eB4T Features - Adventure & Success Stories Makonnen Hannah, 14, Is Preparing Jamaica for the Digital Age MAKONNEN HANNAH hangs up the phone and brushes the dreadlocks from his pubescent face, exposing a freshly grown line of hair that acts as a moustache. "She won't come over unless we pay for a cab," he informs his friend Leon, his eyes intently scanning his Sharp personal digital assistant (PDA) for a fresh number. Leon nods distractedly; right now he's more preoccupied with installing Windows 98 on his computer then setting up a late-night rendezvous with girls. In the corner of the room, a boombox blasts the latest rhythms from Irie FM, the world's premier reggae station. The sounds blaze as hot as Jamaica's sweltering November heat, but the boys, clad in long khakis, oversized white shirts and hip sneakers, are paying little attention to either. The den in Leon's home is their digital clubhouse, but unlike most kids their age, they aren't just toying around with technology. When the talk turns to video games, it's not about how to play them but how to design them. This is serious business, especially for Hannah, who is developing a prototype of his own multi-level game with two friends, both under eighteen. Frustrated by Leon's slow-moving computer, Hannah rhymes off his own machine's specs in an act of techno-dissing: a clone AMDK62 with sixty-four megs of RAM and a 4.3-gig hard drive. His computer is his digital hot rod and he speaks of it with the pride and precision of someone discussing a Porsche engine. At first, the scene inside Leon's small townhouse apartment on the edges of Kingston's downtown core seems out of place in Jamaica. Extolled as a tropical oasis in tourism commercials, the island isn't exactly known as a hotbed of high-tech activity. Still, Jamaica is looking for a profile upgrade, and the NO FEAR sticker affixed to the back of Hannah's PDA seems a fitting slogan for the task the country has set for itself--to ensure that its entry into the new millennium is accompanied not by the sounds of drug-related gun fights and politically drawn turf wars, but by the ringing of cellphones and the clacking of keyboards. It's an ambitious goal for a nation burdened with grim economic problems. One-third of the population lives in poverty and the disparity between the haves and have-nots is one of the most pronounced in the world. Half the children graduating from primary school can't read. In fact, a recent report by USAID, an American economic development agency, suggests that unless disadvantaged Jamaican youth are better supported, the country is "unlikely to make a successful transition into the twenty-first century." The authors conclude that hope for the future rests on making information technology widely available, especially to the new generation. So far, however, only two percent of the population--a mere 40,000 people--have internet access. Philip Paulwell, Jamaica's thirty-six-year-old minister of commerce and technology, is hoping to change all that. To help him, he has surprised the world and titillated the media by making Makonnen Hannah, a fourteen-year-old tech prodigy, his cyber-guru. Like most teens, Hannah is obsessed with pop culture and girls, but also instinctively attuned to the workings of computers and how best to use them. His appointment has already ignited the kind of excitement that Jamaica usually reserves for reggae singers and cricket heroes. It has also invited some pesky questions: Are children really equipped to formulate strategies for high-tech development? For that matter, is it fair to ask them to? And, most contentious of all, is Jamaica's young techno messiah for real, or is he merely a product of media hype, marketing and parental ambition? Makonnen Hannah was born at a time of intense struggle for his mother, Barbara. She lived in a house that had no running water when, at age forty-five, she had her first and only child. As a journalist, however, she was computer-literate and recognized technology’s potential to expose her son to a different world. By age three, Hannah was operating his mother’s desktop computer on his own. Home-schooled, his education was comprised of an unorthodox combination of educational software, The Discovery Channel and National Geographic. He was an avid student, learning from any source available to him, even interrogating the technicians who occasionally came around to fix the family computer. By eleven, Hannah was using his mother’s PC to do things she didn’t understand, such as running his own electronic bulletin board, which quickly became the most popular bbs on the island. Seeking new challenges, Hannah began looking for ways to break into a friend’s BBS system. "Sometimes when we have nothing to do, we say, ‘OK, let’s bring down Colin’s board,’ " says Hannah. "We just love the underground mentality of it all." (Today, in exchange for lending his security expertise, Hannah gets unlimited access to his friend’s system.) When Barbara realized that Makonnen and his friends were eager to learn more about technology, she established a structured educational environment by founding TechSchool 2000, Jamaica’s first summer program for children with an aptitude for computers. Local businesses donated everything from desks to printer paper to the most vital tool for surviving a Jamaican summer--an air-conditioner--and Microsoft pitched in some software. In the end, twelve young people attended that first TechSchool semester. The program lasted only a month, but thanks to new investment, plans are underway to open a school where students will do their learning online. It was during her work on this project that Barbara brought her son to