Sleeping here in this building won't be easy. I cast a final look around after the manager is out of sight. The windowpanes are thick with dust and cobwebs decorate the ceiling. The building owner is being insincere calling it a hotel. "Durban Dungeon" should be apt. Anyway, I'll only be here for a few hours – it will soon be morning. Besides, I slept in a bunk bed back in high school, even if my weight was then a little more than half the current 100 kg.

Placing my so-called duvet on the bed, I drop my bag on the mattress and lift onto it. My jump must have impressed the white dude because he whistles after my landing and that feels good. Whoever made this bed clearly has no soft spot for six-footers. While I stretch out, my head hits the iron rod at the top and my legs extend beyond the base rod. The mattress that looked well laid sinks under my weight, making my back scratch the metallic wire-mesh underneath.

"Hmmm?" The bed squeaks continuously as if adjusting to my weight.

Moving here and there, I try to sustain a convenient position but that takes a while. Eventually, my legs fold up as I rest on my right shoulder. The chemical stench from the duvet makes me want to drop it, but the cold evening has invited goosebumps on my skin, making the duvet a necessity. I spread it over, only to realise it covers only my chest and thighs, leaving my head and legs exposed to cold and flying insects.

As if to announce the arrival of a mega-meal, mosquitoes troop to my bedside, buzzing around my head. These are the insects I dislike the most. Apart from their annoying sounds, they usually leave me battling with Malaria when beaten too much. Seeing them in dozens as they greet me 'Sawubona,' I hasten to wallop the few singing around my ears. Eight of them die right away and the bloodstains on my palm attest.

The few that escaped my slaps must have reported my cruel treatment to their resident chairman, because swarms of mosquitoes soon descend on me, playing Afropop music in my ears. It then occurs to me that I'm in their territory. There's no way I'll kill them all, definitely not by slapping them.

Despite my tired limbs, their noise won't allow me to snooze, so I have to negotiate with the pests for a peaceful evening rest. I pull the duvet over my head, exposing a good portion of my feet for them to feed on. I'll prefer rashes on my feet than have them scattered across my face. This will be a long night indeed.

The insects must be enjoying my blood because their stings hurt so much that I smack my feet every now and then. Each time I slap, my hand returns with bloodstains. The smacking soon extends to my calf, thighs, arms and back. When tired of beating myself, I let them be. I'll go for Malaria treatment first thing tomorrow morning.

The insects dish out three-course meals from my blood, making me feel like I've lost 5kg as they munch. They suck enough to last them two weeks, but what can I do?

If slapping won't deter them, I change tactics by shaking my legs continuously for them not to perch. But then, will I quiver for the whole night because of rampaging mosquitoes? Whenever I stop shaking, they pose on me and resume the sucking, biting harder as if to remind me not to tamper with their meals.

I grumble and mumble, wobble and fumble, almost mimicking the buzzing insects with my groans, but the merciless creatures only increase their bite force. It's turning out a strange night I'll never forget. Maybe they've not seen someone with this volume of blood in a long while or they've stayed hungry for weeks with no one offering them food. Someone like the bony white lad on the lower bunk must have given them no hope of survival.

When all hope seems lost, I rest my head on the pillow, trying to take my mind off the sucking creatures. About five minutes after closing my eyes, trying so hard to induce sleep, a sharp pain in my chin jolts me up from the pillow – as if someone pricks an office pin in my jaw. My finger rubs over the spot, but a large pimple has formed.

This can't be from a mosquito. The pain is sharper and it hurt so badly. Mosquitoes operate in the air, not under a pillowcase.

I search around with furrowed brows to locate the entity that donates such an extra-large pimple in so short a time. Before long, my fear is confirmed: a blood-soaked bedbug clinging to the pillowedge poses for a selfie. On being exposed to light, it tucks itself somewhere underneath.