Kebon Kacang declares war on cockroaches as chaos hits

Just as President Bush has declared war on terrorism and Jakarta's Governor Sutiyoso has vowed to fight to the bitter end against those beastly becak (pedicab) drivers, I myself have resolved to do my bit for the civilized world by declaring war on cockroaches.

Of course, it's not that my residence is in any way prone to the critters, living as I do in Pondok Indah in a brand new, multibillion rupiah Mexican-style villa unequivocally and irrevocably guaranteed cockroach-proof ad infinitum by the developer.

What?

OK, I'll come clean. The bit about the house is all a fantasy I've dreamed up to try and maintain what little is left of my sanity. No, the truth is I live in a dingy little first-floor apartment in Kebon Kacang which, while lacking many of the things that make human existence bearable, seems nevertheless to possess most of the requisites for cockroach suburban bliss.

What shape will this war on cockroaches take, I hear you ask? Well, I'm not quite sure yet although I'm due to hold a high -level conference with Bonzo the cat any day now on the appropriate strategies to adopt (Bonzo, incidentally, has been given the honorary rank of general for the duration of the campaign). General Bonzo appears to be just as discomfited by our unwelcome guests as I am, and I've a sneaking suspicion that they've been eating his food, which would explain his hungry and harried look of late.

Of course, as Governor Sutiyoso has already found out, and as President Bush may also soon discover, waging war on a wily and elusive enemy is no easy matter.

Unlike famine-stricken Afghans, dropping bombs on my cockroaches is obviously not an option if I want to keep a roof over my head and stay on good terms with the neighbors -- and anyway, popular wisdom has it that if nuclear Armageddon were to be inflicted on us, the cockkies would survive it all and end up inheriting the earth (roll over Planet of the Apes, hello Planet of the Cockroaches -- Ugh!).

Thus, poison gas or even chemical weapons, would appear to be the only solution.

But even then, would such drastic measures be enough to rid me of the scourge of Blatta orientalis (for such is his official moniker, if I'm not mistaken)?

The fact is, the enemy is well prepared and has no doubt excavated, tunneled, burrowed and gnawed out a whole warren of hideouts and shelters under my floors, in my walls, behind the cistern in my bathroom, and possibly, horror of horrors, even under my mattress (although I'm too terrified as yet to actively investigate this possibility).

Getting carried away? No way, brother! This was precisely the hideous fate that befell a friend of mine while backpacking on his honeymoon (I kid you not) in Turkey. After a number of days cavorting with the wife in the bedroom of their cheap pension, my friend noticed a pair of long feelers appearing out from under the mattress.

Being of a resolute nature, he quickly lifted up the mattress to investigate. And lo and behold, guess what he discovered? Yes, that's right, they had a full-on nest of the critters, a veritable cockroach kampong, all wiggling around underneath their butts the whole time.

A traumatic experience I'll wager and one pretty much guaranteed to take one's mind off romantic boudoir pursuits for a while!

So, what exactly is so appalling about my scuttling squatters? After all, there's no shortage of other disgusting wildlife around.

Take maggots, for example. Well, the difference here obviously is that your average maggot tends to keep a respectable distance unless you happen to be one of those people who habitually store bloated and putrefying corpses in their homes.

Then there's mice. Now, it so happens that many Western ladies have a morbid dread of mice, presumably because they have an inherent fear that the raunchy rodents will run up their legs and ... well, let's not get into that!

Of course, we all know that this is only an old-wives' tale spread around to ensure that ladies sit modestly with their legs' crossed, and that mice, especially white mice, are in reality cuddly, lovable little creatures.

You don't agree? OK, let's put it this way, which would you prefer, to pet a white mouse on the palm of your hand or a three- inch-long granddaddy cockroach?

Furthermore, mice don't fly (unless you consider bats to be flying mice), and land on your face and get in your hair while you're dozing off watching TV.

And they don't make a horrible crunching sound when you stand on them either, although they do make lots of little squeaking noises ... er ... or so I've been told (General Bonzo, an expert on the field of small rodents, also confirmed that this is probably the case).

Anyway, I think it's time that I woke up to the fact that what I'm actually suffering from here is INFESTATION (doesn't the very sound of the word make your skin crawl?). But just like Governor Sutiyoso's dream of ending the infestation of Jakarta by undesirables, I fear that my dream of becoming master in my own home once again may fail miserably.

Whatever the case, the FUMIGATORS, the special forces in this war on cockroaches, are coming tomorrow to launch the first offensive of the campaign. So it's fingers crossed from here on in!

-- James Boyd