Where Even the Mosquitoes are Mellow

The best thing about Tonga?  The people.  The best thing
about the people?  The kids.  

I hate mosquitoes.  Really hate them.  I guess this does not make me unique by any stretch of the imagination.  After all, even nuns, teddy bears, and Santa Clause hate mosquitoes.  But the intensity of my ire often feels one-of-a-kind strong when I am forced to marinate myself in deet (which is to say I cover myself with a sticky layer of poison) and try to ignore the buzzing in my ears as the little vampires try to find an undefended, un-deeted spot to chomp on.  If only they would leave me alone, I would be able to simply sit around a camp fire with my friends discussing the great questions of life.  Such as: if Darwin was so smart, why haven't mosquitoes evolved so that their bites do not result in a welt that make me scratch like a homeless dog ... wouldn't you think that would be an adaptive advantage?

If I ever run across a magic genie who offers me three wishes, the first would certainly be death to all mosquitoes.  And I don't care if that means trout and bat populations would suffer as I wipe out a major food source.  I appreciate all those creatures do for us in eating as many mosquitoes as possible, but really, if they were better at their job I wouldn't need to waste a wish getting rid of mosquitoes anyway.

I really, really hate mosquitoes.  All mosquitoes.

So imagine my surprise a couple of months ago while I was travelling in Tonga, when a lone mosquito found its way into the bathroom in my hotel and homed in on me as I got out of the shower.  I saw it coming and knew it was either it or me.  I prepared myself for battle.  My opening salvo was a half-hearted swing I took at the little bugger as it approached me.  I knew the swing wouldn't kill it, but I needed to distract it enough so I could attach my towel firmly around my waist and devote both hand to the single most deadly move in the world of mosquito combat: the death clap.

However, after my initial swing, the mosquito backed off!  I could just imagine it shrugging its tiny little mosquito shoulders and saying, "OK.  You don't want me to bite you?  'S all good!"  In my experience, mosquitoes are like hell hounds, paparazzi, and telemarketers.  Once they set you in their sights, you either have to give in and let them have their way with you, or you have to kill them.  But not this mosquito.  It was, by far, the most agreeable mosquito I have ever encountered.  Had it been a typical American mosquito, it would have continued to pursue me, and I would have ended up wiping its smashed little corpse off my hand and flushing it down the toilet.  In Tonga I did something I thought was impossible for me.  I spared the life of a blood sucker.

Several days after this encounter, the entire Tongan ferry system shut down for about a day and a half. Lots of travelers, both Tongan and foreign, were left stranded wherever they were (the country's airlines were already completely overbooked due to a very large Catholic conference being held in the capital).  At one point, a ferry worker spoke to a large group of would-be travelers and told them that a boat to one of the outer islands many people had hoped to ride, would not, in fact, be operating.  "Do you know when it will leave?" asked one of those waiting in line.  "Well, it will not leave today" answered a ferry employee.  "Will it leave tomorrow?"  "Oh yes, it should certainly be ready to go by tomorrow!"  "But yesterday you said it would certainly leave today."  The ferry employee shrugged and walked away.  All the white people within earshot of this conversation looked at each other with clenched teeth and pulsing veins in their foreheads as they threw luggage, cursed, and generally expressed discontent the way we are taught in kindergarten should be avoided at all cost.

The Tongans, on the other hand, shrugged, chatted with anyone who was willing, spontaneously produced enough food to constitute a small feast out of nowhere (all Tongans seem to have the near mystical ability to produce food at any given time) and did their best to turn their luggage into a makeshift bed.  "If the ferry goes tomorrow, it will go tomorrow," they said.  "If it goes the next day, then it will go the next day."

It makes me wonder.  If we, in the US, lived life just a little more chill, would our mosquitoes take a cue from us?  One thing is for sure, Tongan mosquitoes live longer than American mosquitoes.