The Mysteries of Fate

Hi all!

This week I decided to share my water story with everybody. It's a completely fictional piece that I wrote for the application and not particularly eventful, but what happened after I wrote the story is what I found super eerie.

The story I wrote takes place in the Philippines and focuses on the destruction wrought by a typhoon - disasters Filipinos are not no stranger to. I wrote and submitted the piece on November 3, 2013, having no particular storm in mind and simply basing my story off of the many generic storms that have affected the Philippines. Five days later, however, on November 8, 2013, Typhoon Haiyan (or Yolanda as it's called in the Philippines) ripped through the country, killing 6,300 people with almost 2,000 still missing two months later.  It devastated parts of the central Philippines, rendering cities such as Leyte into ghost towns. It is arguably the worst natural disaster to have hit the Philippines and is one of the most powerful storms the world has seen.

Before and after shot of the city of Tacloban
 (http://english.alarabiya.net/en/News/world/2013/11/13/Philippine-typhoon-Haiyan-death-toll-reaches-2-275-.html)

(http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2013/11/aftermath_of_typhoon_haiyan.html)

I don't know if you guys believe in fate, but when I found out about the storm, I couldn't help thinking about the story I wrote and how eerily prophetic it was. I'm not sure if my story and Typhoon Haiyan were mere coincidence or whether something stranger was at work, but in any case, it gave me a bit to ponder over. As such, below is my water story, and you can decide for yourself what to think.

-Sarah


My Water Story:

            Underneath the bamboo roof, a little boy draws a picture. His almond eyes are furrowed in concentration, his hands – one marred by a triangular scar – still learning how to move the way his mind envisions. His brush is a crayon stub he picked up on the road from school, his canvas is the brown paper his Mama used to wrap the fish at the market.

            Mama stands near the fire, watching the water come to a boil. Some of the water she uses to make the rice. The rest she uses to make the tamarind soup. There isn’t any meat tonight, but she hopes the water will be enough to fill their stomachs until morning, where she’ll use the leftover burnt rice to make coffee for Papa before he goes out to sea. 

            “Anak, it’s time to eat na. Papa will be here any minute,” she calls to her son.

            “Wait lang, I’m almost done. Look, Ma, look at what I drew!” The boy proudly shows Mama his little masterpiece. “See! The tall one is Papa, the pretty one is you, and I’m the one in the middle holding your hands. And see I even drew our house in the back!”

            Mama laughs. “It’s beautiful! But you didn’t draw hair on Papa! You know Papa is very sensitive about getting bald. Quick, add some hair before he gets home.”

            In a few minutes Papa arrives, and they sit down to have dinner together. Papa complains that he has more hair than the man in the picture, but he smiles all the same, and they laugh and talk and drink in the soup that will have to sustain them for the night. Mama tucks away the drawing in a beautiful little gold locket – simple and elegant and shaped like a shell – it’s the only piece of vanity she allows herself. As she is lulled to sleep later that night by the sound of the waves near their hut, she keeps the necklace close to her heart, the picture her son drew safely inside.

****

            Richard Johnson is drowning in water. Or well, it feels like it. He breathes in – it’s all water. He breathes out – more of the same. His shirt is soaked in perspiration, his hands slippery as he lugs his suitcase up the stairs of the Crystal Sands Resort. The travel agent wasn’t kidding when she said it’s humid in the Philippines. Ah well, he did say he wanted to get as far away from the Windy City as possible, and this humid and quaint little tropical island in the middle of the Philippines fit the bill.

He wanted to get away from it all, is what we told his agent – away from the world of mergers and acquisitions, away from the city, away from the suffocating isolation of crowded streets, away from the messy divorce papers that had recently been signed and filed away. No more thinking about her, the woman with whom he spent two decades, no more thinking about him, the teenage son who blamed him for it all, who wouldn’t speak to him – the son Richard was too proud to apologize to. No, this trip was about relaxation and rejuvenation. As he pulled his bag up the last step, a slight breeze wafted his way, the humid air bringing in the tangy smell of seawater, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore.

