Kambo vs Sea Lice: Ancient Frog Medicine to the Rescue

There's a peculiar irony in being humbled by creatures you can't even see.

My hubs and I are in El Cuyo, Mexico (Yucatán), a sleepy, picturesque fishing village where the streets are made of sand, the locals are incredibly lovely, and time moves at its own gentle pace.

This became the setting for my unexpected encounter with some tiny, powerfully irritating creatures.

The culprits?

Jellyfish larvae, known also (for some reason) as "sea lice." These microscopic organisms drift invisible on the wave tops. They're a hidden reminder that in the tropics, size and impact rarely correlate.

Hours after wading out into the water, the first signs appeared - red patches spreading across my hands and stomach.

By day two, I was sporting a collection of watery blisters that would concern any reasonable person.

In true TMI fashion, I showed my rash to a few new friends who were hosting us at Costa Chido. "Baby jellyfish," their 12-year-old daughter confirmed with a knowing look, as if welcoming me to an exclusive club of tropical water veterans.

The local pharmacy offered little more than a tube of Mexican hydrocortisone cream and a sympathetic nod. But then I remembered something tucked away in my supplies: my kambo.

For the uninitiated, kambo is the secretion of the giant leaf frog, Phyllomedusa bicolor, a creature that's been keeping Amazonian tribes healthy for generations. It's used as a kind of cure-all for everything from snakebites to depression.

I spent months in Samara, Costa Rica, apprenticing with a medicine woman who taught me the sacred art of applying this medicine through small burns in the skin.

Hundreds of sessions later, I've seen it work in ways that challenge our modern understanding of healing, though I prefer to think of them as reminders that we've barely scratched the surface of nature's capabilities.

[Important disclaimer because it needs to be said: This is just my story, not medical advice. Kambo should only be administered by experienced practitioners who understand its proper use. Never attempt this without proper training and supervision.]

The science behind kambo is fascinating - bioactive peptides, anti-inflammatory properties, immune system modulation. But what the clinical papers don't capture is the profound experience of sitting with this medicine as it works through your system.

I opted for a single "gate" - one small burn instead of my usual two or three given my body was already dealing with an unwanted toxin.

What followed was ten minutes of intense physical response.

Then the rash flared up dramatically, almost as if my skin were actively pushing out the jellyfish toxins in one concentrated effort.

I'd seen this before, after a particularly intense encounter with Costa Rican mosquitos and picapica.

The pattern was familiar: significant intensity as per the usual kambo purge (throwing up or going to the bathroom), then a flare up of the skin where the bites or stings were, followed by remarkably quick healing.

It's the opposite of Western medicine's approach to symptom management. As my teacher would say, with the wisdom that comes from years of observation, "Kambo, like many plant medicines, makes you feel worse before you feel better."

It's a philosophy that runs counter to our modern desire for quick fixes.

Living abroad has a way of challenging your assumptions, leaving you with a choice: hold onto familiar methods or open yourself to wisdom that has sustained communities for thousands of years.

As I watched my jellyfish-induced inflammation heal with remarkable speed, I was reminded that the best lessons often come when we're willing to step outside our comfort zone, ask questions, and acknowledge that our sophisticated modern world might not have all the answers.

For those drawn to explore these less-traveled paths, remember: proper training, deep respect, keen intuition, and humility go a long way.

‍