It was the end of one era, and not quite the beginning of the next. After my coral propagation class on Gili Trawangan, I dove into a strangely familiar netherworld that transcends time and space. I'm talking about ultimate frisbee.
Tuesday Beach Ultimate the week before I left Bali for Malaysia. That's me kissing Ari on the cheek!
After a midnight coincidence in a Balinese bar, in which I overheard the word "frisbee" and procured a ride the next morning on the back of someone's motorbike to a game of pick-up ultimate, I was hooked. I played as often as I could, from windy beach-litter-clean-up/frisbee combos to high-level mini games to mandatory practice each Sunday. Yes, I managed to try out for a competitive team, UB7, within my first week. The captain, Alex, convinced me to come back to Bali after my month in Malaysia to play on UB7 at the international tournament, Nusantara Cup.
Alex (front) and I set in a team circle during a Sunday practice.
Warming up before practice in my Balinese neighborhood, Sanur.
I made new friends, both Indonesians and ex-pats, on the field. Sweating and diving and nursing grass-cuts over dinner is, universally, the fastest way I have found to make friends. But frisbee also brought old friends to me, even as I lived in relative isolation here in an archipelago of Southeast Asia.
Ari Lozano was my high-school Fryz teammate and my got-your-back-no-matter-what co-captain for our college team, the Whitman Sweets. She swung by Bali to visit me after winning gold with the USA Under-24 Worlds Team in Australia (GO ARI!!!) We played plenty of pickup and dabbled in scuba diving, Ari's newest hobby.
For the Nusantara Cup, I convinced two more Fryz to visit! Here's Jessie Thoreson, one of the ladies who inspired me to play frisbee in sixth grade, and has continued to inspire me ever since. She brought her guitar and leftie backhand, and it was like no time had passed.
Unreal! Here I am with Jessie and Henry Phan (and my Balinese teammate Naja photo-bombing), another of my lifelong friends and inspirations. Henry was one of the first men to take me seriously as an athlete, and he was the same intentional, kind baller I knew in middle school. Fryz will be my family always.
The tournament was a huge success. I got back from Gili the night before, and Alex asked if I would be his spirit captain. That's a uniquely-frisbee leadership role involving sportsmanship, integrity, and positivity. It was my job to greet the other team's spirit captain before each game, shake hands, and ask if there was any particular aspect of their spirit on which they were working. After the game, I led our team in a consensus effort to rank our opponents' spirit in five categories: communication, physical contact, positivity, knowledge of the rules, and fair-mindedness. I was honored to be trusted by the team in this leadership role, as well as my informal contributions to team strategy, even though I was a transient through Bali. These people gave me a home in the middle of my Watson year, and for that I am deeply grateful.
I got to cut and handle this weekend, what a treat.
Throwing or faking? We'll never know.
As a bonus, we won the tournament! Our win marked the first time a Balinese team has ever won a tournament on its home island. In the finals, we beat my personal favorite team: Learning To Fly, all the way from Bangalore, India. After, I traded with one of the men for his orange jersey.
Our final photo with our second-place opponents, Learning to Fly.
The day after the tournament, I was physically exhausted, sunburned to the point of peeling, and hacking with an asthmatic cold. By 3:00 in the afternoon, Jessie and I couldn't stay away. We hopped on motorbikes and headed out to one last hurrah of pick-up ultimate in Bali. There, we found a dozen similarly-addicted frisbee players, all in various stages of injury from the preceding days, all smiling ear-to-ear because we were tossing a plastic disc once more. This sport is an addiction, a home around the world, a lasting family. I'll miss you, UB7, but know that we will meet again one of these days.
The frisbee players can't stop! Here's post-tournament pick-up.
And with that, I said goodbye to Bali. A sixteen-hour day of travel took me across several islands and channels to Java, Pontianak, Ketapang, and finally my destination of Sukadana, a rural town on Indonesian Borneo.
I must be here!
