Things I learned from the sandflies

The healing power of onions, histamine balance, and a would-you-rather

Cacao tree, flower, and fruit. Oreba Co-op in Bocas del Toro, Panama.

These buggers go by many names - biting midges, punkies, pignon gnats, sand fleas. Where I grew up, we called them the almost-quaint, not-quite-word, "noseeum". Here in Panama, they are called chitra or sand flies and my limbs have fallen prey to their little noses.

My browser history is full of home remedies, from aloe vera to B12 to ice baths and beyond. Scratching seems to be the worst thing you can do. Light smacking is generally internet-approved, although a bit socially awkward. This approach is a convenient indicator for approaching one’s wits’ end.

Many a blog recommends pressing an onion slice on the affected area for 5-10 minutes. Although I am a woman of small stature, a complete onion treatment would set me back an hour. I resisted this simple solution, despite my abundance of onions and time, only to giggle with absurdity and relief from this allium with my husband a few days later. The sandflies reminded me that simple can be powerful - and fun.

A sandfly landed on my computer in an attempt to bless or mock this newsletter topic.

There are now two flies and I don't know whether to smile at our cohabitation or cast aside this aged laptop in an effort to be rid of just this tiniest sliver of their population.

The Ceratopogonidae family has over 5000 species in their tree. They range across all latitudes and wreak havoc on the warm-blooded in the name of furthering their cause and population. As far as I can tell, only humans have attained this range too.

I read scientific articles about histamines and their role in increasing fluid flow to flush out invaders, and I popped some anti-histamine pills to balance my reaction. I considered this binary thinking and contemplated a world where the histamines and the anti-histamines found common ground through respectful discourse and built a world with everyone's natural inclinations and best interests in mind.

I learned that rubbing banana peels on oneself is a DEET-free prevention method but have not yet rubbed banana peels on myself.

I figured out that wearing long layers is worth being hot and uncomfortable to thwart the midges.

I learned that these little devils live on a lunar cycle and are en mass just after a full moon. I too oscillate with the moon, and will now sync my long sleeves with la luna.

I learned that only female sandflies bite. Those that don't ingest a "blood meal" produce fewer eggs. I wondered if any egg laying sandflies are throttling their consumption in the name of family planning or personal choice, and learned that Panama has more liberal abortion laws than the United States.

My husband tried to broker a deal with the sandflies, dreaming that we could offer a thimble proactively every week or so. Give them what they wanted in some scheduled manner, rather than these micro thefts at all hours. Unfortunately, the sandflies didn’t come to the table to negotiate.

I became an amateur researcher of fleas and mosquitoes and bed bugs and heat rash just to cover my bases, but local knowledge and too many images of bug bites indicate that it really is the sandflies.

A cerveceria called La Bruja makes a beer called the Chitra. A refreshing pale ale with hints of tropical fruits and no notes of being the snack of a nearly invisible bug.

I became existential and asked the search engine, "what is the purpose of sandflies?". I imagined a sandfly asking its computer about my purpose.

Some Kiwi bloggers say their function is to keep popular fishing destinations from being overrun by less bug-tolerant tourists, but I don’t tend to go in for this human-centric version of the planet.

A few weeks later, we went across the lagoon to tour an indigenous cacao cooperative. 90 farmers and their families cultivate the main ingredient for chocolate and pool together to sell their product globally. This tree was domesticated 5300 years ago in South America and introduced to Central America by traveling Olmecs from modern-day Mexico. Before the US dollar or gold or silver, cacao was used as currency as people moved across the isthmus of Panama, ranging from Mexico to Brazil. The Mayans came after the Olmec civilizations and named these seeds cacao. The word was picked up by the Spanish and continues to be used today. The tree Theobroma is ancient Greek and means “food of the gods”. In 1853 Caroleus Linneaus made this the official name in his system.

The guide showed us around the community and areas used for fermenting and roasting. Kids played in the river alongside women washing clothes. A large building is used as a sewing studio, with large sign outside instructing people to bring items that need mending. At ever turn, our guide explained the use of some plant for food or medicine and shared how the community has thrived off the gifts of the jungle for thousands of years. These days they incorporate modern items like crocs and cell phones too.

Our guide explained the challenges of a new fungus and the necessity to frequently prune the trees alongside. He shared that price-per-pound had dropped from $3 in the ’70s to 85 cents today. The tour helps make ends meet, and the pandemic was difficult.

We turned a bend in the path and our guide shared that these same biting midges pollinate cacao. I try to be a good person, but acknowledge that the contribution of chocolate by these chitras likely surpasses my offerings on this earthly plane.

Later I learned that 70% of global cacao production is in West Africa, introduced by the Portuguese in the 1800s to capture labor closer to Europeans enamored by these seeds. A cousin of the chitra live over there and took up the task of pollination. When insecticides and deforestation are present, some plantations resort to hand-pollinating cacao. This presents an interesting would-you-rather: chocolate and chitras? No chocolate, no chitra.

A few weeks after our arrival, my local friend Ester raised her eyebrows at my bite-riddled arms. She said it was because of my sangre nueva (new blood) and prophesized that it would get better in a week or two. I thought, how can these flies know so much about my blood? Why would they target me for being new? 10 days later my skin cleared. I realized it was my blood that would be wising up and throttling its response to incoming bug saliva. Having survived possibly hundreds of bites, my body learned these invaders didn’t require a five alarm response. Maybe my histamine worldview is possible with patience.

---

Accidental Cocoa Puffs

I set out to make granola and a dupe for cocoa puffs came out of the oven.

Toss the following in a bowl and mix:

• 2 cups puffed amaranth - we found this in grocery stores in Oaxaca. It can be purchased pre-puffed or popped on the stove like corn.

• 1/2 cup oats

• 3/4 cup powdered cacao

• 3/4 cups of any nuts on hand

• 2 tsp cinnamon or other spice of choice

• 1 tsp salt

Mix in 1/2 cup coconut oil and 1/2 cup honey.

Spread onto a baking sheet lined with parchment. Bake for 45 mins at 275 Fahrenheit.

---

Can Do List: activities for resilience, imperfectionsm, and relationship with the earth.

1. Get curious about the tiny creatures in your area and the niches they fill. Here’s a short video on termites.

2. Try the Ecologies card game and play with organism relationships in biomes around the world, designed by a high school biology teacher.

3. See your solar options with Wildgrid. Renters included!

4. Check your chocolate label for sourcing info and consider paying a bit more for the food of the gods.

Did you try any of these? I’d love to hear about it.