The Legacy of Alexandria was the hub of the O.E. Muungano embassy. They dubbed the room that because the Muungano physical library was housed there. Shelves lined every wall space, filled with books. Every nook filled with hand-carved masks or figurines. Jaha loved the look and feel of actual books. She labored in the shadow of the largest collection of Third World Press first editions. Even though it also meant that she had to suffer through Camara Xola’s “The hegemony of text is dead” rants whenever he visited.

“What’s the first lesson of the griot?” Jaha raised her voice as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. Young people benefited from being constantly tested. It taught them to always be ready.

“When you see a challenge in your community, you are already in the best position to help solve it.” Ishant sighed. “That was never the question. I already believed the philosophies of Muungano and what it was about. That when we all prosper, we all grow together. It was a dream I hadn’t figured out the language for.”

A brace at the shoulder wrapped around his torso, framing his left arm. A cybernetic arm sheathed in bioplastic, it allowed him to plug into AI and other tech systems. Ishant was a streamer, jacking into the data streams for pleasure. Young people were going to young people, Jaha had long ago concluded as she could not wrap her head around sensate culture. Jaha wouldn’t allow him to jack in around her. “We don’t have to get the language right. It changes because Muungano is a continuing experiment.”

“My issue is how. How to use stories to correct and push people.”

“What I’m saying is that we do it all the time.” Jaha strode over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “What’s really bothering you? I can feel an ill energy all over your emi.”

Ishant avoided making eye contact with her, instead focusing on his tasks. With his features and light complexion, he could pass for a mzungu. Speaking in a clipped manner and often half snorting at his own jokes, his prim mouth was framed by a thin ash of stubble. With his slight build, she suspected a sudden strong gust could topple him. “How can I be expected to become a griot when I still get treated as an obroni by some?”