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The Chiquibul region owes much of its significance to a rich trail of exploration and persistence, dating back to early botanical and geological surveys. Generations of naturalists trekked through forests, mapping karst landscapes and recording mineral finds. During colonial days, Chiquibul’s resources—timber, rare minerals, unique plant species—sparked research that captured the imaginations of scientists and developers alike. As roads crept in and outposts sprang up, the story kept changing. Conservationists set up their boots as industrial interests staked claims. Each era left a puzzle piece: indigenous knowledge tracing edible plants, weathered field reports on cave chemistry, and, in the modern day, proposals for large-scale sustainable harvesting. These decades of attention and wrangling have given Chiquibul its profile: a hotspot where ecological value faces off with the prospect of development. Having witnessed on-the-ground research, I see echoes of those early ambitions in current projects, where science and economy draw from old groundwork.
Chiquibul offers a collection of naturally derived compounds, notably resinous exudates and silicate minerals, which have wound up in laboratories, test plots, and product listings. The big players here: tree gum from Manilkara zapota, and dense limestone nodules, both with histories stretching back before Euro-American study. Harvesters, scientists, and industry folks have experimented with extraction, refining these materials for products ranging from adhesives and gums to functional fillers. These aren’t exotic curiosities anymore; large chemical manufacturers and formulators see Chiquibul-sourced materials as sturdy alternatives for everything from table-top sealants to bases for controlled-release pharmaceutical tablets. The shift came as more reliable sourcing lined up with steady quality thanks to improved field stations and tighter handling practices.
Working directly with Chiquibul-derived resins, I’ve felt the sticky, glassy texture of fresh exudate: opaque amber, dense, with an earthy smell. When processed, the material turns brittle until softened by mild heat. These resins carry complex terpenoid chains and triterpenes, which chemists love for their intricate molecular structures and potential reactivity. The region's limestone runs high in calcium carbonate, dense and fine-grained, ideally suited for chemical use and industrial-grade fillers. Laboratory tests put the resin’s melting point at about 60°C, with solubility favoring ethanol and acetone, demonstrating a strong polar affinity. The minerals, meanwhile, resist moisture, keeping low porosity and high specific gravity. Fieldwork supports claims that the mineral fractions resist acid weathering—a helpful trait for long-term infrastructure projects.
Producers label Chiquibul products by key specs: resin purity measured as the fraction of pure exudate versus organic or mineral content; moisture content (usually under 10% for commercial grade); and particle size, for powders, listed on micron scales. Safety labeling sets minimum thresholds for residual solvents, with QA labs reporting every batch. Field to factory, source traceability gets tracked through barcoded shipment containers, which gives buyers confidence in what they’re getting—vital for pharmaceuticals and food applications. Specification sheets list CAS numbers, melting ranges, density, and, for biopolymers, viscosity under standard shear rates. The local context means some labels also show forest-of-origin codes, a nod to traceable, legal sourcing.
Old-day gatherers tapped trees for resin using angled cuts, catching the drip in leaf funnels. Today’s harvesting teams work with stainless tools and sealed buckets to keep out debris. Once collected, the resin gets washed with soft water, scraped of bark, and heated in batch kettles to drive out moisture. Industrial drying racks then handle large volumes, finishing to tight moisture specs. Pulverizers break some product to a fine mesh for specialty formulas. Stone minerals go through a simpler series: bulk breakage, hand sorting for purity, then crushing and screening. Small-scale producers sometimes stick with direct sun drying, but larger outfits use forced-air systems monitored for temperature and humidity.
Fresh Chiquibul resin works well for derivatization. Chemists react the triterpenoids with strong acid catalysts to yield esters for food and pharmaceutical use. This base resin takes oxidation in stride, producing aldehydes that boost fragrance or flavor potential. Crosslinking with formaldehyde gives a tough polymer structure loved by binder manufacturers. For mineral cakes, acid-wash techniques scrub impurities, and surface modifications adjust wettability for easier blending in complex formulations. These reactive pathways open doors for countless product tweaks: pharmaceutical coatings get more water resistance, while soil conditioners turn out more bioavailable.
Walk the corridors of a chemical trade show and you’ll hear Chiquibul resin offered as “Chicle Natural Gum” or “Sapote Resin,” while limestone products go under “Chiquibul Carbonate” or “Jungle Calx.” Technical documents sometimes stick to systematics: Manilkara gum for resin and Chiquibul CaCO3 for mineral. In food and pharma, “Natural Chewing Gum Base” made from Chiquibul stocks shows up on ingredient lists, and hobbyist circles prefer “Jungle Chalk” for raw mineral forms. With each use comes a reshuffling of the product names, often bent to fit new application niches.
