Learned commentators from every part of the continent stated that Muteba’s legacy lived on, and that proud technolibérateurs were active across the face of Africa, and beyond. I found it difficult to pin down his direct intellectual descendants, though; hundreds of academic and political groups, and tens of thousands of individuals, cited Muteba as a source of inspiration – and many people who’d spoken out against PACDF in net debates had explicitly labeled themselves technolibérateurs – but each seemed to have adapted the philosophy to a slightly different agenda. I had no doubt that every one of them would have been horrified at the thought of Violet Mosala coming to harm – but I was no wiser as to who might have taken it upon themselves to watch over her.

#

Around seven, I headed downstairs. Sarah Knight still hadn’t returned my call – and I could hardly blame her for snubbing me. I thought again about offering to hand back the project, but I told myself that I’d left it too late, and she’d probably committed herself to another assignment. The truth was, the more the complications surrounding Mosala mocked the fantasy I’d held of retreating into the “inconsequential” abstractions of TOEs, the harder it became to imagine walking away. If this was the reality behind the mirage, I had an obligation to face it.

I was heading toward the main restaurant when I spotted Indrani Lee coming down one of the corridors which led into the lobby. She was with a small group, but they were splitting up – with volleys of rejoinders and afterthoughts, as if they’d just emerged from a long, hectic meeting and couldn’t bear each other’s company any longer, but couldn’t quite bring themselves to end the discussion, either. I approached; she saw me and raised a hand in greeting.

I said, “I missed you on the connecting flight. How are you settling in?”

“Fine, fine!” She seemed happy and excited; the conference was obviously living up to her expectations. “But you don’t look at all well.”

I laughed. “As a student, did you ever find yourself sitting for an exam where all the questions on the paper, and all the questions you’d stayed up until dawn preparing to answer … had so little in common that they might as well have come from two completely different subjects?”

“Several times. But what’s brought on the déjà vu ? Is all the mathematics going over your head?”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the problem.” I glanced around the lobby; no one was likely to overhear us, but I didn’t want to add to the rumors about Mosala if I could help it. I said, “You looked like you were in a hurry. Maybe I’ll bore you with all my tribulations on the flight back to Phnom Penh.”