The Virginia Quarterly Review, July 1st, 2004
My Uncle Ezekiel's body was discovered in a ditch early on Christmas morning, three years ago. Beside him was an empty bottle of cheap whisky; I still remember the red and green label on it, with the inscription: Christian Brothers. Because of the empty bottle and because of his drinking history, people assumed he had drunk himself to death; but actually it was the cold that killed him. The harmattan blows from November, sometimes earlier, reaching its peak in late December and early January, to peter out in March, when the warm and humid winds begin to blow from the south, harbingers of the r...
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