Diversity-lah! One Health in Malaysia

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!

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Misaotra Betsaka: Fantastic News from Madagascar

In my last post three weeks ago, The Power of Pencils, I told you about my spontaneous, scientific drawing classes in the rainforest, and I asked for your help. My goal was to raise $1,200 for Madaworks, enough to fund one year of high school for two Malagasy girls.

This week in Torotosy, I brought scientifically accurate coloring sheets of local lemur species to a new group of kids and teenagers. Several of the adolescent girls brought their babies with them, deftly switching off between the tasks of learning, coloring, and soothing crying infants.

The coloration of the lemurs was... less than scientifically accurate, but highly creative!

Once the lemurs were colored, we got to the good part: designing an ecosystem in the background. This boy included trees, leaves, fruits, and even an endemic Vasa Parrot, or kevaka in the local parlance.

 

Team, I have fantastic news: we've done it, and we've done better! Here's the breakdown.

Donations through PayPal: 1

Donations through Venmo: 3

Donations directly to Madaworks: 7

Total donations (for those of you who aren't into math): 11

Total amount raised: $1805!!! (Enough for three years of school!)

Amazingly, the donors include two women I've never met, but who found my blog though mutual friends and were moved to help. Thank you to everyone---friends, family, strangers---who invested in this small dream of mine, whether by donating money or simply reading along and feeling a connection to this story.

This girl's blooming background steals the show from her purple-and-red lemur family.

Our local guide, "Miandry" Ramiandrisoa, joined in happily on the coloring. The next day, he took me for a botanical tour of the area, naming every single leaf we encountered. He hopes to put his local plant knowledge to use for my researchers in the future, and I hope so, too.

This artist added a second lemur baby to his drawing. Twins of this species are uncommon but not unheard-of.

If you zoom in, you'll see the artist's caption, written in pencil and totally unprompted: "Tiako Madagaskara Hasoaviko Tanindrazako." It translates roughly to, "I love Madagascar. I want to do good for the home of my ancestors." When I read this, I laughed and told him I love Madagascar too, so he added the word "Nina" for good measure.

Diane Powers, president and founder of Madaworks, has been in touch with me many times to express her gratitude. She has extended a challenge to all of us:

"It's so wonderful that you were able to raise the first year costs to add 2 more girls. Thank you again! Having said that, we still need to raise an additional $1200 per girl to complete the three years of high school - it's $600 per year per girl." (High school is only three years in Madagascar.)

So here it is, my new goal: to raise $3,600 to fund two Malagasy girls through an entire high-school education. 

It sounds like an ambitious goal, but we're more than halfway there already. A month ago, I wouldn't have thought it possible. Now, after being shocked and inspired by the generosity of all you Natural Selections readers, I think it just might be.

The big kids (around my age) had a great time drawing habitats for lemurs colored by the younger artists.

Here's the Torotosy bunch from one of our afternoon sessions.

The next day, we moved on to a more difficult task: collecting spiders, crickets, flies and pillbugs into a wide yellow bucket and sketching them from life. It was a success, and I was delighted to see that these kids, who are terrified of non-venomous snakes, were not the least bit squeamish about picking up spiders in their bare hands (a feat I am leery of myself.)

If you are moved and able, please consider helping get these girls to school. Here's how:

PayPal: ninafinley176@gmail.com

Venmo: @Nina-Finley

Madaworks website: https://www.madaworks.org/donate/

This Christmas, I'll be on a plane from Madagascar to Indonesia. I won't be asking for any gifts. Instead, I'm suggesting that my family consider making a donation to Madaworks. If you're looking for a way to celebrate the holidays while consuming a little less, feel free to steal this idea and ask your community of gift-givers to do the same. :)

The following week, I met Josia, a young woman just a few years older than me in the village of Ambodiaviavy. She found me on the path one day, asked for my notebook through gestures, and stopped right there to sketch me the legume tree we were standing next to. "Rapitso, sivy!" she said through her beaming smile. "Tomorrow, nine!" Sure enough, there she was at camp the next morning, ready to draw. She became our camp cook, and she passionately hopes to work for Centre ValBio as a guide. Here we are holding the drawings we made for each other. She drew the ubiquitous secondary-growth plant, longoza, and a passion-fruit vine with a diagram of how to make it into medicine against sand-fleas. (A zoonotic disease, she already knows what gets me excited!) I drew her favorite bird, the blue coua.

Here's the Torotosy bunch taking a break from coloring to inhale a few bowls of vary sy tsaramaso, rice and beans. I had to get my camera out fast because those beans didn't last thirty seconds! 

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The Power of Pencils: Will You Help Me Send Two Malagasy Girls to School?

