In that moment, my head was spinning in a maze of panic. “I MUST save my phone!”
I rushed out, opened the tap and washed my hands. Then I raced back
into the stall and peered into the bowl. The phone was still there.
“Should I flush again? But if I do, the phone could end up in one of
Kampala’s deepest sewers. No.”
I washed my hands again. I don't even know why I was washing my hands.
Then, feeling like Superwoman, I shut my eyes tight and plunged my hand into the toilet bowl. I had rescued my phone but the screen was blank. It felt heavy. And dead.
I had no time to think. I took off to the studio, sat down and opened
the teleprompter. I tossed the lifeless gadget under the table, on the
carpet. The bumper was already playing. I went through the bulletin like
a zombie, my mind on my dying cell, willing it to come to life in the
five minutes I was on air.
It was still lifeless when I was done. I
removed the battery and simcard, and shook the phone vigorously to take
the water out.
I thought of washing it (it had come out of the toilet water…), then I pretended it was already clean.
Google became my best friend. One search recommended dipping and hiding
it in a bowl of dry uncooked rice. Another advised on the use of a
vacuum cleaner (where the hell was I going to get a vacuum cleaner???).
The third said to use paper towels.
I opted for dry rice. I raced
down the stairs to the supermarket which was not open anyway. I bought a
kilo from those shops opposite Nakasero market.
The instructions
said to keep it in the rice overnight then switch on after 24 hours. I
couldn't keep myself from checking after every three, five, two minutes.
Anyway, unlike Pam Nax's
iphone 5, my beloved blue Nokia Model 3310, which I had owned for only
five days, could not be resuscitated. It was zonked out, drowned in a
bowl of clean toilet water.
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