How the mobile phone is transforming Pakistan
The generation of Pakistanis that grew up just as the information technology revolution reached Pakistan in the early 1990s is now moving and shaking the country. But while the early 1990s were about the transition from Commodore 64 to Nintendo and Sega consoles, a new Pakistan is being built by 200 million people in Pakistan through the power of their mobile phones. Step aside, mongers of change. Change is already here.
According to the Pakistan Telecommunications Authority (PTA), whereas mobile connections are significantly higher in urban centers, semi-urban areas such as Bahawalpur, Sadiqabad, Hyderabad, Abbottabad and Mardan lead the growth in mobile phone penetration in terms of percentage. And increased connectivity via cell phones enables to bring communities together.
In Thar, for example, camel owners used to put a bell around their animals’ necks so that in case it was lost, the owners could hear where the camel is in the desert quiet of Thar. Nowadays, the bells have disappeared. Instead, the owner’s mobile phone number is either hung around each camel’s neck or the number is carved onto the camel’s hide. If a camel has wandered too far from its owner, whoever spots the camel can call their owner on their mobile number and tell him the location of the animal.
Pakistani society is changing but some of the most significant impacts on it — in terms of access to information, facilitation of businesses and how we interact with each other — are taking place imperceptibly because of ubiquitous cellular technology
The phone memory very much reflects our own memory. We use it to record moments, make reminders or set alarms, access information from the internet and basically store all kinds of personal details, leaving a digital footprint automatically. How are we navigating our daily lives, connecting with our surroundings, as consumers and citizens equipped with the mobile phone?
RELATIONSHIPS ON THE GO
Sultana Khan and her mother come from different generations but share something in common: getting married through a ‘rishta aunty’ (matchmaker). But while her mother only saw the picture of the groom-to-be, Sultana was blessed with a conversation over WhatsApp.
“The prospective groom was based in Saudi Arabia, working as a manager at a clothing store,” says Sultana, herself an employee at a fast food restaurant in Karachi. “It was like any other arranged marriage. The prospective in-laws came over, along with the ‘rishta aunty’. It was assumed as a done deal but I hadn’t seen or spoken to the man that I was supposed to marry. And so, we dialed his WhatsApp number on the ‘rishta aunty’s’ phone and had a video chat there.”
Notwithstanding the awkwardness of having to have a somewhat intimate conversation in front of absolute strangers, Sultana thanks her lucky stars that she spoke to the man.
“It took me all of two minutes to realise this wasn’t the right match,” she says. “He wouldn’t even look me in the eye while talking. It was as if he had something more important to tend to.”
Body language, facial expressions and quality of conversation is what was crucial to Sultana’s decision, something that could not have been ascertained through a photograph. It’s a luxury that her mother, Zeenat Khan, did not have. After all, Zeenat got married even before the age of chat rooms and MSN or Yahoo chat.
Komal Karim, a rishta aunty based in Lahore, says that younger women in this day and age aren’t making decisions purely on a photograph or two. “I have an album of clients but business has become quicker because two or three stages of match making can now be accelerated,” she says. “If someone likes a woman or a man, we can schedule a WhatsApp conversation there and then. There is no hassle of waiting for a few days for various people’s schedules to align. Now, it is simply a WhatsApp call and we are done.”
A driving force behind managing her business is the employment of women who have talent but are house-bound. “The phone has facilitated us living in such an area where women are not allowed to leave their houses.
But in this little story is a tale of our times: things that were done in 2D are now done in 3D. Static images have been replaced with live conversations. Rishta aunties now have a better product to sell while those looking for relationships can evaluate the basics before jumping into the more serious aspects.
WOMEN’S WINDOW INTO OPPORTUNITY
The chador and the chaar divari [confines of the home] has traditionally been used to keep women trapped inside homes. But even beyond this notion, many times, even highly-educated women are faced with the choice of continuing with their careers or raise a family. Not many have been able to do both until recently.
Mehreen Kashif from Larkana, for example, manages a business of hand-embroidered apparel and bed linen without leaving her home. It has been four years since she launched her work-from-home enterprise through a Facebook page and then contacting clients through WhatsApp.
“Women are not allowed to leave home here,” she explains. Owning a mobile phone has been a game-changer, though, as she has been able to expand her business over only four years and that, too, countrywide. Most of her clients are from Punjab, where she also orders fabric from. She has it shipped from Al Karam textile mills in Faisalabad. She simply puts up new designs and items on her WhatsApp status and the orders from her phone contacts pour in. She estimates about 4,000 repeat customers but also claims that they are “unlimited” and “it is almost getting hard to keep up with the orders.”
Mehreen caters to customised orders as well. She has 30 women working for her, and has provided two of them with mobile phones as, “it is easier to share pictures of the designs they work with.” Her effort is to seek out embroiderers with skill but also those who are truly in need of money. And this is a driving force behind managing her business; the ability to employ women who have talent but are house-bound under the dictates of rural traditions.
“They just come to my house for work,” she says of her employees. “The phone has facilitated us living in such an area where women are not allowed to leave their houses. It has helped me because I also do not have permission to go out.”