At Ain Z'halta, a remote village in Lebanon, a mosquito bit me on the wrist. I slapped it, brushed away a smear of blood,
and returned to my guidebook. That evening, the bite itched. I scratched it and awoke the next morning with a welt the size
of an almond at the base of my right thumb, a tender elbow, and disquieting red streaks running up to my armpit. I walked
to the village square wondering what to do.