Share five things you’re good at

survival skill from crossing borders I shouldn’t name with plants I shouldn’t have had

Extracting resin from trees that don’t want to give it up

Boswellia carterii in Somaliland. Dracaena cinnabari on Socotra. You learn to read bark like braille, find the wound that’s already weeping, coax it wider without killing the tree. The resin hardens fast in dry heat- you work before dawn or after dusk. I’ve carried frankincense tears wrapped in muslin through three borders. No one searches a woman’s menstrual supplies.

Making tinctures in places without running water

Kinshasa, rainy season. You macerate what you can find -neem bark, bitter leaf, whatever the market women will sell you before the soldiers come through. Vodka if you’re lucky, cane liquor if you’re not. Strain through your last clean shirt. Label nothing. Remember everything. The best medicine I ever made was in a hotel room with a leaking ceiling and a door that didn’t lock.

Identifying plants by scent when I can’t see them

Vetiver root smells like monsoon and old wood – I found it by smell in a Delhi alley market, no light, just hands and nose. Patchouli leaves versus pogostemon cablin versus the cheap synthetic they sell to tourists. Real oud versus the stuff cut with DPG. I learned this because buying the wrong thing in certain places means you wasted money you can’t get back, or worse- you disrespected someone you need.

Surviving borders

Don’t declare everything. Don’t declare nothing. Know which customs agents care about plants (Australia, New Zealand) and which ones don’t (most of West Africa if you’re a woman traveling alone and you smile right). Carry documentation for half of what you have. Leave the other half unlabeled in a toiletry bag. Seed packets in empty tampon boxes. Tincture bottles in shampoo containers. I’ve walked orchid cuttings through JFK in my bra.

Leaving

Kinshasa to Brazzaville. Accra to Lomé. Mumbai to Goa. Crossing when you need to, before you want to. Carrying only what fits in one bag. No forwarding address. No promises to return. The best training for making medicine is knowing how to disappear when the work is done- or when staying gets dangerous. I’m good at goodbyes that don’t explain themselves.