Philip Paulwell’s attention. "He recognized that as part of his IT strategy he needed to target young people," she says. "I told him about what Makonnen was doing and he suggested they meet. Little did I know it would lead to all this media attention." Barbara says she has already taught her son all she can, and now encourages him to learn on his own. "I have PhDs in 300 subjects because I sought out what I wanted to know. Makonnen has a job for which one is supposed to have passed an exam or have a degree--that’s why people don’t understand his appointment. He sits down and just shows he can do the job. Bill Gates is not amazed, and neither are fourteen-year-olds." Officially tagged as youth technology consultant, Hannah’s appointment initially met with resistance from people not keen on assigning an important government post to a teenager. Foreign skeptics labelled it a publicity stunt by a country desperately trying to gain media attention in order to lure high-tech dollars. Meanwhile, the support that has emerged places the appointment in a wider context. United Nations representatives and academics from MIT's Media Lab and Harvard University have hailed Jamaica’s move as visionary and forward-thinking. They argue that young people have something to say about the world they live in, and may even have sound ideas for shaping its future. Children, with their open-minded curiosity, are naturally predisposed to exploring new digital technology, advocates point out. It’s the same reason that kids are the first ones to learn how to program the family VCR or locate the power switch on the computer. With all the attention on his government appointment and the adult world he has entered, it’s easy to forget that Hannah is a kid with a curfew. And on this balmy night, his mission is to break it. As he dials up yet another friend who attends an all-girls school, he boasts that he’s the most sought-after date there. Eventually, after making numerous calls, he gives up, frustrated that no girl will come over unless he and Leon fork over change for cab fare. His social plans aborted, Hannah turns his attention to his plans for a wired Jamaica. "The first thing we need to do," he says, "is privatize the monopoly that [British telco giant] Cable & Wireless has on telecommunications in the Caribbean. We need more competition because that will raise people’s awareness [of technology]. C&W isn’t doing that good a job--we can’t even get aol down here." Resting his new blue Tommy Hilfiger shoes on the edge of Leon’s bed, Hannah brushes the waist-length dreads from his sweaty forehead and continues. "I just want Jamaica to grow in IT. If I wanted to start a company, I could start one right now. It would be a computer security company that would keep hackers out. But I’ll do all that after my mission with the ministry is done." He utters the statement with an almost messianic gravitas, which makes it clear that even if his appointment is a publicity stunt, Hannah doesn’t think of it that way. He is determined to be a major player in the reinvention of his country--no small vision for someone who’s not yet eligible to vote. Though it may seem slightly incongruous, this bright, energetic kid is styling himself as a kind of IT Rasta prophet for Jamaica’s largely illiterate and unskilled young population. If anything legitimized Philip Paulwell’s decision to select a fourteen-year-old aide, it was last fall’s Junior Summit in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Organized by MIT’s Media Lab and sponsored by such corporate heavyweights as Swatch and Lego, the summit brought together 100 young ambassadors from around the planet to brainstorm "children-led" projects that would address global problems and get kids involved in solving them locally. Initially, representatives from seventy-eight countries were given computers and translation technology to allow them to participate in a free-flowing online discussion. After two months, the internet forum selected delegates to attend the Cambridge summit. It was clear from the beginning that Hannah would be making the trip to MIT--media coverage in Jamaica, features in the Los Angeles Times and a BBC documentary chronicling his appointment had made him a star. The MIT hosts were pleasantly surprised when, at the close of the summit, the delegates voted to form the first virtual nation for children, making every person under nineteen an automatic member. Dubbed Nation 1, it will establish a children’s World Bank (KIDZ Bank), lobby the UN for the inclusion of young people, and create its own currency, which will be based on a very simple form of exchange: Barbie clothes and baseball cards. Last December, the summit received a substantial boost when Isao Okawa, chairman of Sega Enterprises Ltd., donated $27 million dollars toward the establishment of the Okawa Center for Future Children--one of the largest gifts ever made by a Japanese individual to a foreign institution. The funds are earmarked for research into digital technologies used to educate children. Media Lab assistant professor Justine Cassell, a director of the Junior Summit, believes that kids have a knack for technology that makes them uniquely qualified to instruct adults. "Kids are very interested in learning about ‘the other,’ " she explains, "and that’s one of the reasons the net is so fascinating to them. It’s a place where traditional boundaries are broken down." Andrew Shapiro, a fellow at Harvard University’s Berkman Center for Internet and Society, agrees, and points out that children don’t see what the big deal is. For them, the net has become as second-nature as picking up the phone or turning on the TV. "Today, the