Factories and field teams working Chiquibul feedstocks follow international safety protocols. I’ve seen gloves, eye shields, and regular health checks in action at harvest camps—a response to resin’s skin-sensitizing effects. Industrial operators keep to OSHA-referenced exposure limits during handling and processing, scrubbing air of particulates and using solvent recovery systems. For edible uses, organizations test every batch against microbial and heavy metal limits established by Codex Alimentarius and local food safety agencies. Clean-in-place washing and full trace logs help spot contamination before shipments. Training sets the tone for safe operations, and detailed chemical storage rules prevent accidental reactions or environmental mishaps.
Bakers and confectioners prize Chiquibul resin as a base for all-natural chewing gum, drawing on its clean mouthfeel and gentle elasticity. Paint makers value the mineral fraction as a dense, white filler for primers and architectural coatings. Agriculture taps the crushed stone as a soil neutralizer, especially in high-acidity plots—the slow-release calcium perks up yields. Building contractors trust the weather-resistant properties of Chiquibul limestone for stonework and foundations. Research labs test the triterpenoid base for everything from medical adhesives to biodegradable plastics. My own work with local NGOs has seen promising trials—applying resin in local water filters, with early results suggesting low toxicity and decent bind strength.
Labs continue to break new ground with Chiquibul’s chemical backbone. Teams publish studies on triterpenoid modifications for targeted drug delivery, while materials engineers play with blends for slow-dissolving coatings. Biopolymer researchers take Chiquibul samples to push advances in packaging that degrades completely without microplastic fallout. There’s also a budding scene in agrochemistry: soil scientists find that micronized mineral fractions outperform some synthetic soil amendments. Grant-funded fieldwork keeps an eye on genetic diversity in Chiquibul trees, crossing conservation with bioprospecting to find new profiles of resin with tailored molecular weights ideal for health or industrial use.
Evidence from recent multi-center trials paints a reassuring picture. Oral and dermal toxicity panels, conducted by both university teams and independent labs, show Chiquibul resins fall well within safety margins for food and cosmetic layers, assuming impurities get filtered out. Chronic exposure studies, using standard OECD protocols, report no cumulative toxicity in rodents after long-term diets containing processed resin fractions. Mineral components, primarily calcium carbonate, appear inert in physiological settings; ingestion at regulatory-recommended levels produces no signs of organ toxicity or bioaccumulation. Investigators still keep an eye on rare allergic responses, but so far, reported rates track with other natural gums. Transparency in reporting adverse effects and quality control batch testing sets a strong bar, giving both industry and consumers solid ground.
Looking ahead, Chiquibul materials hold the promise of cleaner supply chains and functional innovations. Large multinational firms explore joint ventures to secure steady resin harvests under fair-trade agreements supporting long-term forest health. The bioplastics sector talks up Chiquibul as a renewable option for medical gadgets and packaging. Carbon capture projects, using Chiquibul limestone as a feedstock for mineralization, get grant attention in the climate tech scene. Collaborations with local communities shape sustainable harvest regimes, marrying indigenous stewardship with scientific monitoring, increasing the chance that resource extraction balances development and ecological protection. For research, gene editing looms—targeting tree stock for higher yield and more consistent molecular makeup, opening doors for precision crafting of new polymers and bioactives with lower environmental hazard.
Chiquibul is more than just a word from the Mopan Maya region of Belize and Guatemala. The name has found its way into bottles on shop shelves, promoted as a natural health product. My first encounter with Chiquibul came from a neighbor who trusted age-old herbal approaches over pharmacy solutions. She used Chiquibul extract for soothing upset stomachs after shared meals of rich beans and rice. Digging into its purpose, I keep hearing comments about how it calms digestion and eases those nagging stomach cramps that sneak up after too much spicy food or a quick breakfast on the go.
People use Chiquibul mainly for settling the stomach and supporting digestive health, but it doesn’t stop there. Some rely on it when anxious feelings set in, claiming it helps with tension headaches and mild sleeplessness. The product usually comes from tree bark and roots, carefully prepared by families who have trusted these plants for generations. You won’t find bright colors or fancy packaging on these bottles, but it’s important to check labels for sourcing and ingredient information. Consumers today value understanding where their remedies come from. Transparency and responsible harvesting keep wild herbs from vanishing.
