How To Buy A Cell Phone In Namibia

Follow these quick and easy steps if you want to acquire a Namibian cell phone:
1. Go to the MTC store on Monday, because you were told the previous Thursday that by Monday they should have more in stock. There are 2 cell phone companies in Namibia, MTC and Leo, but we were instructed to buy the MTC variety so we would all be on the same network.

Stand in line while the clerk has a lengthy conversation with someone who appears to be planning a social event on the order of the latest British royal wedding. When the wedding planning winds up, ask if any cell phones have come in. “Oh yes, “ the clerk replies, “which one would you like?” “The least expensive one,” we reply. “Oh, the cheapest one we have is $150,” says the clerk cheerfully. One of the positives about this whole process is that people DO speak English almost everywhere in Namibia. We can’t imagine doing this in sign language and our pigeon combination of Namlish (more on that later) and Afrikaans. We are also not completely crestfallen (this will come later) because we have heard from the boys in our group that cell phones are available at the grocery store. While this seems somewhat improbable this is, after all, Namibia.

2. Go to the grocery story where, sure enough, there are “adverts” for MTC cell phones in the windows. Unfortunately, it seems that there has already been a run on the cheap cell phones. None left at this inn, either. We are advised to go upstairs in the mall to a clothing store (!) – the clerk is not sure of the name but it is (with arm wave and finger snap flourish) “just there – that side” – which means not too much of anything in terms of a direction.

3. The clothing store which sells high-end jeans does, indeed, sell cell phones (and, if we had wanted them, possibly sea shells by the sea shore, too) but, also sure enough, not the cheap ones. Our previous enthusiasm now somewhat dimmed, we head back toward the down escalator. We run into some other WorldTeach volunteers who suggest that they have seen MTC ads in the window of the PEP store. We head there.

4. PEP is an odd store to us because the ads, from colors to layout to fonts, eerily resemble Old Navy stores – except that, like many Namibia stores, it has a slightly unpredictable variety of goods. A fair amount of clothing, some household items, a few plastic toys, some cosmetics and the ever-popular fleece blankets that WorldTeach volunteers are snapping up at what seems like several dozen per day. Several in our group do actually find long cotton sweaters that have an Old Navy tag in them. And, lo and behold, behind the counter with Zam Buck menthol cream next to them – cheap MTC cell phones!!

5. We leave, triumphant, only to be reminded that we have the phones, but not the sym card, whatever a “sym” card happens to be. But not to fear, we head back to the MTC store for this simple little purchase.

6. Did we really think the MTC store would have such a thing as a sym card? “No problem, available next Monday!!”

7. This time we head across the mall to the Supatronix store, our supplier for surge suppressers (you don’t really want to hear that story, do you?) and electrical converters. I’m sure you won’t believe this, but they say “Of course we have MTC sym cards!” The clerk kindly explains which number is our phone number, which is the pin number, and how to put the battery in the phone - - - except, wait just a minute, there is no battery in the box for my phone!

8. Dumping my other bundles with the friends who are still being walked through installing their batteries at Supatronix, I race back to PEP, only to stand in line while my new clerk, on her cell phone presumably complete with sym card and battery, appears to be coaching her sister through childbirth.

9. Once the sister seems to have successfully delivered her baby and I am at the counter, I present my receipt, phone, box, brittle little plastic bags, and random cords tangled up in the Old Navy-esque PEP shopping bag, and all but wail “MY phone doesn’t have a battery!” Without even a glance at the clerk at the next cash register who had sold me the phone, my childbirth-coach/PEP clerk opens the bag to show me how my clerk had kindly installed the battery in the phone before I paid for it. Wanting to sink into the floor but knowing that I have just demonstrated that famous American penchant for making a total ass of myself in front of 30 people patiently waiting in line, I say sheepishly, “I’m such an idiot.”

10. “No, miss, not at all.” Not a knowing glance, not a smirk or a rolled eye, and they called me “miss” into the bargain!
Now, onto actually making a call on my brand new cell phone…