Two months, that’s how long I have been neglecting this blog. Some people had even sent me messages to check if I were still alive. But I am alive and the reasons for my silence were good – until last week I was in Mozambique, working at the Wilson Lab and busily preparing for the next biodiversity survey of Gorongosa National Park. While there I had precious little time to write or take photos, but I did manage to take some shots of a few interesting critters. It is the rainy season in Gorongosa now and insect life is exploding. I had set up an ultraviolet light in front of my office to collect all members of my target groups (orthopteroid and dictyopteroid insects) and to cherry-pick the more interesting species from orders that we don’t yet collect systematically. On some nights the sheet was sagging under the weight of hundreds of species of insects and for a while mysterious redheads kept coming to the light.
I recognized them from my earlier trips to Gorongosa as Red-headed flies (Bromophila caffra) – large, slow moving insects, reluctant to take to the air, and much happier to hang in clusters from low tree branches. They are truly striking animals, showy and clearly unconcerned about attracting anybody’s attention, including that of potential predators. There were many birds and grabby vervet monkeys in the camp, who not so much as looked in the direction of the flies who slowly spun in clusters on leaves.
But for an insect as conspicuous and common as the Red-headed fly, shockingly little is known about its biology. In fact, the last scientific paper that mentions it by name (according to an extensive MetaLib cross-database search) is from 1915, and it does so only to compare the fly’s strikingly red head to another species. As already pointed out in an excellent post about this species by Ted C. MacRae, there exists only anecdotal evidence that the larvae of this species might be feeding on the roots of Terminalia trees, potentially sequestering toxic cyclic triterpenes, which would explain the adult flies’ aposematic coloration. But, as is the case with so many African invertebrates, nobody really knows.
There is also another possibility. One morning while in Gorongosa I woke up to find my arms covered with big, painful blisters. The night before I had spent a couple of hours searching for insects in tall grass and remembered seeing many contrastingly colored, red and black beetles of the genus Mylabris. “Oh, that’s why they are called blister beetles!”, it dawned on me, a little too late. While walking through the grass I must have brushed against some of these insects, and a mere touch against my skin caused the blisters, which lasted for over a week, to appear. The beetles themselves are highly toxic, deadly even, and no bird or other vertebrate will try to eat them. It is therefore quite possible that the flies are fakers – not toxic at all but simply counting on predators’ reluctance to try a potentially harmful meal. This phenomenon, known as Batesian mimicry, is common in the animal kingdom and I strongly suspect that the flies are an example of it.
When I return to Gorongosa next month the flies should still be around. It will also be the time when many young house geckos (Hemidactylus mabouia) are hanging around the lights of the camp, having hatched in January and February. It might be a bit evil on my part, but I think I will do some feeding experiments to see if the lizards, which at that point should still be naive about the flies, have any adverse reaction to eating them. Watch this space.