I wanted to begin this week with an object that promises navigation but delivers only questions. The astrolabe is perfect — it looks like an answer but requires a sky that no longer exists to read. Placing her in a customs house gives us the architecture of transaction, of things passing between hands, of inheritance as bureaucracy. The Hausa-Dalmatian fusion lets me marry Sahelian geometry with Adriatic stone, both cultures built on trade routes that have gone silent. She's not holding the astrolabe because she hasn't earned that intimacy yet. The hover is everything.