As I sat with my cappuccino and demi-baguette reading a collection of short stories by celebrated Rwandan writer Beata Umubyeyi Mairesse that I’d just found at Kigali’s best literary bookshop, Ikirezi Books, I noticed my phone was running low. I asked the young man at the next table, whom I’d overheard speaking English earlier (most people do in this trilingual city, but it’s good to check), if he had a charger. He did not. He went back to his MacBook, I to my short story, and then, about a minute later, he turned back to me.
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