Recently, I came across a small but interesting fact: The word malaria comes from the Italian phrase “mala aria”, meaning “bad air.” In the past — particularly in parts of Europe during the Middle Ages and Renaissance — people believed that the unpleasant, humid air in swampy areas caused illness.
This idea was part of a larger theory of medicine known as Miasma theory, which held that diseases were spread by foul-smelling air, often coming from decaying matter or stagnant water. This was a logical assumption, in a way. People noticed that those living near wetlands and marshes often fell ill. What they couldn’t see was the real cause: tiny parasites transmitted by mosquitoes, which thrived in those very same environments.
So while the idea of “bad air” wasn’t quite right, it was based on close observation. It’s one of those fascinating moments in history where people almost had the answer — but didn’t yet have the tools to see it. It wasn’t until the late 19th century that scientists discovered the true cause of malaria. In 1880, French doctor Charles Louis Alphonse Laveran identified the parasite Plasmodium in the blood of malaria patients. A few decades later, British doctor Ronald Ross demonstrated that mosquitoes were the carriers that transmitted the malaria parasite to humans. This marked the beginning of a new era in understanding, preventing, and treating the disease.
Despite the advances in science, malaria is still a major global health issue. It affects millions of people each year, especially in tropical and subtropical regions. Children under five are particularly vulnerable, as are pregnant women.
What’s most difficult is that malaria is both preventable and treatable — yet it continues to cause an estimated 600,000 deaths annually, mostly in low-income areas without reliable access to healthcare, education, or prevention tools like insecticide-treated bed nets.
It’s a disease that has been with humanity for centuries, changing names, explanations, and understandings — but still very much present.
I’m sharing this because some of you know me through Tiny Bits, my newsletter where I share fun facts, interesting reads, strange films, and general bits of curiosity. It’s a place where I explore the things that catch my attention — sometimes light, sometimes a little more thoughtful. Over the past year, my curiosity led me somewhere new: I started the Swart Foundation, a small content-driven initiative focused on malaria prevention and public health education. It’s a very different kind of project, but it comes from the same place — a desire to learn, to notice things, and to contribute where I can.
If you’re interested in hearing more, there are two ways to stay updated:
✴️ Tiny Bits — for the random, delightful side of curiosity: odd fun facts like this one, books, quotes, and other discoveries
➡️ Tiny Bits
🌍 Swart Foundation Updates — for those who want to follow the work we’re doing on malaria prevention and learn more about global health topics
➡️ swartfoundation.org/newsletter
You’re welcome to sign up for one or both. I write them both in the same tone — thoughtful, curious, and always with a personal touch.
Sometimes a single word — like malaria — opens a small window into a much larger story. That’s what I love about language, history, and human nature. And it’s why I’ll keep sharing both the light bits and the serious ones.
