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Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

InternetFebruary 8, 2022

Why does the last 1% of your phone battery last forever?

Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

While 99% of a phone’s battery depletes rapidly, the last 1% basically never dies. Is it real, or all in our heads? For IRL, Josie Adams gets to the bottom of the mystery.

Every morning I use my phone to unlock a Lime scooter, and then to scan into a cafe. As a youth I could get about town with a dead Nokia, using filthy cash notes to buy Gloria Jeans chillers and navigating using a map I kept in the car. But as smartphones came to life, my brain started dying. I can no longer find my way to the supermarket without Google Maps, or remember how much money is on my card without checking the Kiwibank app. I have described our phone use, at length, as something from which we need to be liberated. 

They say we millennials are glued to our phones, but I would describe it as shackled. Now, with the implementation of our very useful vaccine passes, everyone else is in the same boat. Over the past few months we’ve all started to check our phone batteries before we leave the house, to make sure we can actually get into the pub. And some of us are noticing something weird.

A fresh, full battery seems to lose 10% every hour. But once it hits 30%, each percentage seems to last longer and longer. Why does that last bit of battery last so long? Is it a trick of the mind? A sneaky bit of product design? Last week I started tracking my phone battery to get to the bottom of it.

I discovered that while not all phones are built the same, mine (an Oppo AX7) can go just over a day on 40% battery. My 13-minute morning Lime trip uses 3%. A good 20-minute TikTok session will use 6%. A half-hour phone call takes the same. Using the vaccine pass is, roughly, a fifth of a percent. When you get that “20% remaining, please charge your phone” alert, I’ve still got at least four hours of moderate use left – and if I don’t use my phone at all, I’ll barely lose anything. While the first 5% of my battery disappears after half an hour, the last 5% goes for an hour and a half. Finally, my last 1% lasts over half an hour of light use; the first 1% is gone in just seven minutes.

Honestly, you’re good for ages at this point (Photo: milindri / Getty)

A dead phone battery can be an excuse to dip out of society for a minute; to join the ever-shrinking ranks of the unvaccinated and chug coffee from a plunger in your bedroom instead of leaving the house. But it’s harder to get there than you’d think. That’s good news for anyone low on juice and looking to participate in society: you can do it on just 3% battery.

My sample size of one phone was proof the enduring 1% is not a figment of our imaginations. According to Professor Sander Zwanenburg, an information scientist at Otago University, the fear and despair of losing battery life is not tricking you into thinking time has slowed down. “I cannot see a psychological basis for suspecting it is in your head,” he said. “I imagine that seeing 1% can trigger some degree of fear or stress, especially when needing the phone for something important and no cable is nearby. But that fear or stress is not going to seriously mess with your perception of time.”

So the battery bar really is lying to us. But why? Zwanenburg had a hunch: my phone is bad at guessing.

“When they are used, most lithium-ion batteries slowly decrease in voltage before they rapidly drop off and your phone shuts down,” he said. “Because it is first so gradual, it is difficult to measure with great accuracy when that drop-off point is reached.” My phone, he suspects, is just not sophisticated enough to accurately measure how far away it is from dying. “Possibly this is partly due to an ageing battery,” he said.

This could be true. Like my brain throughout the 2010s, my phone battery has become undead. It has a healthy-looking green bar, but it has no idea what’s going on. It just stumbles through the day, throwing out wild guesses as to how long we’ve both got before I can’t Lime anywhere.

Nephi Hatcher, an IT expert and the Auckland-based proprietor of repair store PhoneCloud, says battery power estimates can sometimes be all over the place. “It’s very software driven as to how well they read it,” he said. While iPhones have a relatively accurate read on battery life, Androids don’t fare as well. “Google’s not that interested in it, hence there’s a lot of apps available. But a lot of those apps are junk, in my experience.” He’s seen customers come in with four or five different battery-saving apps, all of which are taking up both space and, ironically, battery power. He recommends AccuBattery

However, when it comes to the long-lived last 5%, he thinks I’m probably just noticing power-saver mode. I always thought that rejecting the power-saving option at 20% meant it would never turn on. This is wrong; my phone is forcing battery cowardice upon me. “It goes on power saving mode at 5%,” he said. This feature slows your internet use, stops refreshing your apps, and lowers the brightness levels – hence the longer life.