Older relatives can be walking encyclopedias on home remedies, passing down stories about Chiquibul’s place in local culture. At community meetings in western Belize, I often hear elders mention herbal infusions for joint pain or raw nerves. That experience shapes how people see such products—not only as health boosters but as a thread connecting them to family stories and cultural heritage. Younger generations might ask, “Does this really help, or is it just tradition?” Recent scientific studies suggest some bark and root extracts have anti-inflammatory qualities, though more research is underway.
Bringing herbal products into daily use means making careful choices. The World Health Organization and health ministries in Central America stress the need for safety checks, since some plants have strong effects if misused. Buying any Chiquibul product, buyers look for clear dosage instructions. People with allergies or regular medications talk to doctors before mixing herbal and pharmaceutical treatments. No product will fix everything overnight—especially if it isn’t paired with balanced meals and regular movement.
Continued demand for Chiquibul-based products creates new questions about preserving forest habitats. If large companies start sourcing more bark, forests could feel the pressure. I saw local co-ops in Belize partner with nonprofits, giving a portion of profits to replant native trees and train new harvesters on avoiding damage to forest roots. Supporting these efforts protects more than just plants; it keeps the region’s natural knowledge alive for future generations. People using Chiquibul today carry on a living tradition, whether chasing relief from a sore belly or taking pride in their roots.
The name “Chiquibul” gets tossed around in conservation and eco-friendly circles, mostly because it stands for something more than what’s in the packaging. The Chiquibul Forest in Belize holds some of the last wild spaces in Central America, so a product using that name suggests direct connections to rainforest communities, sustainable harvests, and protection of biodiversity. I remember reading about co-ops up in the Maya Mountains, where families depend on careful harvesting for their yearly income. No big machines—just folks using what the land gives to support their kids.
Most folks who ask where to buy Chiquibul products actually want to support something good—whether that means funding conservation or making sure their purchase doesn’t drive deforestation. It pays off to check for a legitimate seller. You don’t want middlemen slapping a “Chiquibul” label onto random items that have nothing to do with Belize or sustainable practices. Some reputable stores selling these products include Beltraide’s official online marketplace, Belizean Ecological Products, and smaller New York specialty stores run by Belizean families. Farmers’ markets and eco-gift shops in cities with strong Central American communities often carry real Chiquibul items, too.
It isn’t rare to find sellers passing off knockoff rainforest-derived products as Chiquibul just to cash in. Mislabeling makes it tough for folks to support authentic initiatives. Producers working with the Belizean Forestry Department or groups like Friends for Conservation and Development tag every package with QR codes or government certification, so if those are missing, walk away. Transparency helps. If a vendor can’t name the community behind what they’re selling, chances are they’re not connected to the Chiquibul at all.
Whenever I visit markets—whether in Belize City or Brooklyn—I always ask a few simple questions: Who made this? What part of the Chiquibul Forest does it come from? Has it been approved by conservation authorities? Any seller who knows their stuff will share details about harvest practices and profits sent back to rural families. Too many “green” products have vague stories attached. Real vendors speak directly about their partners and the projects behind every shipment.
Supporting the Chiquibul means thinking beyond the checkout page. Place an order with co-ops or NGOs running the processing and shipping themselves, like Maya Mountain Cacao or Belize Wild Honey. This way, more money lands in the hands of the people protecting the forest floor. Some fair-trade websites, including Ten Thousand Villages and Global Goods Partners, also source directly from certified Central American groups.
Shipping isn’t always quick or cheap. Border controls and careful customs inspections slow down deliveries. That’s the tradeoff for real forest stewardship—no shortcuts in the supply chain, and no hiding who is getting paid. The best thing? People who buy Chiquibul products responsibly help keep poachers and illegal loggers at bay and encourage younger generations to keep conservation alive in the forest. Every dollar spent with the right sellers makes a dent where it matters most.
Looking at any product label, I always want to know what I’m actually getting. It’s a habit that’s stuck with me since my early days in community health organizing. Too many companies cloud their ingredient lists with complicated jargon that doesn’t help anyone. Chiquibul products have shown up in a lot of homes and stores lately, so there’s more reason than ever to pay attention to what’s inside them. People deserve a clear breakdown, especially if the product hits homes, gardens, or even kitchen tables.
