As part of my research for my new book about insects, I’ve been reading a lot about malaria prophylaxis (that is, preventing malaria). For centuries, cinchona powder was the only known successful treatment for malaria. It was made from the ground-up bark of a cinchona tree, which was discovered growing in the foothills of the Andes mountains. In the early 19th century, scientists figured out how to derive quinine from cinchona bark. After that breakthrough, quinine saved millions of lives and led to a lot of imperialist expansion into previously off-limits territories (like, for instance, Africa).

A few weeks ago, I actually bought some cinchona powder on Ebay. And also a bottle of old-fashioned quinine pills. They came from an old pharmacy, which I think was being demolished or something, and the seller put a bunch of the old medicine bottles up on Ebay for sale. I was a successful bidder for these products:

I thought I was bidding just on the bottles, which I was planning to bring for school visits, but they came in the mail nearly full of cinchona and quinine pills, which as I think about it, may not have been entirely legal to send through the mail.

Doctors don’t prescribe quinine much anymore unless they’re really desperate to help a patient who hasn’t responded to other treatments. Quinine has unpredictable and potentially serious side effects (among them, an unsteady gait and ringing ears). I was interviewing a specialist in infectious diseases some time ago, and I asked her if it would hurt me to take a tiny taste from my bottle of cinchona powder. Evidently it’s extremely bitter (British soldiers masked the bitter taste of their quinine water with gin–and created the gin and tonic). She said most likely it would not hurt me. I haven’t dared yet, but I’ll let you know if I do.