September 1963
One could begin with the dust, the heat and the purple bougainvillea. One might even begin with the smell of rotting mangos tossed by the side of the road where flies hummed and green-bellied lizards bobbed their orange heads while loitering in the sun. But why start there when Tayo walked in silence, oblivious to his surroundings. With a smile on his face he thought of the night before when he had dared to run a hand beneath the folds of Modupe’s wrapper. Miraculously, without him even asking, Modupe had loosened the cloth around her