Fun fact, the island of Borneo is roughly the same size as Madagascar, but it contains three countries: parts of Indonesia and Malaysia, and the entirety of Brunei. The island is known as Borneo in Malaysian and English, but Kalimantan in Bahasa Indonesia. It's home to most of the world's remaining orangutans and hornbills, and also to some of the fastest rates of deforestation for oil-palm plantations.
Oil palms neatly criss-cross Borneo from my airplane window.
The reason for my trip to Borneo lies with an organization known as Health in Harmony. I was referred to this nonprofit by a friend of my mother's, and fate brought it all together. I'd been emailing with Health in Harmony's Director of International Partnerships, Amy, when she told me she'd be out of touch for a few weeks. Why? A scouting trip to Madagascar. At the time, I myself was living in Madagascar. Who shows up in the bedroom next to mine? None other than Amy! I spent a dinner and then some grilling the patient and knowledgeable woman about her groundbreaking work in One Health conservation. That interaction led me here, to become a monthlong conservation and education volunteer at Health in Harmony's pilot site in Borneo.
The story of Health in Harmony is very compelling. It all started when Dr. Kinari Webb, a young orangutan researcher straight out of Reed College, spent a year doing fieldwork in Borneo. She realized, as many ecologists do, that studying her beloved primates was not going to save them. She was horrified to realize that the apes might go extinct within her lifetime. She saw the illegal logging, spoke with local communities, and actually listened to what they had to say. This process, called "radical listening," taught Dr. Webb that in order to save orangutans, she would need to become a medical doctor and provide healthcare so the people living around the national park wouldn't be forced to log for their lives.
Really, Dr. Webb explains it all much better than I do. I highly recommend watching her TED Talk:
The next morning, I felt like I was dreaming as I walked through the spacious, white, outdoor halls of Alam Sehat Lestari, or ASRI, the hospital Dr. Webb founded. The hospital's rear boundary butts up against Gunung Palung National Park, one of the largest remaining tracts of Bornean orangutan habitat.
This triptych from the hospital's wall depicts an ASRI reforestation project in the degraded, marginal lands of the National Park. I'm interested to see the progress with my own eyes.
The orangutan poster is a popular destination for patients to take selfies.
A planetary health vibe permeates the hospital. This sign translates to, "Let's guard them now. Someday, they will take care of our grandchildren."
I spent my first afternoon acquainting myself with Sukadana, my home for the month of April. I am living in a breezy house once occupied by Dr. Webb herself. The roof is half thatch and half corrugated-metal. Insects, rats, and cats enter at will, but the mosquito net over my bed keeps the worst at bay. My only complaint are the twitchy yellow wasps that live in two nests daubed to our kitchen's rafters. These curious buggers buzz against my net all night, and they often wander right through the seams of the net into my personal space. It's unnerving to hear the buzzing get closer, then stop, and suddenly feel the tickle of a wasp's feet across my arm in the dark. I've killed a dozen between sturdy books so far. Maybe, if I keep at it, I'll get them all!
The central monument of Sukadana is this space-age salute to durian. Could anything be more Indonesian?
I parked my bicycle for a quick tour of the outdoor market, specializing in fish and vegetables.
The long, toothy, saltwater eels caught my eye (and nose.) I asked if I could take a photo with them, remembering how such requests to photograph without purchasing were met with angry glares in Madagascar. Not so here!
Not only did the fish mongers welcome my photography, they all requested selfies with me and their fish.
Here are just two of our fish-selfie album.
The marine-invertebrate-monger was not to be outshone. Here he displays a prawn and a slipper lobster.
In this highly Islamic town, you would be silly to direct anyone in relation to "the mosque," because there seem to be mosques on every block. But if you were to mention the "big mosque," there could be no doubt about the direction you meant to indicate. This glorious white structure looms above the horizon in a powerful silhouette. Its call to prayer can be heard echoing through the streets five times a day -- including right now, as I type. It's lucky I am a sound sleeper, because my poor housemate is awoken every morning at 5:00 am by the sacred Arabic songs coming through the loudspeaker.
The Big Mosque.