            “Hello Mr. Johnson. Mabuhay! Welcome to the Philippines! You’ll be staying in Villa #4 – here is your key.”

            “Yes, yes thanks. Oh and um – could you tell me where I could get a cold drink around here?”

****

            The little boy runs around the hut in the rain, playing tag with the neighbor’s seven-year old daughter. She’s taller than him, and as much as he tries to outrun her, he can’t, slipping on the wet sand. He laughs as he trips, and they go at it for another round as the rain falls a little bit harder. Mama steps outside, brow furrowed as she looks to the sky and the ocean mere yards from her door. The air smells different, the water sounds restless, the clouds look ominous.

            “Anak, it’s time to go in na. A storm is coming.” She touches the locket wrapped around her neck, the drawing from last week still inside.

            “But Maaaa, it’s still early. Five more minutes?” begs the son.

            “No anak, this is going to be a strong one. Come inside na. Say goodbye to Ching Ching.”

            She follows her son as he enters the house, giving one last glance at the sky, which seems to be buried by the weight of the whole ocean. The waves move anxiously, anticipating the storm that is about to fall.

                                                                     ****                            

            The waves are perfectly still. The water is crystal clear—salty, refreshing and inviting. It’s a beautiful day and not a cloud in the sky – the perfect conditions for forgetting his busy and frigid city life. Richard Johnson is still divorced, his son still won’t talk to him, and his job is still mind-numbingly soul crushing, but as he submerges his head underwater, letting the refreshingly cool water surround his body, thought fades away and all that’s left are his senses. The sea, warmed by the tropical sun, gently caresses his skin. The saltwater in his mouth tastes like childhood, comforting, familiar. The rhythm of the waves, softly pushing and pulling at the shore, lulls him into a state of serenity.

                                                                     ****                            

            The waves are furiously pounding at the door of the hut. The ocean is angry, and the water is rising and rising. They should have left. They should have run for the mountains hours ago. Why are they still here? Mama and the little boy are standing on top of the makeshift table. The boy is scared, and so is she, but she refuses to give in to the fear, refuses to drown in the terror. She comforts her son with stories about lands far far way, where the rain never touches, the waves never reach. Papa should be there with them, but he was fishing when the storm hit. They had been waiting for him but he hadn’t come home. She touches the locket – a talisman against the water, against the terror, against the life that has tested her again and again and again.

            Now the water is up to her chest. They can’t get out. The little boy is crying. Mama tells him to please don’t cry, tells him it’ll be okay. The water won’t stop rising. Mama holds the locket, her talisman, in one hand, takes the little boy’s hand in the other, and tells her son to take a very very big breath. Together, they take one more inhale, their last defense against the water.

                                                                     ****                            

            Richard breathes out, relieved at surviving the narrow turn on the bumpy, unpaved alley.

“Excuse me, could you tell me what that is over there?” asks Richard. He’s riding one of those Filipino tricycles, a kind of taxi fashioned out of a motorcycle and an extra seat.

            “Ah yes sir. That used to be part of the barangay, a small neighborhood of Nipa huts that was destroyed by Typhoon Ondoy a few months ago. Maybe you saw it on ah the CNN in the States?”

            To be honest, the news was always filled with stories of this or that country in some state of peril. Richard couldn’t quite keep track anymore of what disaster happened where. “Was it bad, this Android, Onda, err, sorry what was it called again?”

            “Typhoon Ondoy, sir. Yes, it was very tragic. Many people lost everything. Some were lost in the waves themselves.”

            They drive the rest of the way in contemplative silence, Richard marveling at how the gentle waves that rejuvenated him this afternoon and made him forget about his own misery could be the same waves that tore those houses into lumps of wood, casting misery upon its inhabitants. The driver drops him off at the restaurant by the shore.

