Collecting Honey

About a year ago, some 30-odd beehives were placed all around GOSESO’s forest. On a recent walk, Ashahadu, the head of our forest conservation efforts and resident jack of all trades noticed that a bunch of the hives had been colonized and looked ready for harvesting, and thus a date was set for the next night and a crew was assembled to gather the first batch of goseso honey.

The Crew:

Kamata and Hamza: The front line technicians. They did all the work. They smoked the hives, cut out the honeycomb, cleaned it off, and tossed in the bucket, and then replaced the hive (hives are hung from trees, to avoid animals/bugs from messing things up). At one point Kamata was 15 feet up in a tree, sitting on a hive like it was a saddle, pulling out honeycomb with one hand and swatting bees with the other. It was quite a sight. Both Kamata and Hamza were stung dozens of times, and they had the swollen hands to prove it, though neither seemed to concerned about their wounds.

Salvatory: Meek, hard-working GOSESO employee. He works with Ashahadu in our forest conservation program, planting indigenous trees, setting up nurseries, etc. He was dragged along to be a porter of sorts, to haul the bucket of honeycomb from one hive to the next. He was an interesting choice as a helper, giving that he is absolutely terrified of bees. He tended to hide in grass/behind a tree a good 20-30 feet from the hives, constantly double checking that his pants were tucked into his socks and that his two coats were properly sealed off. Obviously, Salvatory’s phobia provided endless amusement throughout the night.

Ashahadu: The brains of the operation. He knew the methods, he knew which hives were ready, and he could lead us to them in the dark. And as proof that he was the brains, he shouted instructions to Kamata and Hamza from a safe distance throughout the night, lead the way in laughing at their misfortunes, and was not stung once.

Drew: The useless foreign observer. Though I was dead weight, I like to think I provided emotional support. My credibility was somewhat improved by getting stung 4 times in efforts to get a better view of the action. While nothing near to battle scars of Kamata and Hamza, it was at least enough to gain me entrance into the club and be one of the guys. Additionally, my running commentary on “this isn’t how they do it in America” added a nice cross-cultural flavor to the outing.

The Harvest:

I knew I was in for an adventure when it became clear that an acceptable form of gauging a hives vitality was to throw rocks at it. Hamza used this highly refined technique to verify Ashahadu’s claims, and his frantic, laughter-filled retreats from the hives did so convincingly. The actual extraction of honey is done by the same basic process that exists everywhere; bundles of lighted-grass are used to somewhat pacify the bees, the end of the beehive is pried off, and a brave person, Hamza or Kamata, saws off the honeycomb with a kitchen knife we borrowed from Alexi, the cook. The honeycomb is then swatted with a leafy branch, to remove any lingering bees, and then tossed in the collection bucket.

While the process was interesting, and the product is obviously delicious, the best part of the experience was the unique “vibe” of the night; it felt exactly like I was a teenager again, and my friends and I were bored and finding novel ways to pointlessly hurt ourselves, and finding our own and especially others pain hilarious. Kamata and Hamza were a constant soundtrack of shrieks, moans, and Mungu yangu’s (my God), always capped off by their own laughter. The rest of us were pretty much continuously laughing at their misfortunes and at their especially creative yells or swears.

After a hive had been cleared out, we would all gather around the honey-bucket and sample the harvest. I expect it was this light at the end of the stinger filled tunnel that allowed such a good-humored response to so many bee stings, and gave the night its festive atmosphere.

I don’t mean to get overly introspective or dramatic, but digging into the fresh honeycomb was one of those moments that I know I will remember fondly for long time. We all stood around the bucket, stuffing our mouths with big chunks of warm, dripping honeycomb, enjoying its raw, “complex” flavor (it really did have a lot of unidentified flavors in it, which leads one to wonder exactly what was them, especially since they were gone after cooking and filtering the honey the next day) and still laughing at the recent stings. To top it all off, the smoke in the air provided that wonderful “camping” smell to everything (I realize this only applied to me, as open fires were an everyday event for everyone else). The ironic thing is, after gorging of honey after visiting 8 separate hives, spread over 4 hours, by the end of the night the last thing you want to see, smell or taste is honey. Fortunately, the next day it’s as appealing as ever.

p.s. I apologize for not getting any good pictures; we were worried that the flash might anger the bees, so I left my camera at home. Next time (Ashahadu says August is the best month) I will take pictures. All i have is a picture of one of our "native" bee hives, and a picture of Ashahadu and Salvatory sorting through the wax and honey.