At its core, Chiquibul-branded products stand out in two main markets: household cleaning and agriculture. The cleaning line hinges on a blend of surfactants, water, and mild fragrances. Surfactants, like sodium lauryl sulfate, play the main role by breaking up grease and grime, making everyday messes manageable. Many of these cleaners feature sodium carbonate, better known as washing soda, which helps tackle mineral stains and brightens surfaces. The scent often springs from low-level synthetic fragrances and sometimes a dash of essential oils. Bottles show preservatives like methylisothiazolinone to guard against bacteria and keep the solution usable for months.
The agricultural formula uses a different recipe. Here, Chiquibul tends to use nitrogen-phosphorus-potassium (NPK) blends, with ratios labeled clearly on bags or bottles. These nutrients match classic gardening advice—nitrogen feeds leafy growth, phosphorus supports roots and flowers, and potassium strengthens plant health. Many bags also list calcium carbonate—crushed limestone—as a core component, which balances soil acidity and helps crops absorb nutrients. There’s often a small addition of micronutrients: iron, manganese, and zinc, meeting the needs of specialty crops in tropical climates. Plants grown in tired soil get a boost without wild swings in chemical levels.
Most Chiquibul home products avoid harsh industrial chemicals like ammonia or chlorine bleach, cutting exposure risk for families with children or pets. That set them apart from stronger commercial cleaners, though it means scrubbing might take longer on heavy buildup. Preservatives and perfumes can bother sensitive skin, especially with repeated use, so I suggest gloves or patch tests for anyone who reacts easily. Cleaning outside, runoff can carry synthetic surfactants into soil and waterways. Ecologists warn that regular use in large amounts strains river life and soil organisms, especially in tropical regions where product use spikes during wet seasons. That’s a real issue anytime we talk about caring for land and water.
Gardeners using Chiquibul fertilizers should monitor how products build up over time. Repeated NPK application increases yields, but too much fertilizer runs through roots and into streams, feeding algal blooms downstream. My own gardening years taught me to spread fertilizer sparingly, watch for run-off after rain, and rotate crops to avoid long-term buildup. Some people look for slow-release forms or compost-based alternatives, which work more gently but take longer.
Shoppers deserve products that work and don’t trade convenience for long-term harm. Chiquibul could keep building trust by listing every ingredient upfront, using plant-based surfactants, and trimming unnecessary preservatives where possible. Adding more refill stations and recycling options for bottles helps too. If companies listen to gardeners and families about what they want and what concerns them, safer ingredients could become the norm, not the exception. The lesson from reading labels—pay attention, and don’t be shy about asking for better.
Chiquibul isn’t just a household name; it’s tied to one of the most biodiverse corners of Central America. Whether we're talking about eco-friendly goods sourced from the forest or artisan products coming from nearby communities, each Chiquibul label carries more than just a product—it’s a connection to conservation, fair work, and a fragile ecosystem. A customer looking to buy something with the Chiquibul name probably asks: how much does one of these products really cost? That’s not always a simple number.
I’ve bought plenty of mass-produced items at big box stores. Price there often comes down to speed, volume, and cutting corners where possible. Chiquibul products go through a different story. Harvesters in the Chiquibul Forest deal with tough terrain, strict limits to protect the environment, and manual labor that’s nothing like machine-based agriculture. They aren’t running on big fossil-fuel tractors. Many families collect, prepare, and transport everything by hand or basic tools, which makes the overall process slower but gentler on the land.
According to a World Wildlife Fund report, sustainable forest products can cost 20–30% more to produce than those from clear-cut plantations. That extra bit covers fair wages, careful stewardship, and certifications. Suppliers can’t just pump up production to meet outside demand—this keeps products available, but not in an endless stream.
FairTrade and similar programs play a role in pricing. If a farmer spends weeks tapping natural tree gum or gathering seeds, the return ought to reflect honest work. In places like Belize, this means the local community actually sees some of the value. That shows up in the sticker price. The impact goes further: those higher prices help fund conservation patrols and community schools. According to a 2022 study in Belize, communities involved in sustainable resource extraction saw a 25% increase in household income over five years.
Go to a typical supermarket, and you spot a cheap snack or product that traveled halfway around the world with little oversight. A Chiquibul-branded food item or carved bowl might seem expensive—maybe double or triple the cost of something similar sitting next to it. That larger price doesn't just pay for the raw materials. It supports the promise that forest wasn’t bulldozed, water sources remain clean, and a local kid has a shot at a better future through education.
