Cucarachas! My Nighttime Malady

Any account of life in Nicaragua that fails to mention the bugs and creepy-crawlies that come with the territory is neither accurate nor helpful. I see now that every cleanliness-obsessed North American insectaphobe who comes to Central America must either find a way to accept this reality or go mad.

When I made my first trip to Nica in 1988, I spent a week in a house in Managua owned by a Catholic base community. These folks arranged to have a man sleep just outside my door, armed with an impressive machete. I was fine with that, as I'd been forewarned that a solitary gringa such as my incredibly pale self was a tempting target for robbery and worse. The house was sparsely furnished, with a sagging box spring under a ratty mattress, a few chairs and table, and a working refrigerator (thanks to the gods!). Sleeping was out of the question. The mere thought that mosquitoes were gorging themselves on my delectable corpus meant hours of flailing about and slapping wildly trying to fend off the attack, both real and imagined, to little avail. I finally arose at about 2 a.m. and walked barefoot to the kitchen, where I had stowed some beer in the fridge. The moment I turned on the light, I stifled a scream when HUNDREDS of gigantic cockroaches scattered for cover.

Gigantic may be somewhat hyperbolic. But they are an impressive 1.5-2-inches in length, excluding their antennae, and as thick around as my little finger. Here's an internet image:

At least one breeding couple hitched a ride back to Pittsburgh with me, as months later they began to show up in my house. At least they scared away the rats...

Here in my new house, I have found six  seven roaches in my shower. Some were dead or near death, and the two that could still run ran for the drain hole that leads to what I imagine to be the main hive in the public sewers. Most days, I see no roaches, but I always check. Beth's kitten trotted by yesterday with a mouse in her jaws, except that it turned out to be a cockroach as big as a mouse.

This one is not so big, but the key is 2 1/8 inches. The stogie key chain is a souvenir of Havana, Cuba, from La Yucatana, Tey Stiteler.

Houseflies are endemic. The winds off the ocean and from the east make spraying useless. The house is open to the elements, anyway, including insects, so I have been using flypaper in the kitchen and on my porch table to pretty good effect.

There are also tiny flying beetles and mosquitoes, moths and fleas. When I go to bed with my Nexus to read, the light from the tablet attracts them, and I have decided that ignoring them is far better than obsessing about sharing digs with them. Not that there has been an end to slapping and thrashing. Dengue fever is a worry. It's an infectious, potentially serious disease transmitted by mosquitoes. So "OFF" repellent is my new BFF. Amazingly, in the morning my sheets show no evidence of the nightly battles.

Here is some bougainvillea to help you forget these yucky pix.

Nor have I mastered the art of ignoring the excruciating itching that each mosquito bite produces. Since day one, I've had ample evidence that each time I scratch the itch, it reboots even more unbearably. So the trick is to endure the itching until it goes away; it takes enormous will power to keep from the (admittedly orgasmic) scratching that just raises the itch factor. It is torturous. My nightly routine has evolved to include a shower, followed by medicated powder and generous application of Deep Woods OFF. Thus armed against the bichitos, the little bastards, I read myself to sleep. And I am sleeping better and better.

And, in lieu of mosquito bites, a puppy.