Darkness usually comes early upon our compound. And when it came, it cast long, dark shadows over our thatched roof. The reason was that our only neighbours for many miles were the tall, leafy palms, raffia and iroko trees that towered above our house like great green giants. In their height and number, they formed a high fence that shut off daylight as soon as the sun began its slow journey to the Western skies.
In the rainy season, the early darkness also brought very ugly sounds along with it: the croaking of frogs and toads, the chirping of insects and the baying of goats returning to the homestead after a day of grazing in the fields. These noises did not make our compound a very cheerful place in the evenings.
On this particular evening, my younger sister was playing in the wet sand with her friends. As I went past them to bring in the last of the fire-wood, I noticed how little she cared about the mud and dirt around her. Nnenna is the most care-free child I know in our village.