This past week, I camped in a fragment of forest near a village called Bevoahazo, and I nurtured a dream. As my colored pencils wore down to nubs, this dream grew stronger. I want to raise $1,200 and send two Malagasy girls to high-school for a year. Will you help me?

The kids of Bevoahazo show off one of our collaborative ecosystem drawings, complete with stream, frog, trees, a domestic duck, and a wild parrot labeled in English and Malagasy. 

Living in Madagascar has meant living amid poverty at a level I have never before experienced. At times, it has been a lesson in humility and gratitude. At other times, I feel shame because I don't deserve the resources I have while others lack shoes, food, medicine, and the chance to send their children to school. And there is part of me that feels paralysis, because I do not deserve this power to pity and donate. My capacity to be generous, raise money, and be thanked -- all these are just more privileges associated with my undeserved economic status. Yet, to do nothing is not a reasonable solution. As it happens, I have an undeserved amount of resources. What to do?

A close-up of our ecosystem drawing.

The answer came to me when I learned of a scrappy, young charity called Madaworks. It was founded right here in Ranomafana two years ago, in November 2015, by a Long Islander named Diane Powers. I read about Madaworks while flipping through VaoVao ValBio, the newsletter of the rainforest research station where I'm currently living. An excerpt:

"Madaworks is improving development in the Ranomafana region through: access to secondary education for girls from rural villages and economic empowerment of women. ... To date we have graduated one student (Julie Rakotozafy) from Sahavondronona. Her achieving her high school diploma inspired her to begin university studies in nursing. In the fall of 2016 Madaworks funded two girls (Avontrinaina Louise Sarah and Ravosolo Paquerette) on the path to a fully funded three-year high school education. Two more students will be selected to receive scholarships September 2017. Next year we hope to support at least 10 more girls. Centre ValBio staff provide support and logistical assistance in distribution of scholarship applications and disbursement of funds to the schools and the students."

For every $600 Madaworks receives, it can fund one year of high-school education. Unlike too many charities in Madagascar, Madaworks is accountable to their students for the long-term. They only take on as many students as they can fund for an entire secondary education. Best of all, Madaworks checks in on their scholars regularly, providing guidance and mentorship.

They've been featured by Mongabay and Women Deliver for their dual benefit to people and biodiversity through empowering girls.

There are more needs in this region that I could ever hope to meet as an individual. Everything I offer is accepted into grateful hands: extra band-aids, a bottle of ibuprofen, a sewing needle, sunscreen, pens, leftover soggy rice. The shoes off my feet would be put to use here if I could spare them. So how did I decide to support girls' education?

Two moments clarified this mission for me.

1. When I spoke with my wonderful guides, Menja and Zaka, both explained how their lives revolve around the unreachable goal of funding their children's education. I have met smart, ambitious girls who want to go to school. No matter what sacrifices their parents make, no matter how badly their village wants to support them, no matter how ingenious they may be, these girls flat-out cannot afford it. Even public school costs money here, and most rural children must drop out after fifth grade. To attend high-school, students have to live in rented housing in the city, away from their families, and pay tuition. Menja and Zaka work hard, and they earn less than $2 a day. Free public education is something we take for granted in the United States, and here it is an unthinkable luxury. It shouldn't be. 

2. On my first day at camp this week, after lunch, three children appeared at the edges of our tarp. They were hoping for leftover food. Silent, still, they made themselves nearly invisible, not wanting to intrude on our privacy. Our team cook, Mana, handed them a bowl of soggy rice and salty beans with three spoons. The food disappeared in seconds. The children hovered, intrigued, tentative. I pulled a notebook and a bundle of colored pencils from my backpack.

"Inona no biby tianao?" I asked. "Sahy?" What's your favorite animal? Draw?

Quickly they took the invitation. All three replied with the same animal: varika, lemur. So we drew lemurs. More children appeared up the slick clay path through the forest. They didn't mind that we had no more rice to offer. They circled around and accepted one piece of precious paper each, with outstretched hands and soft thank-yous. We traded vocabulary, they writing the Malagasy and me adding the English. House, trano. Butterfly, tataro. Duck, giroka. Tree, hazo. Mosquito, moka. Parrot, kevaka. Vine, vahy. We graduated from organisms to ecosystems, swapping papers back and forth, weaving together vines and lemurs and frogs and streams and trees.

More children arrived every day, and I had to get creative to find hard surfaces for everyone to draw on. An upside-down bucket for 12-year-old Fano. My bird book for 6-year-old Vonona. A plate for 11-year-old Lalao. Then I had to get creative about subjects, the usual lemurs and parrots having lost interest. I sketched my study organism, a mouse lemur, tsitsidy, and held it up as an example. A dozen kids drew their own unique tsitsidy in response.