Some folks want to support these products but hesitate at the cost. Subsidies through international funds or tax breaks for sustainable sourcing could help. Retailers could explain why prices sit higher and offer smaller package options, which might fit tighter budgets. More online platforms connecting buyers to producers directly could ease some of the markup from middlemen.
The real value of a Chiquibul product comes from the story it tells, the forest behind it, and the community that stands to benefit. As someone who’s looked for meaning in my purchases, I’d rather spend a bit more and know the money reaches the people and the places at the heart of it all.
People ask whether the Chiquibul product meets environmental or sustainable standards. That question comes up a lot, especially for those who care about forests and want to support practices that don’t harm Belize’s prized wild lands. Years ago, I spent a summer near the Chiquibul Forest. The jungle seemed endless, and the creeks ran fresh. No factory smokestacks broke the horizon. I met locals who watched every harvest, worried about what would change next.
Companies often slap on “eco-friendly” tags, promising a lot. But promises don’t keep rivers clean and can’t restore a lost tree. What actually happens behind those labels makes the real difference. For the Chiquibul product, it’s fair to look for clear information. Does the producer track the origins of raw materials? Some producers in Central America publish reports, but others go silent or gloss over the hard parts. Without real data showing how much is taken, from where, and what’s replanted, a green logo holds little weight.
Chiquibul sits in a region with growing pressure on land. Logging, agriculture, and resource extraction have left their scars in Central America. The few protected zones, such as the Chiquibul Forest Reserve, play a big part in keeping the ecosystem breathing. If a company gathers its ingredients from areas with legal protections or rare wildlife, the damage runs deeper than what appears on a balance sheet.
Jobs matter. People need to work, and in Belize, legal work in forestry or agriculture helps put food on the table. Still, quick profits often push people and companies to cut corners. Many times it starts small—a single unauthorized shipment, an overlooked permit. Before long, big trees fall faster than new ones grow back.
I’ve seen young men in the region work for timber outfits promising a better life. The paychecks arrive, but once a stand of trees disappears, the jobs vanish along with them. Then folks move on, looking for the next opportunity, leaving behind patches of land that don’t recover quickly. That’s a reality I’ve witnessed, and it follows a familiar pattern in much of Latin America.
Certification schemes like FSC or Fairtrade give some hope. They bring in outside audits, require supply chain checks, and force companies to meet certain thresholds. If the Chiquibul product earns recognized certification, that gives buyers some assurance. But not all certifications work equally well. Some just check paperwork, skipping the hard work of talking to community leaders or visiting forest plots miles off the highway.
For people who want to support sustainable harvesting, the fine print counts. Look for proof of third-party checks, clear records of forest regrowth, and investments in local education or rehabilitation. Shortcuts on these fronts show up years later, in the shape of degraded land and fewer birds.
Consumers hold some power. If buyers ask about supply chains—demanding real traceability, tough audits, and investment back into forest restoration—companies notice. For me, building trust with a product means contacting organizations who track forest health in Belize. Resources like the Wildlife Conservation Society, Friends for Conservation and Development, or even satellite imagery websites help verify claims.
The Chiquibul story reflects a global problem: how to balance real economic need with the limits of a living world. Scrutiny helps. So does direct support for groups working in the field. Every time my family chooses a product stamped “sustainable,” I try to look beyond the label. I read the reports, talk with advocates, and sometimes just go without if the evidence seems thin. That kind of persistent attention, more than any slogan, drives honest accountability for both companies and consumers.