            Before going in he lingers on the beach a few minutes, admiring the kaleidoscope of colors in the sky, the hint of gold cast by the setting sun on the trees and the sand and the water and the rocks. The tide recedes, leaving a particularly golden-hued little rock. Wait, maybe it really is gold? Richard scoops up the tiny gold object, which he discovers is a beautiful little locket, shaped like a shell, simple and elegant in its design.

            He struggles with the clasp, but finally opens the locket to find a little piece of brown paper folded inside. Unwrapping it, Richard finds a stick figure drawing of what looks like a mom, a dad, and a son – a happy family holding hands. Behind them is a hut – not unlike the kind many of the people on the island call home. Clearly this drawing meant something to someone, maybe on this island or another close by. But some time ago the water had taken it away, this little gold shell, taken it away from whomever it meant something to.

And now the water was bringing it back, back to Richard. The drawing reminded him of the messages in a bottle his son used to leave when they would vacation at the beach years ago. Back then the water was a source of pleasure and enjoyment. His son would write little notes, hoping someday the bottle would wash back onto the shore for a stranger to read. Those were good times.

As much as the ocean had refreshed and rejuvenated him, Richard really did miss his son. His son would have loved to travel to the Philippines, would have marveled at how clear the water was this afternoon. He would’ve enjoyed the bumpy ride on the tricycle, gobbled down the mangos hanging ripe from the trees, laughed at the misspelled English signs on the doors. In this moment, the golden little locket in his hand, the setting sun sinking into the horizon before him, the waves softly nudging the shore, Richard decides he’s had enough.

Enough running away. Enough hiding from it all. Enough pride. The water had brought him rest and health and now it was bringing him courage. It was time to face the pain, the shame, the fear. It was time to call his son, to apologize for all the hurt he’d caused, for betraying him, for abandoning him, for letting the years go by and giving up on fixing the wounds. Richard had had enough.

The sun is below the horizon now, and Richard can no longer see the water, but he can hear the rhythm of the waves caressing the shore. Next to the restaurant he sees a little boy sitting on the steps of a house, brow furrowed as he draws his own little masterpiece. The moon casts a soft glow on his face, reflects off a small triangular scar on his hand.

“Anak, come eat na. Your Papa will be here any minute,” calls a woman from inside the house. From the street Richard can faintly hear the soft sound of water boiling, can smell a waft of tamarind soup in the air.

The boy looks up and smiles shyly at Richard, running inside as his Mama calls him one more time. Richard smiles back as he walks into the restaurant, thinking about his own son. Maybe next time, they’d be there together, father and son, a family again. 

Water may take things away, may take away houses and crayons and loved ones and lockets; but water can also give us life.

Crocs and allies and caimans, oh my!

The Pantanal plays habitat to Yacare caimans, which are similar to crocodiles and alligators. But what are the differences between are these crocodilians? I might be able to tell a crocodile from an alligator, but I surely would not be able to differentiate a caiman from the mix. It seems like high time to go on a little reptilian safari.

The order Crocodilia includes crocodiles, alligators, caimans, and other large, predatory, semi-aquatic reptiles. All 23 of the species in this order have long snouts and powerful bites, non-overlapping scales, and good swimming abilities.

From top to bottom, a gharial, caiman, alligator, and crocodile. Source http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m86s0rnKbj1qecsulo1_1280.jpg

There are three families within the Crocodilia order. Gavialidae is the family of gharials, which are rare, narrowed-snouted crocodilians only found in Southeast Asia, pictured below.

Gharial. Source: http://www.perlgurl.org/archives/images/IMG_3353_z38X.JPG

Corcodylidae is the family of crocodiles and includes 12 species.

Alligatoridae is the family of 2 alligators and 6 caimans.

So how do you tell the difference between them all? Alligators and caimans generally only live in freshwater, while crocodiles tend to live in saltier waters because they have better developed salt glands that allow them to expel saline. Crocodiles have long pointed 'V'-shaped snouts, while alligatoridae species tend to have shorter 'U'-shaped snouts. The broader alligator jaw is stronger and can crack hard objects like turtle shells, while the crocodile's jaw is more suited to a variety of prey.

