Corona and the bees
Does it feel like an overdose of Corona news? Well, here is something different: KILLER bees! They are spreading all over the American continent. 50 people a year die from stings, and entire regular bee populations are literally being turned into ‘minced meat’. So? Do you have an appetite for something different? Or should we stick with the old Covid-19?
How about a combination? Corona and the bees 🙂
Bee mortality was an issue long before this crisis. Today, you don’t hear much about it. Not because the problem has been solved, but rather because everyone is far too busy with themselves. I think it is relevant to connect these two crises. But I will come to that at the end of this blog post. The idea for this topic came from a phone call that I had with Ojok Simon, a 2012 kanthari graduate.
Ojok is from Uganda, he is a beekeeper, environmentalist, human rights activist, government advisor, world traveler, successful businessman and he is almost blind.
At age thirteen, he survived an attack by the rebels of Joseph Kony, one of today’s most wanted terrorists, who abducted thousands of children from villages in northern Uganda to use them as child soldiers. Some of our kanthari alumni were among those who were abducted, but luckily managed to escape.
Ojok fought back but he was knocked unconscious with the back of a rifle. “They hit my head, temples and eyes. When I woke up, I was safe, but I was almost blind. “
Anyone who has met Ojok knows that such things don’t upset him much. His life just needed to be organized differently now. He had to give up his passion for roaming the forest at night, climbing tall trees to steal sweet honey from wild bees. Once, he put a honeycomb in a clay pot and hid it in the forest. He forgot about it, but when he came back a few weeks later, he was delighted by the loud buzzing that came out of the pot. In fact, a population of bees had accepted the old honeycomb and inhabited the pot making it their hive. It was the beginning of a great future.
We visited Ojok a few years after his kanthari graduation, together with filmmakers Marijn and Tomek. The following scene is from my book and can also be partly watched in the film, “kanthari, change from within”.
“Every time I think of Gulu in northern Uganda, I remember the taste of Malaquan, a spicy paste of slightly sour leaves and crushed peanuts, the smoke from the wood fires over which a lamb is cooking, round, grassy mud huts, thunderstorms and pattering rain, and the slightly woody scent of bittersweet honey.
We are somewhere in the bush, miles away from the nearest major road. Ojok has put us into white protective suits, helmets, boots, and gloves, and now we are approaching the beehives as quietly as a group of seven laymen can. Wherever we appear, everything around us immediately falls silent. Frogs interrupt their ribbitting, cicadas pause in their sawing chant, only the birds sound alarms as if we were dangerous predators.
From far away we hear thunder, the air becomes heavy, and Ojok urges us to hurry. We must make it back before the thunderstorm, here in the bush one is easily hit by lightning and/or falling branches, and when it rains the paths are washed away and you get lost.
Although we can’t find any paths even when the ground is still dry, Ojok doesn’t seem to have any orientation problems. Quickly and unerringly he leads us in a zigzag course through the wilderness. Ojok, who’s stature is like a large bear, jumps astonishingly light-footed through the impassable terrain in front of us. Paul and I also live in the tropics and are certainly not overanxious. We do leave paths from time to time and do not constantly think of snake nests or other harmful creatures. But here, without Ojok’s guidance we would never have explored this bush. Well, what to do, we have no other choice but to follow him. He simply pulls me along holding the tip of my white cane. He steers me through thorny bushes, overgrown ditches, and dry earth walls. We jump over fallen tree trunks and roots until Ojok suddenly blocks the ‘road’ forcing us to stop.
We are now only a few meters away from the hive he wanted to show us: “We have to be quiet. Bees don’t like noise.” Suddenly it is silent, but I hear a muffled buzzing sound.
“This is a native beehive” Ojok whispers to us. We understood what he meant, as he had given us a crash course in beekeeping the night before. We learned a lot about the differences between domestic and so-called European beehives. According to Ojok, “Since European beekeepers are interested in a fast and efficient honey yield, they offer bees a kind of “prefabricated home” with pre-pressed wax honeycomb. This is hung on a metal frame in a rectangular wooden box and can be replaced easily, hygienically, and quickly. This way the bees do not lose any time with the production of wax and the honey can be harvested sooner. The local African bee colonies first must build their own honeycomb. That’s fine with us,” Ojok explained. “We have time. And in this way, we get valuable wax that can be processed further.”
