This evening, three able-bodied men removed Dozie’s hanging corpse from the barren mango tree in our backyard. Such corpses end up being thrown into the evil forest. I sit across from Mama watching her bawl her eyes out while Papa remains mute in a corner. Dozie must be a wrestler! Dozie must win Amadi, the village wrestling champion! No son of his would be caught dead or alive writing love songs, only weak men and fools played the flute, Papa would always scream at Dozie, the otunwa nwoke. I sure do hope he’s content with the boy’s death now.

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