Flashlight Assassin

If you’ve seen Wall•E, you probably remember that Wall•E’s only friend on Earth was a cockroach —the implication being that everything else died out after mountains of trash turned the planet into a toxic wasteland.

Wall•E’s second-to-last friend: quite likely, a mosquito.

Despite the fact that I’m on an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean that receives mere inches of rain every year, the anopheles mosquito manages to breed and thrive here. During the rainy season (July to September), the mosquitoes go to town on anyone not wearing long pants and a sweater. If that’s you and you’re white, you end up looking like you have chicken pox. And you don’t have to wonder whether other people notice: you know they do, because everyone and their sister stops in their tracks to recommend remedies or repellents.

The problem is compounded by the fact that the rainy season is also the hot season, so you can’t just close your window to keep the mosquitoes out (because then you can’t sleep). So you open your window, and they stream in, and you wake up all poxy in the morning.

When I was in Canada, I at least had the satisfaction of killing the mosquitoes that bit me. I’d start to feel the prick about halfway through their feast, and my hand would lurch forward to snuff them out — to my delight, just a little bit faster than they could skedaddle. But here in Cape Verde, the mosquitoes are either too small or too subtle to be detected by touch. If you feel something, it’s the red bump that shows up 10 long minutes after the culprit is gone.

During the night, I at least manage to protect myself pretty well with my big green Peace Corps mosquito net. But as I learned early on, it does me no good if any of the bloodsuckers have already managed to sneak their way in. So when I go to bed at night (or go to the bathroom to take a shower), I perform an inspection. I am always interested in the same two things:

1. Mosquitoes?
2. Where??!!

The best way to answer #1 is by listening. Even a single relatively small mosquito makes a distinct buzzing sound when it flies. Assuming I hear something, I whip out my trusty Mag-Lite and lie in wait for the kill.

The flashlight, however, is a problem.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my flashlight. It’s a lot brighter than the ceiling light, I can turn it on easily in bed, I can direct the beam … and it’s the only option in the bathroom in the mornings, since the electricity doesn’t come on until about 10am. But since I have no way of strapping it to my head, it uses up a hand. And how in the world am I supposed to kill a mosquito with just one free hand?

As it turns out: like a ninja!

It begins like a prison breakout. My flashlight beam scans side to side and up and down, scouring every inch of my surroundings to the find the culprit behind the buzz. It may take 5 seconds or 5 minutes, but sooner or later, the mosquito careens into view. Immediately, I lock on, following it with light wherever it goes. Silently, expectantly, my left hand reaches out. As I wait for the mosquito to wander haplessly into range, I flex my fingers into a claw. The tension makes my palm sweat; smelling that warmth — that meal — the greedy mosquito falls for my trap. And all of a sudden, it’s quiet: I’ve pounced, I’ve clenched my fist, I’ve opened it again, and I’ve smirked in satisfaction at the bloody, mangled little pile of twig-legs inside.

Take that, P. falciparum!