Hatcher says his own batteries can last up to two years, but he has customers come in with problems after as little as six months. This, he adds, is down to battery abuse. “There’s no reason to charge it overnight, ever.” Speaking for myself, my phone only loses about 2% overnight, so he’s right. But for those of you who simply cannot go on with your day if you don’t wake up and see a full 100%, there is a solution. “There are smart cables you can buy that detect when your phone is at 100% and stop sending electricity,” he said. “I sell ’em.”

Keep going!
Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

InternetFebruary 3, 2022

When you can’t learn a language from your ancestors, learn from an app

Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

Many people in Aotearoa long to learn the languages that their families could speak in the past. For IRL, Shanti Mathias explores the potential of online learning for those who want to reconnect. 

In March 2020, the month the pandemic started, Dani Pickering discovered something amazing: their ancestor had written journals about being forced out of the remote Hebrides Islands by British colonisers and starting a new life in 19th century New Zealand. Better yet, the journals still existed five generations later. One was in the Auckland War Memorial Museum. After a long journey discovering their ancestry, Pickering, a PhD student in Te Whanganui-ā-Tāra, was delighted to learn that they could access a piece of their past. 

There was just one problem: the journals were mostly written in Scottish Gaelic, a language that nobody in Pickering’s family had spoken over those five generations. But there was a way to learn, because the Scottish Gaelic course had just launched on Duolingo. 

“I took that as a sign from the universe to learn my ancestral language,” Pickering says. Two years later, Pickering’s phone screen is filled with colourful cartoon badges signifying language learning achievements, and they have almost finished the Scottish Gaelic course. 

US-based corporation Duolingo is by far the most well-known and popular language learning website and app; the company claims to have more than 40 million users, and was worth more than $6.5 billion dollars at its IPO last year. It is one of many sites, with names like Mango Languages, iTalki and Babbel, that promise the opportunity to learn a new language on your phone. 

Dani Pickering visits their Scottish ancestor’s grave in Auckland. (Photo: supplied)

“I feel really gutted about it,” says Gina Dao-McLay, a student based in Wellington, of their inability to speak fluent Vietnamese. While Dao-McLay was able to speak Vietnamese as a young child, later exposure to English at school meant that they lost their language. When, as an adult, Dao-McLay wanted to practise Vietnamese in preparation for a trip to see family, Duolingo seemed like a good option.

“I can’t really connect with people … without knowing the language,” Dao-McLay says. In their desire to learn, they aren’t alone: according to Duolingo’s 2021 Language Report, more than 70% of people who have started learning a language in the past two years say they are motivated by family heritage, ancestry or culture. 

“[Without language] you feel cut off from a big part of your culture,” says Alex de Vries, a masters student based in Auckland. He was delighted that Barakat, a film in Kaaps, the language from where his family lives in South Africa, was released last year, “but it was very confronting to have to read the subtitles for the whole film – like you’re a part of it, but you’re not.”

Gina Dao-McLay has made multiple attempts to learn Vietnamese on Duolingo, but has found the process frustrating. (Photo: supplied)

I know how de Vries, Dao-McLay and Pickering feel, because I, too, have longed for language. My father’s parents spoke to him only in English when they moved to New Zealand from India in the 1970s, so he never became fluent in Konkani, the language of our South Indian ancestors. Instead, I grew up learning Hindi, a language I know from classrooms and bazaars, but my halting fluency is not enough to make me comfortable speaking it with friends or at home. Missing India, at 19 I downloaded Duolingo and started tapping through the Hindi course, but filling in the blanks and parroting simple sentences couldn’t give me what I wanted: to not flounder when I try to describe a thunderstorm; to reach for words in Hindi and find them waiting; to be certain I belong. 

