The remains of Amani, a century-old scientific laboratory in Tanzania, are quintessential modern relics. When anthropologists turn to such infrastructures of, originally colonial, knowledge-making, their own implication with the object of their study -and with its epistemological and political-economic origins and order -becomes part of the ethnographic pursuit. This entanglement between researcher and research material should challenge familiar realist modes of ethnographic writing 'about' such places that elude the anthropologists' own, compromised position within them. Matters are complicated further when the studied knowledge-making sites already are broken, having failed their purpose -as in the case of the vestiges of an abandoned colonial institution. In this essay, I wonder how such ruins of knowledge-making might transform the knowledge made by anthropologists working within them. Instead of just adding 'reflexive' confessions to realist accounts, could writing take part in the defeat that the scientific station's remains seem to embody -writing not 'after/beyond' but 'going along with' failure? Drawing on non-representational ethnography, and poet-anthropologist Hubert Fichte's embrace of epistemic defeat as anticolonial method, I trace my engagements with just one fragment of the scientific station -a driver's uniform. In doing so, I experiment with an object ethnography that 'fails' to detach author and object, or settle the question of failure, and instead foregrounds performativity, ambiguity, and mirth as starting points for an ethnography of, and in, our modern ruins.I had a research station 'I had a farm in Africa' , opens Karen Blixen's imperialist novel Out of Africa (Blixen 2001(Blixen [1937: 13; see also Ngũgĩ 1993). Read 'station' for farm, to evoke the irony and ridicule, and the colonial shadows, that riddle my decade-long attachment to Amani, a research station in northeast Tanzania, and my entanglement with the inherent violence, and pleasures, of knowledge-making there. Together with fellow anthropologists, I first came to Amani in 2014 (accompanied by an elderly British entomologist who had lived there in the first postcolonial decades, and guided by a local naturalist who descended from station staff), as part of a larger study of 'memorials and remains' of medical science in Africa. Occasionally joined by other scholars and artists, we returned to Amani six times in the following years, to explore the layered remnants of German and British colonial science and early Tanzanian national medical research. 1 Taking inspiration also from