in the night

The lack of electricity in my house in the highlands is less bothersome than one might think. I find the kerosene lantern soothing, its constant yellow flame a reassuring tongue of warmth in a cold, remote place. When it is not raining the stars shine gloriously, and the loss of electrical appliances seems a small price to pay for having all of the cosmos apparent overhead.

I'm fairly certain I would feel differently if the place was crawling with bugs. In the house I rented in rural Mexico I had electricity at the flick of a switch, powering my blowing fan and even a small refrigerator. Yet the place was awful because of the constant encroachment into my personal space by all manner of startlingly ugly, and occasionally dangerous, creatures. The Kenyan highlands, however, are far too cold at night to be so invaded.

There are, it's true, the occasional giant cricket-esque insect. They are quite large--let's say the size of a deck of cards (also, coincidentally, the recommended size of a serving of red meat)--and they climb the walls and scuttle behind my bags in a moderately alarming fashion. At first sight, I thought they must be cockroaches, but closer inspection reveals that they are entirely too crickety.

Generally we avoid each other, me in one of my two wooden chairs, the cockroach-cricket contentedly lurking on the wall. Once, though, it jumped off the wall and landed with a resounding thump. There is no furniture in the room other than my chairs and a small stained table, making the room amplify even the small of sounds. It is a delightful effect when I sing to my guitar at night, but a horrible one when it involves the thumping of an insect. Bugs should alight softly, never thump. Thumps are intolerable.

I sleep under an untreated white mosquito net. The villagers assure me that it isn't necessary, since the fierce cold at night reduces mosquito numbers to insignificant levels, but I use it anyway. It isn't for the bugs. I saw only one mosquito in my house during the time I occupy it, and although the empty concrete room amplified its gentle buzz alarmingly so that it reverberated throughout the night, the insect did not seek to feed. I use the mosquito net because it makes me feel safe. It is a torn, porous shroud, but it cocoons me into a manageably small zone of existence, walling me off, even if only slightly, from the dank gloom of my bedroom and the infinite glow of the galaxies outside it.