It didn't come from the northeast, the dry Harmattan wind that carried the dust of the Sahara. It came from the southwest. It was cool, damp, and smelled of salt and wet grass.
And then—nothing. The clouds would pass, shedding only a few heavy, dirty drops that evaporated before they hit the ground. It was the "Meteorological teasing," the cruelest aspect of the savanna climate. tropical wet dry climate
Nsere was not defined by the wet or the dry. It was defined by the waiting in between. It didn't come from the northeast, the dry
October arrived, bringing with it the month the villagers called The Sigh . And then—nothing
"It is here!" Kofi shouted, running through the downpour, laughing, his face turned up to the sky. "The Shift! The Shift!"
She walked to the truck, her boots squelching in the mud that would soon be baked hard as concrete. The sun beat down on the wet earth, sending steam rising into the air—a truce between water and fire, temporary and eternal.