(continued after having ‘gone fishing’…)
Later on that evening, another livestock professional, Isaac, joins us, and we travel about an hour and a half to visit a bee farm which is used to harvest honey. In this particular case, Samaritan’s Purse provides 3 Kenyan beehives to a farmer who has met the qualifications, who will use those hives to attract bees, sell honey, and reimburse the price of the hives. Samaritan’s Purse can then take the money and buy 3 new hives to give to someone else, who will then do the same thing. But in order to work with the bees, we have to wait till the sun goes down because the bees are out pollinating in the daytime, and at dusk they are returning, and are too ‘hostile’ if we try to mess with them, so I’m told.
So Isaac, the SP bee expert, explains to me the many fascinating facts about bees. Like, for instance, the queen bee is simply an average female worker bee who has been fed on ‘royal jelly’ since birth, a diet different than given to other female bees, which stay small and live shorter lives. Or like the sad fact that male bees only live to the age of a few months when they can mate with the queen bee. However, the ‘act’ of impregnating the queen bee is, how should I say, quite ‘exhausting’, because they automatically die after the fact. Poor guys.
So after learning all about bees and beehives and the sad life of a male bee, we sit down to eat some jack fruit, something Ugandans say is unique to Uganda (although a quick search on Google says otherwise). The tree itself resembles a cashew tree, but the fruit is huge, about the size of an elongated basketball, and is the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s pea green and covered in lumps. But oh the joy of what’s inside! The fruit tastes like a mixture of mango, papaya, and banana. So we peal open the jack fruit and pick through the tofu-like texture and enjoy the heavenly treat. Then, after eating more than we probably should have, we scrub our hands and mouths because of the glue-like residue that is left after eating the fruit.
Then we have to put on our safety suits. You all have seen them, the body-suit with a screen on the face that makes you look like you just stepped off of a space ship. The process starts by putting on the body part of the suit, which has elastics around the ankles and wrists, which will tightly cover the protective gloves and rubber boots I then put on after. I then put on a straw hat, whose purpose is to keep the screen away from my face, and is much too small for my head, and then the hood is zipped up to the screen. The white hood that is now pointing up on all three of us strangely reminds me of a time best forgotten in America’s history. Ironically, I’m in the place where the victims of men in those suits were originally taken from.
“Don’t let the screen touch your face, or the bees will sting right through it!” I’m beginning to, once again, ask myself what the heck I’m doing here. They get the ‘smoker’ ready, which they tell me is used to calm the bees. However, they use dried cow manure as fuel for the smoke. While I have full trust in Isaac and the beekeeper, the last thing in the world that would ever calm me down is the smell of burning cow manure. So we enter the mud, chicken wire and tin roof structure where the noisy bees are all getting tucked in for the night. Isaac starts to ‘smoke’ the first hive, and the surprisingly non-manure smelling smoke instantly surrounds us, stinging my throat but not making me cough, reminding me of the time much earlier in my life when I tried a cigarette for the first time.
My job is to hold the cell phone, which has a small flashlight on the end (one of the greatest ideas ever, Nokia, we should have that in America!) so that the two others can do their work. The beekeeper opens up the tin lid of the first wooden hive, and instantly the bees get really angry, slightly ‘calm’ from the smoke, or so I’m told. But they immediately start flying around us, and landing on my face screen. Now, I have been stung many times in my life, the product of growing up in the country and my parents (rightfully so) not letting us play much Nintendo or watch much TV. I’m not too afraid of bees, or so I thought. Until they start landing on the screen on my face and surrounding all three of us with their noisy wings. All of a sudden I don’t have as much confidence in my suit, and all I can think about is trying to keep my big nose from touching the screen. Getting stung on your ankle or arm is one thing, getting stung on your nose is another.
As Isaac continues to spread cow manure particles in the air, I take a look inside the hive, expecting something very intricate, with colors and mazes. It’s quite simple, though. It’s just a row of about 15 honeycombs exactly the same width apart. Lifting out one of the combs, the beekeeper takes a paintbrush and brushes the bees off the comb to take a closer look at it. He shows me how to see if the honey is ready or not, by the color of the wax coating on the comb. He then pulls out a few more, and I look inside.