My first mouse lemur, labeled in Malagasy, English, and Latin. A dozen more were offered by the kids. Take a look at each one below. They're all different and they're all awesome, like their artists.

One afternoon, we did an exercise in scientific illustration. I asked each kid to gather one leaf -- "ravina iray" -- and bring it back. We each drew our leaves in realistic detail, not a cartoon idea of a leaf but the thing itself. How many spines? How many veins? What shade of green? We investigated weeds, compared ferns. I learned the names of a dozen trees in Malagasy.

Lemurs, trees, and humans coexist in this paper forest just like the real one around us.

Then we moved on to animals. We gathered frogs -- sahona -- and tadpoles -- boboka -- and even a swimming spider -- hala -- from the stream and drew those. When the kids proudly showed me their drawings of the spider, I told them they did a great job -- miatsa tsara -- but challenged them to count the legs of our arachnid friend.

"Tongotra hala firy?" I asked. How many legs does the spider have?

The kids leaned in over the bucket, jostling for position. They counted. "Valo!" yelled the first confident voice. "Valo! Valo!" agreed a chorus. Eight legs. They amended their drawings.

Then we moved on to the giant pair of twig-themed stick-bugs on a nearby plant.

"Tongotra biby-hazo firy?" How many legs does the stick-bug have?

"Enina!" Six.

"Tongotra vorona firy?" How many legs does the bird have?

"Roa!" Two.

"Tongotra varika firy?" How many legs does the lemur have?

"Efatra!" Four.

Then, just for fun: "Tongotra hazo firy?" How many legs does the tree have?

A small voice answered. It came from the seven-year-old named Vitatsara, with twin dimples in her cheeks and a quiet firmness to her presence.

"Iray." One.

"Eka," I laughed. Yes. I believe she was right. I'd noticed her the day before when an older boy had ripped her colored pencil from her hand, and she'd let it happen without a fight. I'd worried that she was too passive, allowing herself to be bullied. I realized now that she was simply too wise to engage in a petty fight. Today, she sat in front of the crowd, pencil firmly in hand, eyes focused on me.

Vitatsara and a few of her organisms.

When I brought the stick-bugs down off their leaf for show-and-tell, most of the girls recoiled in terror. Vitatsara watched me carefully, noting my calm handling of the harmless insect. She slowly extended one hand, offering a platform for its six legs. For the next half-hour, she and I passed the insect back and forth. It would crawl slowly up her arm, and just as it began to tickle her neck, I'd rescue it onto my own palm. When it reached my neck, she'd rescue it from me. The older children watched in fascination, and one by one they offered their hands to the tickling sensation of a six-legged stick.

Vitatsara shows off her new friend, the biby-hazo or stick-bug.

Biby-hazo namana, stick-bug friend!

What did I accomplish these afternoons? I had fun, and I passed my hours while the lemurs slept. All evidence suggests the kids had fun, too. Maybe a few of them learned English words, as I learned a few in Malagasy. I hope I helped cultivate biophilia: a love of nature, a curiosity about ecosystems and a compassion for organisms that nourishes my own life. Above all, I was filled with a desire to help these focused, curious kids continue to attend school for as long as they wish. I want them to have paper and colored pencils to sketch spider-webs after I leave. I want them to read books about the environment, about national politics, about anything and everything they please.

The bird and mammal field-guides I had provided as tables turned into the main attraction. The kids were fascinated to look at color photos of their neighborhood wildlife.

This desire means asking for help. I want to raise $1,200 for Madaworks. That's enough to send two girls to high-school for one year each. I hope that Vitatsara and the others girls who sketched leaves and lemurs will apply. I hope, by then, Madaworks will have enough funds to support them all the way to college. Will you hope with me?

Here are three native animals I sketched for the kids as gifts: a blue coua, a red-fronted brown lemur, and a greater vasa parrot.

I considered making Go-Fund-Me page, but those things keep a percentage of the money, so I decided I will ask for donations directly. If you are inspired and able to help, please send a donation of any amount to my PayPal, my Venmo, or the Madaworks website.

PayPal: ninafinley176@gmail.com

Venmo: @Nina-Finley

Madaworks website: https://www.madaworks.org/donate/

If you send the money to me, I will donate it to Madaworks. If you send money to Madaworks, please post a comment or send me a message letting me know so I can add it to the total for my $1,200 goal. I'll post regular updates to the blog so you can watch our progress as we work together to send girls to school.

Rasôna thanks me for a sketch I drew her of her favorite animal, varika, a male red-fronted brown lemur. Help me give her more than a drawing. Help me give her the chance to keep going to school.

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