Ojok had previously shown us an orphaned native hive. It was a hollowed trunk of an elephant palm tree. This type of palm tree bears fruits the size of a child’s head, which are eaten by elephants. According to Ojok, the trunks with a diameter of 50cm are perfectly suited to be used as beehives, because the bark is hard, and the inside is soft and easy to remove. It is not easy to colonize wild bees, he says. The hive must be cleaned of impurities and then rubbed with honey, melted wax or sugar water on the inside.
This would give the bees the impression that the place had been inhabited before and would be suitable for them to start their colony. But the sweet smell also attracts ants and other insects. And bees are peculiar, they don’t like sharing their home. When other creatures are found inside, they immediately move on.
In front of the circular opening of the beehive, Ojok placed a perforated tin sheet. This protects the bees from larger animals as well as from storms and makes it easy for them to swarm in and out. Ojok now carefully removes the metal sheet from the nail and lays it on its side. It takes a few seconds for the bees to notice the change. But then it starts. The slightly sleepy humming develops into a roar. And suddenly they are all around us. A raging cloud of angry projectiles, bouncing against our protective suits and the nets of the hats right front of our faces. From inside the hive it now sounds as if thousands of sports cars are speeding on a racetrack.
On my left, I hear a soft hissing. The helper operates a small bellows with which he blows smoke into the beehive and into our faces. After the buzzing started loud and aggressively, it suddenly quieted down. The smoke numbs the bees, but it does not harm them. Ojok takes off his gloves, relying on touch he works better that way. I ask if he doesn’t get stung.
“Yes, of course, several times a day. But I love it!” Without hesitation, he reaches into the hollow of the tree and with his bare hand checks the amount of honey produced already. “Hmm, another two weeks or so and then we can harvest.”
At that moment, it starts to feel as if the sky is falling. A thundering flood of water beings pouring down on us. In a matter of a few minutes, the protective suits are soaked and hang heavily on us. The parched ground turn into a muddy mess. Since Ojok has to close the hive again, he tells us to go ahead already. Without any orientation, we start to trudge and when after some wandering around, we finally arrive at Ojok’s hut he is already sitting there with a big grin on his face. “Well? Have I promised too much? Never mind, these are the joys of farming.”
(From the book “Die Traumwerkstatt von Kerala”)
Today, Ojok is a well-known beekeeper. In the year 2017 he received the $25,000 nominated Holman Prize and became a darling of the press. But Ojok remains down-to-earth and does not lose his focus for the essential: training blind people to become beekeepers and environmentalists and changing Ugandan society to be more tolerant of people with disabilities.
He runs a cooperative Hive Uganda Limited with 250 blind beekeepers and was about to exporting his honey which is known for its purity, to Italy, when the Corona virus thwarted him.
When I showed my empathy, he starts to laugh. “Don’t worry, we are crisis-proof. We are actually fine; honey and wax don’t spoil, and the Corona virus has not spread much in Uganda yet.”
“And what about bee mortality?”, I want to know.
Suddenly the line is silent. It makes Ojok thoughtful and the smile he usually has disappears from his voice as he explains the following: “The bees are dying mainly in Europe and America. Here in Africa or Asia the problem is not as severe.” He mentions the Varroa mite that “creeps into hives” and consumes bees from the inside. “The Varroa mite strikes in those regions where bees have weak immune systems. And the bees are particularly weakened in areas where they are exposed to a lot of toxins. Locally there are only a few farmers who can afford pesticides and we, the blind beekeepers and environmentalists are making sure that they learn to see the advantage of not using them.” Then he reminds me of the difference between European and African hives.
“Europeans like it clean and efficient. The pre-pressed honeycomb is simply exchanged and later reused. In our country, bees experience small recurring crises when all their property, house and food disappear and they have to work really hard to rebuild everything again and again. That makes them strong and resilient!”
“And do you see a parallel to the global crisis we are going through today?” I ask curiously.
Now I hear the typical “Ojok laughter” again: “Well… Why ask me? I am just a farmer! I better leave the analysis and conclusions to the scientists.
http://www.hiveuganda.org/project/about
Here you can watch the film, “kanthari, change from within”.
KANTHARI, change from within [full film – 2015] from Marijn Poels on Vimeo.