Jima printed the PDF on cheap paper. He studied it for two weeks. When his final paper came back, there was a note from his professor: “Where did you learn to explain post-colonial code-switching like this?”

There was no copyright page. Instead, a note in Oromo said: “This book was built by grandmothers, teachers, and exiles. Download it. Print it. Translate it again. A language dies when it is locked away.”

Late one night, fueled by stale coffee and desperation, he typed into the search bar:

He wasn't looking for a stolen book. He was looking for a key —a bridge between the English he had to write in and the Oromo he thought in. He clicked link after link. Broken pages, virus-laden pop-ups, and university paywalls.