Isaac tells me that no matter how hard you try, you can never find the queen. The other bees hide her really well. They don’t want to lose the life source of the hive. Although, if she is attacked by a ‘spy’ bee from another hive, it only takes 3 days to make a new queen apparently. Talk about quick turnover.
Now, I have to be honest, I’m really trying to figure out how I got myself into this mess by this point. I’m told my suit will protect me, but I have thousands of bees angrily flying around me trying to figure out how to sneak into my suit and ambush me. Despite the nylon material of the suit, the bees can somehow stick to it, mainly accumulating around my butt. The beekeeper says they are attracted to human pheromones, naturally coming out of the butt. I try to find the humor in this, but there are literally a hundred bees clinging on to dear life in a region of my body where, let’s just say, a sting would really hurt. So I tell myself I will laugh about it later.
With his cow dung apparatus in hand, Isaac says, “Can I smoke you?”
“I don’t know, can you?” I ask him.
If he sprays the cow dung smoke at my butt, the bees will dissipate, he says. So he sprays the cow manure smoke at my rear. Talk about what goes around, comes around!
We move to another hive, and look at three more, as the beekeeper observes the bees and harvests honey, with nothing more than a tiny flashlight on the end of a Nokia phone. After we are done with that, we move outside and inspect the combs that we have taken off. We still keep our suits on. I have seen pictures of people working with hives, and after watching “The Secret Life of Bees” with my mom a few months ago, I have been even more interested in trying this out. And now that I have, all I can think about is how I’m ready to take this racist deathtrap spacesuit off of me and run away. But I can’t, just yet, as the beekeeper asks me to hold the little light as he inspects the honeycombs before we can leave. After that is done, Isaac smokes us all again. And then we take turns using avocado branches and a paintbrush to wipe off the bees still clinging to our hindquarters, among other places.
As we start to walk away, it sounds to me like a bee is inside my suit. I think to myself I must be going crazy. Surely this spaceman outfit is bee-proof. Then I see it, the brave little soul, on the inside of my face mask right above my right eye. Talk about panic. I take my hands and squish him, praying I kill him with my over sized gloves without letting him sting me in the face.
Then I hear the same sound again! And then I see it, the dead bee’s best friend, that little follower! So he suffers the same fate. By this time, I am hollering at Isaac that I have bees on the inside of my suit. Who knows how many?!? My heart is beating like a racehorse as I know that the bees will all sting me at once in some organized conspiracy.
“Hang on, let me come unzip you!” The way these suits are made, they are zipped and unzipped from the outside. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t about to rip it off in some Hulk Hogan-like charade. But Isaac comes and unzips me and I am out of that suit in no time!
WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING HERE?!?!
I counted at least 10 little buggers flying around the inside of my suit. I have no idea how I didn’t get stung. But I can say that working with bees is not something I feel God has called me to do as a lifelong career.
We take off all our gloves and things. Somehow I seem to be the only one lucky enough to have gotten intimate with the bees. After a few minutes, Isaac calls me over.
Through Isaac’s translating, the beekeeper hands me a honeycomb and tells me to enjoy! I know this is a sacrifice for him, as honey is expensive and he will be able to sell it for a hefty profit. But he is thankful for my coming and helping him, and wants me to share in the spoils. I take the sticky, drippy honeycomb and put it in my mouth. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was one of the most amazing tastes I have ever had. Fresh from the hive! And all made possible because of a small loan. Because it is so sweet, I cannot finish my portion. So the beekeeper tears off a large banana leaf and wraps up the rest for me to take with me.
This is why I’ve come here, this is why I risk being attacked by angry bees. This man is happy, and able to supplement his income, and is so grateful that he is sharing his profit with me.
As we get in the truck and drive away, the cool air bringing with it drowsiness, Isaac speaks up and tells me to be careful. The bees can cling to the inside of my clothes, unknowingly to me, and sleep for a while. Even after an hour and a half drive, they can wake up and sting me!
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