A writer's haven

I remember my childhood growing up in Nigeria. We got new clothes and shoes as Christmas drew near, and the new year beckoned. My aunt, who sold imported fabrics, would hand them over to the tailors to make nice clothes for my cousins and me. Other times, we got ready-made dresses.    Our Christmas mornings started at my cousin's grandmother's house. We would eat a delicious breakfast, which was usually yam and fish sauce. Jollof rice and chicken was guaranteed in the afternoon.   We were treated to cartoons, and I was always excited when family members and friends visited during the day.    There was a canopy out downstairs where guests were entertained. My cousin's Uncle J, of blessed memory, would throw me up in the air, and I would laugh with exhilaration. I was a child, but I remember him being very good-looking and personable. In my mind, Uncle J was a fabulous person all around.   We would get the handheld fireworks at night and light them. Oh, ...