Oh Lord the Flies

Oh Lord The Flies

So it’s Temp de Mosca (the time if the flies) in Cape Verde, and I’m starting to lose my sanity. You know those old TV commercials where that lady talked to you and showed you a bunch of kids in Africa that you could save for 36 cents a day, and those kids would have all those flies swarming about them? Well, with regard to the flies at least, it’s not an exaggeration. Since the day I arrived, there’ve always been flies around, but the last month they’ve been almost unbearable. I’m not sure why they’re so much worse during the summer months, but they definitely are, and you can’t escape them. I postulate that the reason they are so much worse here in Cape Verde than they are in the States is due to the trash situation here (garbage in Cha di Igreja is hauled 5 minutes away down to the bottom of the ribeira and dumped into a cargo ship container where it sits until full, at which point some poor soul is in charge of setting it all on fire), the fact that there is loose livestock and poultry wandering around through town, and the fact that there are no pesticides in Cape Verde. Whatever the reasons, the flies are definitely a caxtig (punishment).

If you sit outside anywhere, they’ll arrive to pester you instantly. Buzzing around your face, landing on your book, your arms your wrist and you hands. Swatting after them has no effect...they simply disengage and return immediately. I had a cut on my foot for the past few weeks and it was as if I was emitting a mosca homing beacon. I’d look down and see literally a dozen flies arranged around the scab like seniors at a banquet table. Even walking through the village in flip-flops, they’d attach them selves to the wound like little black buttons and come along for the ride. Meal times are especially terrible. No matter how clean you or your kitchen or your dining room are, you are certain to dine amongst a swarm of dozens and dozens of flies. I’ve taken to eating one handed…utensil in my left hand, the right hand assigned the job of constantly fanning my face and my plate, in an attempt to keep the little bastards off my food and out of my mouth. Conversations have become ridiculous. Although they don’t bother Cape Verdians nearly as much as they bother me, I think people assume I’ve become nervos (spastic) because I’m always trying to talk to someone while constantly shaking my head and squintching my eyes and swatting at the air around my face. I’ve never seen a fly swatter in Cape Verde, but even if I had one, I doubt it would do any good against their uncanny evasive maneuvers and numerous hordes.

Even so, it’s not always the swarming flies that make you loco. Oftentimes, it’s the lone-ranger-evil-bastard fly that has you in a murderous rampage. Take the following scenario. You’re lying in bed, uncovered, due to the heat. You’re courting sleep, but there’s a single demonic housefly alighting on your leg. You flex it and it leaves you, but only for an instant, before returning to the exact same spot on your leg. So this time you jerk it and it’s gone. Then you feel it on your little toe, so you flick your toes and then it lands on your big toe. You shake your foot and test your senses and think you’re all good, and then you hear the quiet little buzzing, and now it’s on your belly. Then your forehead, then your shoulder, then your nipple, then your throat. So light they are…light as air…but their nasty filthy little feet are JUST ENOUGH for you to feel…just enough to drive you mad with the twitching. Why do they insist on landing on people…with all of the thousands and thousands of square inches of space to land on…why do they insist on landing on me??? Two nights ago I was living through just this situation for about 15 minutes until I went completely nuts. I got up, turned on the light and grabbed a t-shirt and waited to kill the bastard. There it was, on my pillow and I swung. Bzzz. No luck. There it was again, at the foot of the bed, and I swung. Bzzz. No luck. There it was again on the wall, and I swung. And shattered the bare bulb light bulb that hangs over my bed. So now it’s midnight, it’s hot, I’m tired, and standing barefoot in my pitch dark room in my underpants with shattered glass all over my bed. Bzzz. And it’s all I can do not to scream.

Other than the lone ranger nighttime sonsobitches, there is one type of fly that truly inspires rage and fear in the hearts of men. That would be the death-wish-kamikaze-radar-guided-dive-bombing fly. Like a cruise missile from a battleship, it can strike without warning and at any time. My theory is that these flies are approaching the end of their brief lifecycle and, sensing the end is near, decide to go out in a blaze of glory, causing maximum casualties. You can be walking along, momentarily un-accosted by any winged insects, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Bzzzzz THWAP!, a fly has rocketed straight up your nostril and embedded itself half way to your brain. Your reaction is, necessarily, a very public yet impromptu herky-jerky snorting blowing spastic fit wherein you shrink and jump and slap your own face, doubled over, trying to hock the fucker out of the back of your throat. Sometimes they strike the eyeball, shattering on impact and momentarily blinding you, leaving you to pick fly shrapnel out of your lashes for an hour. Sometimes they’ll earhole you. Last week I nearly shattered my own eardrum when I gave myself an open-handed slap after taking a direct hit right through the ear canal. It’s times like those when I try to be thankful that at least they don’t have fire ants here.

So, those of you at home in the civilized world...give thanks today for screened doors and windows, insecticides, air conditioning, flyswatters, and regular garbage pick-up. And next time you’re enjoying a nice meal, unencumbered by a dozen buzzing menaces, please, think of me.