Niono, mid-July

Today is Saturday and I spend it removing the desert from my house, together with the stiff body of a dead frog, I push a few live ones out the back door with the broom, and an assortment of dead insects, I mop and sweep, I dust once, twice, three times – there is still dust – I feel the sweat slide down my nose and wobble at the end of it before dropping to the ground.

the night

The night is full of termites losing their wings and performing violent death wiggles on the floor ; the porch light has been assaulted by bugs of all types, they scatter and crawl over the white tiles, like black pepper spilt, grasshoppers clinging to the inside of curtains and beetles spinning on their backs – breakdancing! – and curling their legs around the air. The frogs are trying to get in, too. Every time I pass the back door, I glimpse a fat one eyeing up the gap that the welders left between the door and the floor.