The reluctant student

Our local second-hand charity shop was packed to the brim after the first Covid-19 lockdown when everyone seemed to have been watching TV programmes on decluttering and decided to clean out their homes. People had emptied their knickknacks and dumped them in heaps of black dustbin bags and assorted cardboard boxes at the shop entrance. Inside, the place looked like a junkyard cum hoarders' cabin. Anything and everything was strewn on the floor. I waded through the rows and, surprisingly, found nothing of genuine interest. The ladies behind the counter were too busy to ask what I wanted as they sorted out piles of clothes and bric-a-brac and discarded what was not worth saving.

Just as I was about to give up and leave, I spotted piled up among the tangled cables, a dusty mass of computer parts. The components seemed to be all there and just needed a good clean. I knew just the person who would appreciate such a present. It didn't take long to negotiate a reasonable bargain price. The charity shop ladies were more concerned about creating additional space.

" Make sure you take all the parts, my dear," were their parting words.

I arrived with my haul at Baba's place and set up everything in his makeshift study. Although there was no internet connection, at least the relevant computer parts were working.

"What's this, Moses? I turn my back for a few minutes, and you bring in all this. Did anyone ask for this?" As Baba came in clutching his weather-beaten leather briefcase, he looked over my shoulder with curiosity. He began observing me testing the old computer programmes, which took some time to boot up.

"I thought you'd be pleased, Baba. It even came with a printer and free cartridge. I know how you love to write, especially letters to your grandchildren abroad," I replied.

 "Thank you very much. But who's going to teach me? You don't stay here anymore, and from what I can see, there are so many bits and pieces to master."

"It's not that complicated, Baba. Sit here, and I will talk you through, and then I will leave you to practise and become more familiar with it. Do you want me to write the instructions and parts down, including what they do, just in case you forget? At least, you know how to type, so that's a start, even if it is with two fingers."

I moved aside, and Baba took off his jacket and adjusted his old office chair, ready for his first lesson. We went through the bits and pieces, and I wrote down what each part did. I was familiar with some features and avoided answering the technical questions in too much detail. The basics were easy: keyboard, mouse, monitor, speakers, hard disk drive, CD/DVD drive, CPU, RAM. After a while, Baba was beginning to look at the whole setup with a glazed expression. I could sense that the technology was starting to overwhelm him. After all, he was now in his 70s, and he had reached his saturation levels.

A few days later, I received a frantic phone call summoning me to the house. Baba's voice was strained as I entered his study. He admitted he was not having much fun for someone who likes writing. He explained that it was all very well to write instructions, but once he took a break overnight, he virtually had to start again. He'd forgotten how to operate the computer and had switched off for the day, going back to his tried and tested writing longhand.

"I see a pile of letters in enveloped with no stamps; what happened, Baba? I thought we would make your life easier. All you had to do was save the original draft letter and change the addressees' names on the letterhead, and modify the content, then you print. It saves so much time!"

"I tried writing the letter on a template, and then just as I was about to print, it disappeared. I must have pressed delete by mistake. I don't know what happened," said Baba.

"Did you try to look for it on the desktop? What's this? Isn't this your original letter? You must have minimised or saved it and thought it had disappeared. So, you opened another new Word document? If you had called me sooner, I could have helped you search for it. Never mind, its good practice, although it takes time to write documents again from scratch."

Baba looked despondent like a school-boy, but I decided not to rub it in. I promised to take the letters and post them and explained that I would give him a few more weeks of practice before introducing him to the internet.  Once set up, he was bound to appreciate the benefits.

 It didn't take long before the internet provider had set up a simple modem and connected it to the computer. I decided to wait till the weekend before paying a visit. Mai was waiting for me and accosted me by the gate. In a low voice, she filled me in,

"You've started something. Your father doesn't want to admit defeat. He has spent every waking hour on that damned machine, and sometimes I hear him talking to himself. However, he's beginning to behave like a belligerent child whenever he makes mistakes. I hope something comes out of all this. Otherwise, you'll have wasted your money, and everything will end up being packed in the attic to gather dust. You know he hasn't much patience with these new-fangled things."

"Perhaps I can persuade you to join us in the lessons, and he'd be motivated to conquer his phobia," I said encouragingly.

"Ah Ah Ah, leave me out of it! I have enough things to do around the house," said Mai as she disappeared into the garden.

I entered the study and found Baba seated hunched over the keyboard. Glancing at me, he didn't even greet me as he ploughed into his rebuke.

"You didn't tell me that when they set up the internet, it's going to be an extra bill every month. Who's going to pay for it?" he said, refocusing on the screen.

"Wow, I can see you have been busy. Is this another letter?" I replied.

"No, no. I've done enough letters and now know how to save them on the desktop in a folder. I decided to wait till you came so I can print them under your watchful eye. I'm now writing an article for a journal, and you said you would show me how to send emails. You arrived just in time. What was your mother saying? I could hear you two muttering near the gate."

"Nothing much, Baba. But it sounds like you are making progress! Well done! Yes, let's get on with the next lesson on the internet since you have already got an article to send."

During the internet lesson, I realised that there was a lot for Baba to take on. I tried explaining new operations in simple terms, a significant task. Just the concepts of email addresses that don't need stamps, messages that arrive virtually instantly in the receiver's inbox, were daunting enough. All this and the terminology were beginning to tire my poor father. I was not an expert myself and made up explanations as I went along, as long as they made sense to me. World wide web, modem, broadband- it was all jargon to him.

After an hour, we left the screen and went into the garden to sip something cool. We all needed the break. I could see despair written over Baba's face as he complained about a strained neck and painful shoulders. But he was not one to give up easily.

Baba agreed to try using the internet connection for a three-month trial period after telling him the service provider had offered a special discount. I fed the advantages of the internet to him in bite-sized portions; how he could eventually read news items, do all his banking online and not stand in queues. Baba could even finally Skype and see his grandchildren abroad, together with Mai. He agreed that writing and posting letters was undoubtedly taxing, especially since the grandchildren never sent written replies. They were far happier, sending text messages and making calls.

When the three months expiry period arrived, Baba's enthusiasm had decidedly waned, especially after one lesson too many on cybercrime and 419 scams. Baba became increasingly unnerved about what he called intrusion into his personal affairs by unknown watchful eyes. The fact that anyone could search for information online about him was the last straw.

 One afternoon, we googled his name as a demonstration, and all his history came up in the public domain. Baba wanted to delete some of the unflattering comments because he said they were not factually accurate. I had to explain that it was virtually impossible to remove such information once an item was out there. I told him he would have to learn how to open personal emails and attachments independently; otherwise, I would know all his secrets. Baba was of the old school. He needed to print important documents for filing as hard copies. The concept of storing files and folders to the cloud was beyond him.

        A day after the trial internet package expiry, I came home to check on my student. Baba was sitting in front of the computer, busy typing away, looking very comfortable.

"Hello, son! Have you come to check on my progress? Don't worry. I now have the hang of it."

"But why are the internet lights off? Did you pay for this month, or is there a connection problem?" I asked.

"No, no. I decided not to renew the subscription. Isn't it the printer and keyboard are working? I can still post all my letters and take a stroll to the bank when I need to. We can't be wasting money on internet connections that I use rarely. After your lesson on cyber-crime, I decided better to be safe than sorry. One never knows who is lurking in cyberspace, waiting to steal my hard-earned savings. But thanks anyway, son, for introducing me to computer literacy and the 21 century. The expression I think you youngsters use is that I have arrived! I can even start writing my first novel!"