net is dominated by textual as opposed to visual interaction," he says, "so sometimes kids participate in things and no one even realizes their age." Shapiro tells the story of a colleague who worked as a systems operator at CompuServe while in his teens, and was so good that he was invited to speak at a SYSOP conference. Attendees were blown away when they saw a fourteen-year- old standing on two telephone books in order to reach the mike. "That’s the kind of thing that can happen," says Shapiro, "when kids are empowered in ways that make adults listen to them." At the Junior Summit, Hannah’s project was to figure out how computers could serve as aids rather than replacements for teachers in the classroom. He is concerned by how schools use computers, even when they are available. "Teachers should be facilitators," he says. "All machines do now is replace paper. My friend’s school spent thousands of dollars on a computer lab, but all they ever use it for is Excel and Word. Jamaica should have one computer for every ten children, and I want to show them how to make learning exciting. Most of my friends come to my house to do cool programming stuff. They show the teachers what they’re working on and the teachers can’t keep up." Hannah is already full of ideas for using technology to reshape Jamaican culture, such as participating in a UN-funded program that provides computers for community development. His way to make technology appealing to non-techies: gaming. More specifically, a multi-player gaming competition that would pit Kingston’s two main ghettos against each other--groups that frequently engage in election violence. By using the game FIFA: Road to the World Cup 98, he intends to cloak the technology lesson by appealing to youth’s fanaticism for the sport. He’s convinced the project would succeed. "This will really boost awareness of computers, because when you go and talk about them, people don’t always show up," he says enthusiastically. "But everyone knows what a game is and ultimately they will figure out how to use computer controls to become masters of it. When seventy percent of the population knows how to use a computer, then I’ll know that I’ve done something." Located in New Kingston, Jamaica’s business district, the office of the Ministry of Commerce and Technology is surrounded by the Blue Mountains on one side and expensive hotels on the other, which shield it from the city. The building is a run-down, semi-airconditioned concrete structure. Only on the ministry’s floor does the cool air come rushing forward to provide relief from the heat. Hannah has arrived for his regular meeting with the minister, and his attire is relaxed as usual--khakis, adidas shoes and a yellow adidas shirt. As soon as he enters, he is put to work. One of Paulwell’s assistants can’t seem to get her ICQ network up, her frustration giving way to slight panic. "Can you fix this?" she pleads with Hannah. "Yeah, mon," he says, and quickly attends to the problem. When Hannah was first brought in as a consultant, the government department barely had a skeleton of a computer network. The minister didn’t have his machine hooked up to a printer and the entire office set-up was in disarray. Technicians were called in to install a network in the office, but by the time they arrived, Hannah had done the majority of the work. He also convinced Paulwell to replace his slow machine with a brand-new Pentium, and created a website that the public could access. Paulwell proudly points out that his is the only ministry in all of the Caribbean that has a website on which people can dial up a company registry and access information about starting their own businesses. "And everyone," he boasts, "from the driver right up to me, has email." Each Monday, Hannah meets with the minister to keep him abreast of events in the high-tech world. They discuss everything from computer magazine articles to new software programs. They also keep in touch throughout the week via email and fax. In the spirit of the ministry’s new strategy, Paulwell has given Hannah the task of making the office paperless, and has invited him and some of his friends to help draft the IT policy. But most importantly, says Paulwell, "Makonnen will be going on the road to talk to youngsters about IT." He pauses, then notes, "It’s funny, but people stop me on the road to say that because of Makonnen they want their children to be consultants as well." Paulwell’s biggest project at the moment is wiring all 800 post offices in the country so that ordinary Jamaicans will be able to send and receive email messages. He’s convinced that this, coupled with his other plans, will ensure that sixty percent of Jamaicans will be wired by 2010. Paulwell is also spearheading the new Caribbean Institute of Technology, which will train 5,000 programmers over a ten-year period. Upon graduation, they will be guaranteed jobs in Jamaica and salaries on par with their U.S. peers. It’s a bit of a crap shoot--the project could backfire if there isn’t enough interest--but Paulwell is game for the risk. "It’s a calculated gamble," he acknowledges, "but it’s the only way we are going to make Jamaica a world power in something other than tourism or reggae music." Paulwell freely admits that Hannah is his trump card in reaching out to the country’s youth population. Today, however, his meeting with his young techno-guru is taking an unexpected turn. Paulwell is in the middle of a meeting with two investors from Endusa (an American software company that is a partner in the Caribbean Institute of Technology) when Hannah and his mother walk in. The American visitors are excited to meet Hannah, and by the time