Being able to learn a language without talking to a real person who speaks it is a relatively new phenomenon. If Pickering’s ancestors hadn’t been driven out of their homeland; if de Vries’ family had never left South Africa; if Dao-McLay had been able to attend a school where they weren’t the only Vietnamese person; if colonisation hadn’t violently eradicated people’s abilities to speak their own languages, all over the world, things might have turned out differently for many of us. We might still be speaking te reo Māori or Vietnamese or Kaaps or Gaelic with our families, not learning from a machine. But while there’s no way to change the past, it is possible, even easy, to download an app.

Duolingo, which claims it is the most effective way to learn a language online (as do many of its competitors), uses particular strategies to get users hooked. The colourful achievement markers Pickering has gathered is one such motivator. The app also sends insistent reminders to users who aren’t opening it frequently enough, and offers various advantages (as well as the removal of ads) to those who pay.

After I re-downloaded Duolingo as I worked on this story, the passive-aggressive owl notification popped up each day, cajoling me to practise. The prod to maintain a streak successfully convinced me to open the app. But behind the bright icons was a reminder that algorithm-generated sentences about Raja going to Delhi for five months couldn’t fulfil my desire for a different kind of fluency. 

Duolingo staff celebrating after a successful IPO. Despite a billion dollar valuation, the app relies on volunteers to develop new courses. (Photo: Duolingo)

Duolingo is an example gamification, where features of a game are folded into activities that are not normally game-like. It can be motivating, but it also flattens the nuances and beauty of a language into just more content to consume. While Pickering notes that Duolingo “isn’t my daily Candy Crush,” they do feel conflicted: proud of their 700-day learning streak while also aware that the reasons they’re learning Gaelic are far deeper than the desire to maintain a position in the Diamond League

While the digital world seems limitless, those who seek to learn online are often reckoning with a lack of materials for all but the biggest languages. “There are no resources to learn Kaaps,” de Vries says, although he’s done his best to find what is available. It’s important to him to learn Kaaps, specifically, as a Black language, a dialect of Afrikaans drawing on Javanese, Khoekhoe, and Dutch – a history of empire and resilience held in vocabulary.

Another issue: the vocabulary and pronunciation taught by apps teach is decided by the creators of the course, erasing regional differences. While Dao-McLay’s family is from northern Vietnam, they found that Duolingo taught the southern dialect of the language. “With some of the words, it was like – that isn’t how my family pronounces it, that isn’t what I want to learn,” they say.

Lack of resources means that smaller languages don’t have additional features on the app, like the ability to speak into the phone to practise pronunciation. “I found Duolingo limited for speech but there were other apps in the ecology of online language learning that fill that role,” Pickering says. 

While all humans are uniquely hardwired to learn language, that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Pickering walks me through their Duolingo routine: a half hour of practice a day; adding each new vocabulary word to a set of flashcards; joining a Zoom group of other Gaelic learners; listening to a Gaelic-learning podcast on the weekends while doing the ironing. How long does this all take, I ask. They add it up on their calculator: at least four and a half hours a week. For them, Duolingo works because they treat it like a course, not a game. 

In Aotearoa, where the demand for te reo Māori teachers is at record levels, could online learning plug the gap? A muchanticipated te reo Māori course has been in the Duolingo Incubator for a number of years, although the release of the beta version has been pushed back several times. A Duolingo spokesperson told The Spinoff there is still no release date confirmed for the course. One reason for the delay has been a lack of resources, as the course was originally developed by volunteers (the company’s volunteer contributor programme has since been closed, and all contributors are now paid). 

Pickering has thought about what it means to learn a language from a company that commodifies their ancestral language by making them watch ads or pay a subscription to keep learning. “Duolingo’s interests are not our interests. It’s a corporation. This is capitalism.”

But while important, those concerns fade against the sense of connection they’ve gained from learning Scottish Gaelic. Since starting the Duolingo course, they’ve visited the grave of their ancestor – the one who wrote the journals – in Waikumete Cemetery four times. Each visit is a reminder of why they have chosen to learn the language that their family lost. “I speak to him in Gaelic … each time, I can put together more complex and articulate sentences,” Pickering says. “It’s given me a place to stand.”