Eaten Alive by Mbu

Mbu is what we back home like to call a mosquito. Death by mbu is slow and painful, I tell you. Every morning I come into the office wondering if it will be my last. I sit at a large and rather old wooden desk which provides just enough dark space for mosquitoes to set their trap. When I arrive they all pull out their dinner knives and attack. And they have their favorite parts, too. Just like so many people prefer drumsticks, these blood sucking creatures prefer ankles. But they don't stop there, they work around the leg and feet until either I manage to smack them or there's too much daylight and they run to hide. Oh yes, they hate the sun. As if there weren't enough similarities between these guys and vampires, they only come out at dusk and dawn. So, I pop my anti-maleria pill every morning while I smack the air like a crazed mad woman. But after coming face to face with so many of these guys I think I've now developed a sense of those mbus that are carrying the dreaded maleria and those that are just driving me nuts. There's a certain look in their eyes and you just know.