The voice over the phone has an unfamiliar drawl. Then shifts into the vernac.“ Who am I?” he asks. Faint memories from another time, when one was as daft, less cynical, more hardworking. Of a much smaller company; less systems and more heart. Of events where everyone pitched in and crazy deadlines. You tell me its better to live in Ottawa’s chill than dodge stray bullets in Johannesburg. I know you’ll do all right, find, make or wheedle a way out, and of course I’ll write you a glowing reference.