they leave, arrangements have been made for him to codesign and maintain the institute’s website, as well as work on projects in the U.S. Only this time, to design the site, he’ll have a like-minded partner: a thirteen-year-old computer genius from Atlanta who just created the website for a $6-billion company. "And it works!" exclaims one of the men. Hannah’s eyes light up when he hears the multibillion figure, as do his mother’s. He sits speechless, while Barbara quickly moves in. "What will he get paid?" she inquires. After the two men leave, Paulwell says, "I think I just lost my consultant." Jamaica doesn’t have the kind of media-fed celebrity culture that has proliferated in North America, which makes Hannah an odd phenomenon, especially considering that what he’s known for is alien to most locals. Walking around downtown Kingston, he is trailed by friends and well-wishers. A recent article in the local paper has added to the buzz. As he browses in a jewelry store, the owner emerges from the back room with a broad smile. "God bless you, son," he gushes. "You’re doing Jamaica proud. You’re an inspiration for all the youth. We’re praying for you." Back on the street, Hannah is surrounded by a crowd of school girls who have just stepped off a bus. They follow him around for almost a block, giggling, staring and whispering to one another. It’s not clear whether they’re entranced by his celebrity or his boyish good looks. After the hustle of downtown Kingston, the Lords Road neighbourhood where the Hannahs live feels like an oasis. The setting sun brings much needed respite from the pounding heat. Like most homes in the city, the house is protected by a large white gate. A palm tree towering over the property sways gently in the front yard. But inside the sparsely furnished bungalow, it’s a different story. The atmosphere is frenzied, because this is the first time since the summer that Hannah and his friends from the TechSchool have had a chance to hang out together and tinker with PCs. The house is filled with Jamaica’s brightest young computer minds, but the bustle of activity makes it feel more like a birthday party. Signs of Hannah’s achievements are everywhere. Above Barbara’s computer in the living room hangs a large corkboard covered with newspaper clippings from as far away as Scandinavia. (The machine only has an eight-megabyte hard drive, and Makonnen informs his mother she’d be better off dropping it from a "very high building.") Around the corner, in Makonnen’s room, ten kids are sitting on the floor and on his bed, which serves as the chair for his computer station. The host is seated beside the only girl from the TechSchool, Swabi-Ann Fender, a fourteen-year-old HTML programmer who helped Hannah redesign his web page. His PC sits atop a desk constructed of three cardboard boxes. A big televison is hooked up to a Sony PlayStation. Strewn about the floor are copies of Details, Premiere and Hannah’s favourite tech magazine, EGM2. They are freebies from a family friend who imports them to Jamaica. To feed the hungry masses assembled in her home, Barbara orders KFC and rushes from room to room to make sure everyone is behaving. In the living room, Hannah’s friend Steven Madden has used a screwdriver to expose the guts of a computer hard drive. He is tinkering with the machine and giving it a much needed check-up. Madden started one of the first bbss in Jamaica and eventually created one for Hannah to run on his own. "When I first heard of Makonnen’s appointment, I laughed," says the shy sixteen-year-old. "But he deserves it." Romero Walters learned how to use a computer last year--Hannah taught him. Walters now follows Hannah everywhere he goes. "I tell everyone that he is the one who taught me how to use a computer and I’m going to stick with him," he confides. Although Hannah is younger than most of the others, his personality, self-confidence and celebrity ensure he’s the centre of attention--especially with the girls. He says his latest squeeze is prettier than the current Miss Jamaica--braggadocio that makes his friends laugh wildly. In the middle of this teenage fun, Hannah is reluctant to pause and talk about his future. "Ten years from today?" he muses. "I might be working at an extremely high-paying job in computers doing network security or game developing. But maybe I’ll be playing soccer. Who knows?" The Junior Summit experience has made him think about university, something that would likely take him away from the island, although he claims his departure would not be permanent. It’s hard to tell whether the wish for a higher education is his or his mother’s, but he’s intrigued by the prospect of travel. "Maybe I’ll go to MIT or UCLA. I haven’t been there. But I just like the whole idea of Los Angeles." It’s still too early to tell what role Hannah will play in Jamaica’s long-term technological evolution. The country will need more than high-speed internet hook-ups and skilled programmers to make the transition from a tourist refuge to a Caribbean Silicon Valley. Hannah’s appointment has at least got the country talking about technology, and that is an achievement in itself. He himself readily admits that his status as the country’s best hope for high-tech development doesn’t mean that his skills are unique. "I’m good," he says with a sly smile. "I know what I know. But I have a lot of friends who are just like me." He is hinting at the real source of Jamaica’s salvation: not one bright, techno-savvy kid, but many. By John Turner Shirt Magazine / Shift Online Shift.com: Preparing Jamaica for the Digital Age You've reached the end of this story... 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