldn’t plug them in. The other computer and monitor didn’t have power cords at all. Focus’s new computers are a little grungy looking, but that doesn’t matter. At least, that’s what we thought.

Our new designer, Lee, found all the cords we needed by the afternoon. I was sitting outside at the time he plugged everything in, but about two minutes later, everyone came pouring out of the office. “The computer exploded,” Eunice, one of the reporters, said. She was laughing, so I knew everyone was okay.

“I plugged in the monitor, there was a crash and then the thing started smoking,” Lee said when he came outside.

I sauntered in. The smoke had stopped rising out of the computer, but the acrid smell hung in the air. That dissipated soon as well.

A computer technician from the Internet café downstairs was in the office checking out the new computers because Shyaka hadn’t. Instead, he just took the guy’s word for it that they were up to specifications. “These things only have 256-k or RAM,” Abdul said. Now, I don’t understand computers. In fact, I fear them, to be honest. They bring joyous news, like the release of the entire 1994 Eastern Conference and Stanley Cup Finals on DVD (Let’s Go Rangers!). But I still wonder how the tiny hamsters manage to get all that information from the United States into my machine. But even I knew that 256-k of RAM sounded miniscule.

“You can’t run anything on this,” Abdul said. “It’s way too slow.”

After Abdul left, we had trouble getting the second monitor on. It worked for a little while but we couldn’t turn it back on. After a little jostling and checking different sockets on the power strip, I got the plug into one that worked. After the initial sound of a television flicking to life, there was a nasty whirr. That was followed by a small crash. The small crash was then followed by smoke and the same smell of burning circuits that hovered in the office previously.

“Awww man,” Shyaka said. “They sold me bad computers.” Did they, or did he just go to a crook? There is a place that does sell refurbished computers. It’s reputable. I know at least one person who got a computer from them and it works just fine. But why do things easily?

The final insult about these new computers is that one of the keyboards is missing the letter v. How do you write without the letter v? It’s only a four-point letter in Scrabble. I couldn’t even put my name on stories without the letter v. Shyaka was unaware of this problem. He hadn’t even looked.

“And he’s going to blame everyone else,” a Focus staffer said to me.

All of this happened on the same day that Shyaka fired my replacement, for basically no reason as far as anyone can tell. Apparently, Sunny was fighting with people. I never saw this, and no one could point to any real instances except one, and Sunny said he didn’t realize he was in a fight.

I’ll admit that Sunny, who is Rwandan and whose name I am spelling correctly, is obnoxious and immature. But he was dedicated. He had even quit smoking so he could get up the stairs to our top-floor newsroom easier. He wanted to make this work. One of our reporters is Sunny’s recent ex-girlfriend and the two of them even found a way to work. Sunny had severe food poisoning on Monday night and I had to tell him not to come to work on Tuesday. He shouldn’t have even come yesterday, but he did because he cared about Focus.

But Shyaka, in his eternal struggle to undermine everything he does, decided to can him. When Sunny said something like he was disappointed that he never even had the chance to make it work, Shyaka started yelling at him, “It’s my paper and it’s my money. I’ll do what I want.”

So the reporters, and others, are starting to jump ship. Two have already left, while two more are investigating other opportunities because they’re tired of Shyaka yelling at them.

Pay is two weeks late. Not that it matters, or that I’ll even probably ask, but I haven’t been paid since February. Andreas, our Swedish volunteer, has stopped coming. Shyaka always wants me to call him, and I say no. He’s a volunteer and he can volunteer not to be here. I was getting heavily involved when I was training Sunny. I was about to show him how to lay out pages and work with the designers. I’m not doing that with Shyaka. If he wants to run everything himself, he can run everything himself. I’m just coaching reporters and telling Shyaka I’m here to answer questions. Sometimes I think that’s juvenile, but in reality it’s best not to enable Shyaka. If he wants to destroy what he’s building, that’s fine.

It’s at the point where every decision Shyaka makes is bad. What really needs to happen is what George did on Seinfeld when he got the job with the Yankees. Shyaka needs to start eating chicken salad, on rye, with a cup of tea. But he won’t, because it’s all everyone else’s fault.

Remember earlier, when I got fired, I wrote that I was scared about what would happen after I left Focus? I’m giving Focus two, three months tops. I overheard Shyaka say to his brother, who lives in Bujumbura, that Focus has to survive. It won’t, and it’s his fault.

What a shame.