Already, Sukadana feels like a home. I don't have the ready-made community of a frisbee team, but the ASRI staff have the same loving camaraderie. I've heard there is an avid Zumba community, a swimming pool for Saturdays, and an early-morning bike crew, so I won't be lacking for exercise. Maybe I'll be able to teach my coworkers to throw a disc, too, and start a frisbee club. I imagine our name would have a nice ring to it: Sukadana Spirit, a team for ecosystem health.
A Malaysian black fly in the genus Simulium. Photo credit: Zubaidah Ya'cob.
Dr. Zubaidah Ya'cob is a black fly taxonomist. Or is she a bird ecologist? A parasitologist? Or perhaps a medical researcher looking at River Blindness? Such is the label of a One Health researcher: messy, flexible, shifting among disciplines to answer a tangled question.
Dr. Ya'cob peers at a black fly preserved in ethanol.
This poster behind Dr. Ya'cob's desk explains how bird species use degraded forest habitat, evidence of her shifting research focus since graduate school.
I made contact with Dr. Ya'cob, who prefers the nickname Izu, through that heavenly and hellish tool, Facebook. A quick Google led me to the Malaysian Nature Society, an active group of birders, herpers, photographers, hikers, and environmentalists living all over Malaysia. I posted a message asking for birding buddies and disease scientists. Within minutes, I had been invited to a Raptor Watch Festival, an ant-tree symbiosis lab, a three-day field trip to Tasik Kenyir National Park, and a guest lecture at Monash University (in which I was the guest lecturer.) Most importantly for today's post, I was invited to Dr. Ya'cob's black fly lab at Universiti Malaya, the oldest university in the country.
Many Malay words are phonetically-spelled English. The Fakulti Sains is the Science Department!
Dr. Ya'cob showed me her lab, an open space filled with half a dozen desks, empty for the moment. "I like the open floor plan," she told me. "All my colleagues work in here. I don't like to be isolated." That mentality flows into her One Health perspective. By definition, One Health is an intersection of three fields: human medicine, veterinary medicine, and environmental science. Nobody can do it alone.
Dr. Ya'cob introduced her microscopes to me as her "two best friends."
She started explaining black fly species, and I had to hit rewind. Why was she studying black flies? What's this about River Blindness? Start from the beginning, please!
A few fly species from a poster in Dr. Ya'cob's lab.
You'll get to the real-life fly photos if you keep scrolling!
Here's the story. In Africa there is a disease called River Blindness. At least 500,000 people are completely blind from it, and many more suffer impaired vision. A microscopic worm is to blame: the Filarioid roundworm called Onchocerca vulvulus.
Photos of Onchocerca vulvulus in a book written by Dr. Ya'cob's mentor.
The disease also exists in South America, because O. vulvulus snuck in from Africa on slave-trading ships in the 1600s. In Ecuador, River Blindness has the largest impact on indigenous Amazonian tribes. Dr. Ya'cob's mentor, Dr. Hiroyuki Takaoka, found that 90% of Yanomami people are infected.
Dr. Hiroyaki Takaoka, or Hiro, has spent his career studying black flies in Japan, Ecuador, and Malaysia. Dr. Ya'cob introduced him to me as her sensei, the Godfather of black fly research.
But where do flies come in? I'm so glad you asked! Black flies are the vector of this tiny worm. They reflux it through their mouthparts into humans as they suck our blood. Unlike mosquitoes, which prefer stagnant water, black flies breed in flowing, unpolluted streams. That's why the disease is called "River Blindness" -- you're more likely to catch it if you hang around rivers.
Dr. Ya'cob patiently explains black fly ecology.
Flies of all kinds belong to the order Diptera, which means "two wings" in Latin. (Could apply to a lot of things, right? Birds, butterflies, airplanes... but no, just the flies!) Within that order is a family called Simulidae, the black flies. (No, they are not all black, in case you were wondering.) There are 37 genera within that family, but only one lives in the Oriental region: the genus Simulium.
Dr. Ya'cob moves a tiny black fly into focus in a Petri dish. She says the ethanol fumes make her sleepy -- just one more challenge in this difficult job.
