The Conversation

Last week, something phenomenal happened. I was getting ready for bed when I spotted this Mosquito chilling on my right arm.

My first thought was to kill her but I didn't want to get blood on my hands. We take lightly, things that may be responsible for some strange occurrences in our lives.

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So, I curved my lips into an 'o' and then, blew air from my mouth unto my right arm where the mosquito stood rooted to my skin. It didn't budge.

I threatened her -- I don't speak Mosquit but I believed she could hear me since my heart is good. Yet, she didn't budge.

Now fed up, I raised my hands to slap her and that's when I heard it. Faint but audibly clear. A tiny voice shouting - "I'm here! Stop! Don't kill me. Listen to me first."

I stopped dead in my tracks. What did I just hear? Was I losing it finally? Surely, I heard this mosquito talk to me since we were the only ones in the room. I thought to myself.

"Don't be scared. I just want to talk. I already fed from your brother."

That didn't sound reassuring especially as my brother could come down with malaria the following day. I didn't tell her this though.

I wanted her to talk and be on her way. So, I listened and we got talking. She began:

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We don't have it easy. By we, I mean the women. We pay the dowry like the Indians do because we hunt for blood.

We feed them (the men) sometimes although they are into the flower nectar and fruit juices. That's the lazy man's food because there's no risk involved, unlike we.

We fight the wars too. My sister -- ATM, is presently in the forest.

"What's ATM? Automated Teller Machine?" I asked the ridiculous question.

She laughed. A squeaky sound -- like the sole of a canvas rubbing against the surface of a recently mopped tiled floor.

No, silly. Asian Tiger Mosquito. When my mum, God rest her soul, gave birth to us, we got separated. She was taken to the forest and I remained in the house.

I voiced an inaudible "Oh."

Our men have this hair resembling beards on their mouth -- Antennal flagellum and because of that, they act like they are special.

"Like Jollof Rice?" I asked.

Yes. Like Jollof Rice. We go into labor everytime we feed from mammals and we need all the energy we can muster and so, we feed on those flower nectars too so we can get sugar for energy.

That's too much work and yet, we get little or no appreciation from them. Our job is risky. There's a high chance we could get sick or die, yet, we don't get appreciated.

"Why don't they help? You do all these things by yourself and they don't help or appreciate you guys still? Wawu!" I said.

They said since they have a shorter lifespan than us, they would rather spend their days making merry, eating and sleeping.

"How long do they live for?"

Approximately one week. The women live for two weeks but in captivity, with the right temperature and humidity, we could live up to a month.

"Oh. No wonder. But still, that doesn't excuse their laziness. Whether or not they die, they have to still help around the house." I said.

I know. And that's why I came to talk to you. One day, while I was feeding from your arm and reading this Facebook post on your phone, I had an epiphany.

"Hollup. You can read?" a shocked me asked.

I can. I visit you often because of that. You are very kind and I'm surprised even when I infect you, you don't still harm me. That's why I find your company entertaining.

"Abodie!" I shouted disbelievingly.

As I was saying, I saw this post on your news feed, talking about women and how we are more and deserve better.

I read and I was shocked. I didn't believe we had so much going for us. I realized that in allowing tradition and culture take its course, we had deprived ourselves.

Something changed in me and even though time was far spent from reading the article, I cared less.

When I got back home, I found out my husband had locked me out. I kept knocking on the gate, he wouldn't open. I could feel what little patience I had slowly leave me.

Then, I remembered the post I read earlier, and like a stimulant, I got some kind of energy which was different from the energy from the flower's nectar -- energy I never knew I had.

I knocked down the gate which is made of air btw. Then, I charged into the house and slapped him.

He was shocked, so shocked that he couldn't retaliate. I began talking fast. Setting the rules, saying things were going to change and all. He just stood in the air watching me, unable to take his eyes off me.

"What has come over this woman?" he must have been thinking because he had never seen that side of me. He only knew the docile me.

When I was done talking, I asked him to prepare the bed -- which was the leaf-axils of bromeliads and he did. It was time to birth more eggs.

Ever since that day, things changed in our home. My neighbors are learning now. The men in our community are working now. When the women leave, they help out at home. They don't just sit around stroking their beards and making merry.

Gradually, there's a change -- an impactful one not like the one your Buhari promised you lot and I have you to thank.

I'm so grateful. I feel fly even if I'm just a mosquito. I was able to effect a change. I can't promise you we won't stop taking blood, that's the only way we can survive and populate the world. But I can give you and your family immunity to show my appreciation.

Thank you.

I just kept staring at this creature -- small but mighty indeed. Iconoclastic in her ways. I was proud.

Now, I leave my phone on -- for the next mosquito who would want to read and return to lecture the rest. That's me being human. You should too.