This thing called ageing, by Azu Ishiekwene Conversation with Azu The cold blast of the air conditioner from the room hit me by surprise as I opened the door. I wasn’t expecting a draught from inside at eight on a damp morning. But there was my cousin under the duvet, hugging what seemed like a pillow as he snuggled diagonally across the bed, deeply asleep. I grabbed the electric iron from the floor right next to the standing fan, which was purring at a speed that made the room even cooler and...