Fight or Flight

It was a night like any other night. The dog was asleep, my housemates were busying themselves on their computers, I was turning in for the night in preparation for the next work day. I'm a bit systematic when it comes to bed time in Africa. First, I prepare the room - pack my bag for work, make sure what I'm wearing is ironed and polished, set aside the necessitates (i.e. money, passport, sunglasses, lip balm, key, cell phone), and make the bed. Now, making the bed seems a little counterproductive if I'm getting ready to sleep in it. However, this involves meticulously draping the bed with a mosquito net so as to not be visited by flying foes while one slumbers. Little did I know, as I was making the bed that night, I was preparing for war.



The calm before the storm



I then leave the room to tend to other aspects of my process, such as shaving, brushing my teeth, going to the bathroom, and downing a full glass of water... in that order. Returning to my seemingly peaceful abode, I change into my sleepwear and head to bed. I plan my maneuver, tactfully placing myself away from the entry point. Turning off the light, I lift up the net, ducking under with remarkable haste and agility, and letting it fall to the ground. The hope is that I was followed by none. The hope is for a peaceful night's sleep. The hope that faded away this night as the setting sun fades behind the hills of Kigali.

All is well as I slump down into my mattress, my head gracefully finding its all too familiar spot on the pillow, pulling back the covers, and being thankful for the rest that is now only moments away. With my eyes closed and the gentle breeze entering through the screen clad window, I drift off, signifying the day's end. Then, my eyes fling open, my heart races, blood pumping vigorously through my veins... just as easily as I fell asleep, I'm on high alert. It was THAT sound. The sound that strikes terror into every foreigner in a strange land. The sound that just by hearing it implies it is too late. The buzzing sound of a mosquito.

But how? Why?! I didn't understand. I was careful. I took the necessary precautions. My mind races, thinking of the possibilities. I flung away the sheets, dove under the net, and hit the lights. Nothing. No sign. No sound. Just as quickly as I heard the noise, it disappeared. Was I dreaming? Impossible. I had only lied down for a second. Leaving the lights on, I reentered my violated sanctuary. I lied down again. Eyes open, searching, scanning ever corner, every crevice, looking for any movement at all. At last, the enemy was spotted. No bug was going to keep me from my sleep. Just as surely as I knew he was, I was out for blood. There is no political banter in a war like this. It's a raw, man versus beast battle to the end. One will stand victorious. One will succumb to the strength of the other. As God as my witness, it was not going to be I who failed.

Carefully I tracked the predator that has now become the prey. With great patience and foresight, I waited for an opportunity. Then, it presented itself. SMACK!  My hand came hurling down on top of the bug, leaving only remnants of a life once flown. Peace came once again to my room. Retracing my steps, I laid back down to sleep. But there it was again! Another? How?! Lights on, eyes wide open, I inspected my net of protection. As I inspected every inch, I found a hole. Two words: duct tape. Again, I searched, and again I found a hole. Another, and another. They had been planning this for years! This was no sanctuary. This was an ambush! After the inspection and confident of my newly secured barrier, I entered for another duel. On the corner post, conveniently located near where my head rests, he sits waiting for his opportunity as I have found mine. This one not as easy as the last. Camouflaged by the color of the wooden post, first strike misses. Another, and another. Cornered, I strike yet again, and the beast falls dead. I sit. An eerie silence fills the room. How many more will come? How many more must die before they admit defeat?  A third approaches, this time on the attack. The horrifying buzz comes precariously close to my ears. He lands on my neck, attempting for the jugular no doubt. I swat him away in a moment of panic. My life flashing before my eyes. All of my strength telling me to stay in the fight. I regain my composure and go on the offense. He sits at the bottom of the net. He's sluggish, though. Even… full. It was true, I had been wounded. But I kept fighting. As I swung my hand down with great force, I catch the net, allowing the enemy to escape, and escape he did.

Hours later, the battle was over. I cannot claim that I remained unscathed. I have my share of battle wounds, but they are not in vain. I stood my ground that African summer night. I stood my ground and won. People will talk about this night. Children will aspire to such courage as was shown on this battlefield.  I fear that this night will not be unique in my time here.  Nevertheless, I will be ready.