Now, you might be wondering why a professor in Malaysia is studying an African and South American disease. Currently, River Blindness doesn't occur in Southeast Asia --- but it could arrive anytime, and when it does, it could spread through the native Simulium black flies.
In 2013, this lab discovered a single case of Onchocerca dewitti (a related species of Filarioid roundworm that does not affect humans) in a Malaysian wild boar. Since then, Dr. Ya'cob has been on the hunt for O. dewitti's vector. Which black fly is the culprit? Who spreads roundworms among Malaysia's wild boar? This question matters to more than those scruffy swine in the jungle (no offense, wild boar --- we love you too), because if O. vulvulus arrives in Southeast Asia, it's likely to hitch a ride in the same species of black fly.
That's why Dr. Ja'cob spends her days catching miniscule black flies in a net and painstakingly dissecting their thoraxes in search of O. vulvulus worms. The hardest part: "The flesh is white, just like the worms!" So far she hasn't found any, but she's not discouraged. "I just have to increase the efforts," she resolved.
My one attempt to photograph a black fly through the microscope. This little guy is off the hook -- no Filarioid roundworms were found in his species.
In the process of settling the taxonomy of black flies in Malaysia, Dr. Ya'cob has described five new species. She showed me the pencil sketches she drew for each fly's body parts. They were incredibly detailed artwork.
The pencil drawings are converted to digital images by a graphic design team for publication.
Dr. Ya'cob lovingly handles the original drawings that were published in her recent description of a new black fly species.
If O. vulvulus does come to Malaysia, it will be very important to know which black fly is the vector. In Africa, a biological control agent called BTI is sprayed on the streams to kill black fly larvae and nymphs. BTI stands for Bacillus turgiensis israelensis, a larvae-eating bacterium. You know what they say: a pathogen of a pathogen is a friend!
Black flies are particular about their streams. Different species require different conditions: fast-flowing or slow, large or small, extremely hot or just warm or frigid. By knowing which black fly species are vectors, Malaysian scientists will be able to spray BTI on only those streams preferred by the vector species. "No need to harm other species of black fly that live in other habitats," Dr. Ya'cob explained.
Amazing how a tiny insect can wreak such havoc.
Wow, they get so much more interesting under a scope! Photo credit: Zubaidah Ya'cob.
You don't look very black to me, little black fly. Photo credit: Zubaidah Ya'cob.
As we sipped chamomile tea in the air-conditioned conference room, Dr. Takaoka offered a puzzle."The patients affected by River Blindness in Africa and South America show symptoms in their lower body. The patients in Central America show symptoms on their upper body and head."
"Is that because it's a different species of Onchocerca worm?" I guessed.
"No, same worm. But different effect, because different vector," Dr. Takaoka explained. "Each species of black fly has its own preference where to bite."
"And related to human ecology, too!" Dr. Ya'cob chimed in. "If we cover the head, they go for the feet. Everything related -- One Health!"
A black fly emerges from its pupa. Photo credit: Zubaidah Ya'cob.
Pupa and newly emerged fly. Photo credit: Zubaidah Ya'cob.
Next, Dr. Ya'cob hopes to look for a wider variety of hosts and vectors. The possibilities become dizzying, but she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Wild boar and black flies are obvious suspects, but the worm could also be carried in rodents or birds," Dr. Ya'cob explained. "It could be vectored by a different Dipterid, like sand flies or mosquitoes. And there could even be different types of Filarioid roundworms here! Diversity-lah!"
I couldn't help but laugh. In Malaysian English, "lah" is added to any word to give it emphasis or personality. It's my favorite Malaysian saying, and it can be used to mean almost anything. For example, "What lah you?!" expresses utter disbelief, while "sorry-lah" is a typical apology. Another gem is self-explanatory: "Why you so like that lah?" I can think of no better way to sum up One Health in Malaysia than that: Diversity-lah!
Thank you to Dr. Ya'cob and Dr. Takaoka for the wonderful welcome!