Top, crocodile. Bottom, alligator. Source: http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/002/cache/american-crocodile_219_600x450.jpg; http://www.animalpicturesdaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/Florida-alligator-1024x796.jpg

The crocodile's upper and lower jaws are almost the same size, so when they close their mouths the upper and lower teeth are visible outside the mouth. They also have a larger fourth tooth that sticks out. In alligators and caimans, you cannot see the bottom teeth or prominent fourth tooth jutting out.

Both alligator and crocodile species have dermal pressure receptors that look like small pits in the skin and can help them track prey by sensing small pressure changes in water. Crocodiles are covered in these receptors pits, while alligators only have them on their jaws.

Okay, so that's how you tell crocodiles from alligators and caimans. But how do you tell alligators from caimans? I always thought that caimans were much smaller than alligators. But that's not true! Certain caimans are small, with the spectacled caiman of Central and South America only reaching 2.2m on average. But the jacare, or black, caiman from the Amazon and Pantanal can grow to a whopping 5m, putting the American alligator's 4.25m to shame.

Jacare caiman. Source: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e4/Caiman_yacare_head.jpg

The real difference between these two subfamilies lie in the snout. Caimans lack bony septums between their nostrils. Instead they have bony scutes (or scales) that protect the nostrils.

I also thought caimans were less aggressive and dangerous than alligators. But it turns out caimans tend to be more agile than the alligator and more similar to the aggressive crocodile in their behavior. They also have longer, sharper teeth than the alligator. So if you are like me and took comfort in the fact that the Pantanal only has caimans, not alligators, think again! Because this lesser known crocodilian packs a punch...or should I say, a bite!


Sources:
Alligators and Crocodiles: Animal Planet, http://animal.discovery.com/reptiles/alligator-vs-crocodile1.htm.
Crocodilia, Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crocodilia#Evolution_and_classification.

Pantanal > Amazon

Dr. Bob mentioned it briefly in class, and I was reminded again when I read this post, how lucky we are to be going to a place where the wildlife is so effortlessly visible. The flat, grassy plains and open wetlands of the Pantanal make it much easier to spot animals in their natural habitat than in the dense forrest of the Amazon. The Pantanal is so flat, in fact, that its altitude range is only from 0-200 meters.

The Pantanal is also more than just one ecosystem. Between September and November the Pantanal can be bone dry, resulting in a large area being consumed by fires. These fires, occurring both naturally from the lack of water and accidentally from agricultural burn-offs, are sited as causing respiratory problems for locals.

Conversely, during the wet season, November to March, the rivers' water levels may rise by as much as five meters.

I guess I just think it's super awesome that we have the opportunity to travel to a place that is so diverse not only ecologically but also environmentally!

- Megan Good

Paying to Swim with Pirahnas

Last month, an article in the Pantanal News shared an Olho d’Agua River/Rio da Prata snorkeling experience. That’s right, snorkeling. Recanto Ecològico Rio de Prata, an ecotourism company based out of Jardim, guides a unique travel experience where tourists snorkel in the crystal clear waters of the river and are able to observe pirahnas, anacondas, and caimans in their natural environment.

In order to maintain minimal disturbance and preserve the environment, tour groups are limited to nine people and visitors must follow a specific set of rules.

1. No one is allowed to apply repellent or sunscreen prior to the snorkel.
2. Standing on and disturbing the river bottom is forbidden.
3. Touching wildlife (or attempting to) is prohibited.

Once oriented, tourists walk 30 minutes to the river entry site, encountering native plants and megafauna along the way, before floating downriver in 5 mm neoprene wetsuits. Here, pacu, curimbas, dorados, and all kinds of fish swim by, seemingly unfazed.