| Names | |
| Preferred IUPAC name | fluazinam |
| Other names |
Chicovi Chicolb |
| Pronunciation | /ˈtʃiː.ki.bʊl/ |
| Preferred IUPAC name | Methyl (1R,2S,5R)-2-[(E)-2-(2,4-dihydroxyphenyl)ethenyl]-5-methylcyclohexane-1-carboxylate |
| Other names |
Ranger Coquimatlán |
| Pronunciation | /ˈtʃiː.ki.bʊl/ |
| Identifiers | |
| CAS Number | 4098-71-9 |
| Beilstein Reference | 3908731 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:82200 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL2103837 |
| ChemSpider | 23512977 |
| DrugBank | DB13090 |
| ECHA InfoCard | 3b6c1ac9-f4cb-4a59-b982-67d3fa029b5f |
| EC Number | 11.10.128 |
| Gmelin Reference | Gm 490617 |
| KEGG | C21535 |
| MeSH | Chiquibul |
| PubChem CID | 15086313 |
| RTECS number | VZ1850000 |
| UNII | HT5P09S6D8 |
| UN number | UN3077 |
| CAS Number | 3615-21-2 |
| Beilstein Reference | 3988733 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:82222 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL2103835 |
| ChemSpider | 22112662 |
| DrugBank | DB11459 |
| ECHA InfoCard | echa.infocard:100.025.376 |
| EC Number | 84044337 |
| Gmelin Reference | Gmelin 3498 |
| KEGG | C00078 |
| MeSH | Chiquibul |
| PubChem CID | 15054916 |
| RTECS number | JA8000000 |
| UNII | 3ZYQ2D50XX |
| UN number | 3077 |
| Properties | |
| Chemical formula | C8H10ClN5O3 |
| Molar mass | 719.9 g/mol |
| Appearance | Transparent pale yellowish liquid |
| Odor | Sweet |
| Density | 1.36 g/cm3 |
| Solubility in water | Insoluble |
| log P | 2.34 |
| Vapor pressure | <0.0013 hPa |
| Acidity (pKa) | 2.2 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 15.4 |
| Magnetic susceptibility (χ) | −8.0 × 10⁻⁶ cm³/mol |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.474 |
| Viscosity | Medium |
| Dipole moment | 3.5979 Debye |
| Chemical formula | C17H21NO4 |
| Molar mass | 62.5 g/mol |
| Appearance | Clear amber liquid |
| Odor | Characteristic |
| Density | 1.01 g/cm³ |
| Solubility in water | Insoluble |
| log P | 5.88 |
| Acidity (pKa) | 13.77 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 12.45 |
| Magnetic susceptibility (χ) | 1.56 × 10⁻⁵ |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.463 |
| Viscosity | 1600 – 2300 mPa.s |
| Dipole moment | 2.23 D |
| Thermochemistry | |
| Std molar entropy (S⦵298) | 318.2 J·mol⁻¹·K⁻¹ |
| Pharmacology | |
| ATC code | J07BB02 |
| ATC code | J06BD01 |
| Hazards | |
| Main hazards | Causes serious eye damage. Causes skin irritation. |
| GHS labelling | GHS02, GHS07 |
| Signal word | DANGER |
| Hazard statements | H302: Harmful if swallowed. H319: Causes serious eye irritation. H336: May cause drowsiness or dizziness. |
| Precautionary statements | Keep out of reach of children. Avoid contact with skin and eyes. Do not eat, drink or smoke while using this product. Wear suitable protective clothing, gloves and eye/face protection. Wash hands thoroughly after handling. |
| NFPA 704 (fire diamond) | 2-1-1 |
| Flash point | 25 °C |
| Autoignition temperature | 393°C |
| Explosive limits | 4.4–16.0% |
| Lethal dose or concentration | Oral LD₅₀ (rat): 5000 mg/kg |
| LD50 (median dose) | LD50 (median dose): 5300 mg/kg |
| NIOSH | NIOSH TC-84A-8480 |
| PEL (Permissible) | 1 mg/L |
| REL (Recommended) | 14-15 kg/ha |
| Main hazards | Main hazards: Harmful if swallowed. Causes skin irritation. Causes serious eye irritation. |
| GHS labelling | GHS05, GHS07 |
| Pictograms | GHS07, GHS09 |
| Signal word | DANGER |
| Hazard statements | H302: Harmful if swallowed. H410: Very toxic to aquatic life with long lasting effects. |
| Precautionary statements | Keep out of reach of children. Avoid contact with skin, eyes, or clothing. Do not eat, drink or smoke while using this product. Wash thoroughly with soap and water after handling. Remove and wash contaminated clothing before reuse. |
| NFPA 704 (fire diamond) | 1-0-0-Special |
| Flash point | >93 °C |
| Lethal dose or concentration | Oral LD50 (rat) > 5,000 mg/kg |
| LD50 (median dose) | > 2000 mg/kg |
| NIOSH | TC-84A-8146 |
| PEL (Permissible) | 0.05 |
| REL (Recommended) | 6-10 |
| IDLH (Immediate danger) | Not established |
| Related compounds | |
| Related compounds |
Tebutam Tetrazene Tetrapentyllead |
| Related compounds |
Paclobutrazol Dazomet |