What's a Watson, you ask? Great question. Actually called the Thomas J. Watson Fellowship in honor of IBM's founder, it's an amazing program that funds 40 just-graduated-from-college students to travel the world for precisely 12 months and follow their passions. I am extremely lucky to be one of those students, along with my fellow Whittie Sam Perkins. If you want more deets, check out these articles from the Whitman Newsroom and our student paper, the Whitman Wire.
My project, as described on the Watson website, is titled, "One Health: The Human Impacts of Emerging Wildlife Diseases." Here's my official project description:
During my Watson year, I will explore five manifestations of ecosystem disease. In Brazil, leptospirosis is spreading from endangered peccaries to cattle. In Madagascar, deforestation is ushering people into contact with rodent vectors and lemur viruses. Coral bleaching is impacting commercial fisheries in Indonesia and dive tourism in Malaysia. And in the remote north of Russia, thawing reindeer carcasses are bringing once-eradicated anthrax back from the dead. In each country, I will begin by investigating the biology of the disease itself – its pathogen, host, and habitat – by spending several weeks in the field with ecologists and the local community. My guiding questions ask: How are you and your community affected by this disease? What related cultural practices or stories exist? What is the root problem? What actions are being taken to mitigate the impacts? By synthesizing my experiences with ecologists and community members, I hope to gather local solutions for the global threat of emerging wildlife disease, and their impact on biodiversity and human health.
This map from the Watson website shows my destiations: Brazil, Madagascar, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Russia (or another Arctic nation.)
Here's a more detailed overview:
August to September: Taboco, Brazil. A small town in the Cerrado (dry grass and shrubland) adjacent to the Pantanal (the largest wetland in the world). I'll be working with a biologists from a local environmental nonprofit, Instituto Ambiental Quinto do Sol, to study two diseases. The first is leptospirosis, contagious between endangered white-lipped peccary and abundant domestic cattle. The second is canine distemper, an illness of pet dogs and cats that has the potential to infect wild felids (read: jaguars, pumas, and ocelots.) I may work alongside scientists from Wildlife Conservation Society and World Wildlife Fund, as well.
October to December: Ranomafana, Madagascar. A popular national park with tourists and the home of endangered, endemic lemurs. I'll be working from an international research station, Centre ValBio, to assist in a mouse-lemur-trapping project. We're trying to find out exactly how deforestation effects the possibility of spillover, the situation when a pathogen switches hosts to a human being from another animal species.
January to February: Bali, Indonesia. I will be helping monitor coral bleaching, a global crisis in which heat-stressed corals evict their algal symbionts, become weakened by hunger, and often die due to a secondary infection of Vibrio bacteria. I hope to converse with local dive-tourism guides and fisherpeople to understand how communities have adapted to this cyclic bleaching in the past, and what's changing now that the cycles are happening more frequently.
March to May: Borneo, Malaysia. I hope to make connections between rainforest conservation with access to human health care. Other projects of interest include ice-ice seaweed disease and a comparison to the canine distemper of Brazil.
June to July: The Arctic. Russia? Canada? Finland? I have many options and nothing set in stone (or ice). But I want to explore the melting permafrost and see how climate change interacts with pathogens and hosts, both wildlife and human, to impact indigenous subsistence.
One of my seemingly-infinite preparations was to buy an underwater camera. I found a used GoPro Hero 2 on Craig's List (what a deal) and tried to figure out how the jumble of plastic pieces fit together.
Of course, I had to try the thing out, too. Here I am snorkeling through the reeds of Lake Calhoun, an urban picnic spot in Minneapolis. There's a nearby swimming area, but I didn't notice any other snorkels. I may have attracted a few stares.
The Watson begins... tomorrow! I plan to blog as often as I can, hopefully every day. If you want to follow along, just type your e-mail in the Subscribe box to get notified when I post something new. And don't be afraid to leave comments. I'd love to hear your thoughts, requests, questions, or suggestions as I head into the year.
An enormous thanks to everyone who's been there for me along the way. I hope this blog will repay some of your support in vicarious adventure.
