DAR ES SALAAM, Nov. 23 -- THERE are weeks when the universe wakes up, stretches in that leisurely cosmic manner, points directly at you and proclaims with suspicious excitement, “Yes, you. Today, you shall suffer recreationally.”

Mine was exactly that.

A week so spectacularly disastrous that if Netflix bought the rights, theyd slip it somewhere between psychological horror, experimental comedy and documentary for educational purposes.

And like all tragicomedies worth retelling, it began with the true villain of my household: My laptop.

This machine, a relic so ancient that carbon-dating might reveal it predates the Berlin Conference, has served faithfully since the era when dinosaurs sent SMSes on Nokia 3310s.

The logo ev...