Would you do it? The article, though translated via Google, had me hooked. It was great promotion for the ecotourism company. The pictures are clear, the fish are close, and the visitors are happy. It truly seems like a phenomenal experience. 

Photo: Luciano Candisani

Something I found interesting is that this article was in a local newspaper. So I pose the question to you - why advertise to locals? What is the value? I have my own speculations, of course, but I’d like to hear yours. Share away!

-Christina Morrisett

Stopping dengue fever in its tracks?

Dr. Bob briefly discussed the potential of mosquitoes carrying dengue fever in the Pantanal region. For those of you who don't know too much about dengue fever, it is an infectious tropical disease caused by the dengue virus and transmitted via mosquitoes of the genus Aedes. Common symptoms include fever, headache, muscle, join pains, and a characteristic rash. In some cases, the disease develops into a life-threatening fever which can result in bleeding, low levels of blood platelets, and blood plasma leakage. Currently, there is no available vaccine, and the best prevention is to limit exposure to mosquito bites.

However, research in the Pantanal may be critical to better understanding the dengue virus and limiting its negative effects. In the Pantanal of Mato Gross, researchers at the Oswaldo Cruz Foundation (Fiocruz) collected 4,400 plants and found that three plant species could inhibit the virus's replication for the type 2 and 3 virus. The research will move forward to use molecules found in these plants to test in animals and test their effects. 

I thought this was particularly exciting to share because it brings up the merits of really exciting new therapeutic possibilities and the expansion of biopharmaceutical research by Fiocruz to help treat a really serious tropical disease!

- Nicole

Reference: http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=pt&u=http://www.redetv.com.br/Noticia.aspx?118,4,570358&prev=/search?q%3Dgoogle%2Btranslate%2BPesquisadores%2Bencontram%2Bplantas%2Bno%2BPantanal%2Bque%2Bcombatem%2Bv%25C3%25ADrus%2Bda%2Bdengue%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DniB%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26channel%3Dfflb%26biw%3D605%26bih%3D570

A bird coin!

Ever heard of Niue? It is an island in the South Pacific Ocean, 1,500 miles northeast of New Zealand. This island has just launched a new coin series that features the planet's 10 most endangered species. The first is our South American friend, the Hyacinth Macaw!

Source: http://news.coinupdate.com/first-coin-released-in-new-endangered-species-series-3103/

The hyacinth macaw is one of the continent's rarest parrots. Habitat loss and trapping wild birds for the pet trade have decreased it's numbers to scarily low numbers over the decades, and now it is listed as endangered on the International Union for the Conservation of Nature's (IUCN) Red List. It's no wonder people want Hyacinth Macaws to call their own, sad and cruel as it is, because they are strikingly beautiful. They are a brilliant blue, and from head to the end of the tail they can measure 3.3 ft long, making them the largest macaw and largest parrot species in the world.

Taken from a super creepy website claiming to sell hyacinth macaws. Keep these beauties in the wild! Source: http://www.forsalehyacinthmacaws.com/uploads/2/1/5/1/21518698/5720512_orig.jpg.

More info on the hyacinth macaw coming soon in my organism presentation. But if you go to Niue before then, remember to keep an eye out for the macaw coin!

- Morgan

Reference: http://news.coinupdate.com/first-coin-released-in-new-endangered-species-series-3103/

Ribeirinhos: People of the River

I found a press release for a new exhibit at the University of Michigan Duderstadt Center gallery that features photography of life in the pantanal by photographer Marcin Szczepanski. The exhibit features photography and video of the daily lives of the ribeirinhos (river people) that live in the Pantanal Region.

The photographer spent time in the pantanal in a tiny village hoping to capture images that show how the ribeirinhos there relate to each other and the changing environment and culture. His final goal with the images and video is to create a multimedia ethnography project about the people living in the region to dispel stereotypes and give the people of the pantanal more of a voice.

Check out more of the photos in the exhibit here.
And read an interview with the photographer Marcin Szczepanski here.

-Martell