The Apinautica - Training in Bahir Dar
Nov. 20th, 2022 11:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aggienaut Continuing the travelogue-book -- previously the daunting task of training Ethiopia's already-very-experienced beekeepers in modern beekeeping methods had been laid out to protagonist-me and he-I-we had arrived in the Ethiopian lakeside town of Bahir Dar, where the local coordinator seemed a bit shifty and had said there was no budget for field visits. 
April 26th, Day 20 – I sit at the head table in the hotel’s elegant banquet hall. At tables covered with rich velvety cloth about fifty local farmers face me. They’re mainly wearing collared shirts that wouldn’t look out of place in the U.S., and light jackets, though a few wear traditional undyed white wool cloaks. As they had come in this morning (as much as half an hour after the official start time of course) some of them had admired the luxurious furnishings as if they’d never been in such a nice room before.
I click to the next slide on my powerpoint. A beekeeper’s smoker is projected on the wall behind me: a metal canister with wispy smoke curling out of the tapered top, and a bellows on the side.
“You’ll need a smoker to smoke your hives,” I say to the group, as part of my initial coverage of the basics, “how many of you have a smoker?”
My translator this time is a graduate student in beekeeping at the local university named Kerealem. He translates. No one raises a hand. Sometimes it takes awhile for classes to get comfortable enough for enthusiastic participation, they probably have smokers, they’re probably just not raising their hands.
I advance to the next slide, a picture from the first Nigeria project two months earlier: one of the beekeepers is holding a pronged stick under a beehive. There’s a coffee can secured in the fork of the branch by wire and smoke is billowing out of the can’s open top.
“Without a smoker, you can make smoke like this but it’s not as effective. Smoking the bees is very important because it makes them calm so you can work the hive without them getting all stirred up. Even if you have a good suit you still don’t want to stir the bees up because they could sting other people or animals.”
Kerealem translates, it only takes a moment. Then an old man in the back raises his hand. Kerealem calls on him, I’ve encouraged them to ask questions. The old man begins speaking. And speaking. And speaking. Finally I have to ask Kerealem what he’s saying.
“He disagrees with you and he’s telling them his own opinion”
“Disagrees about what?”
“He says smoke will make the bees upset and the only proper thing to do is to open the hives at night.
I have several problems on my hands. I’m practically the youngest person in the room, and I’ve been brought here to tell these people how to do what they’ve been doing all their lives as passed down from generations immemorial. I’m going to have to earn their confidence. I’m ready to listen and learn from their experience on many things, but to make the development progress expected of me I’m going to have to push back on some long held beliefs such as this one about smoke. When disagreeing with people such as the older gentleman currently holding forth against smoke, I’m going to have to be diplomatic and strategic.
“Smoke is used to calm bees throughout the world,” I say to the room when he’s finally finished, “your bees could be different though. We’ll experiment together by using smoke on some hives in the evening just before the sun goes down and see how it goes.”
After training that afternoon Terefe, Beide, Kerealem, about a half dozen of the trainees and I travel to a farm just outside of town. Cottages and outbuildings are made of wattle-and-daub – a plaster of mud over walls made of a wicker of branches. Low walls made of rough stones surround some garden plots, perhaps to keep the owner’s large black pig out – the sweet beast follows him like a dog, gently oinking.
“Raising pigs isn’t a strong tradition in Ethiopia but it’s becoming more common.” Kerealem explains to me.
Traditional hives hang from the eaves of the houses. I eagerly approach them, and observe the bees busily coming and going from a small hole in the smaller end of the tapered cylinder shaped hives.
“The back is removable see,” Kerealem draws my attention to the back which is composed of a circular piece like the top of a basket, “the bees tend to put the brood towards the front and the honey in the back so by opening it from the back like this they can take the honey without disturbing the brood.” Traditional beekeeping methods in Nigeria had required destroying the hive, but I am impressed to see here the traditional method is very well conceived and preserves the hive.
Around a corner we come upon a row of hives under a rough shelter. They’re a mix of traditional cylindrical hives and square frame hives freshly painted a bright yellow.
“Alright,” I say eagerly “let’s suit up and fire up the smoker!” There’s an anxious flurry of discussion around me in Amharic and then Kerealem informs me
“The owner says it’s not an appropriate time to open the hives, we must wait till dark, and not use smoke.”
I look at the owner and note that he wasn’t even one of the attendees of the training in the afternoon so he hasn’t heard my presentation on using smoke and how to inspect the hive. I feel trapped in an impossible situation, I have been brought here to teach how to use frame hives, but you can’t make use of them without doing daytime inspections with smoke. But if they won’t let me even demonstrate that that is possible how can I accomplish anything at all?
“You can open a beehive now, but you can’t use any smoke or take out any of the frames” the owner finally concedes, through Kerealem’s translation, after some discussion. This is a terrible idea, very likely to stir the bees up … but I’m very reluctant to merely look at the hives from the outside, and they’re all looking at me like they expect me to do something. Okay I’ll see how far I can get at this but I’ll stop as soon as the bees seem to be getting riled up.
I suit up and approach the hive, as the others watch from twenty yards away. The bees don’t react as I put my gloved hands on the hive. Using the hive tool I pry off the lid – the bees have, as expected, used the glue they make from tree resin, known as propolis, to secure the lid. I pause for a moment to see how the bees are reacting but there’s no reaction. My audience retreats to to thirty yards as a precaution.
I carefully lift the lid off, moving my arm slowly, in fluid motions, the way a branch might blow in the wind. I hold my breath – the carbon dioxide one exhales can easily trigger bees as they immediately recognize it as the breath of a predator.
Under the lid the tops of the ten frames are covered in bees. Many of them stand alertly, raising their abdomens defensively, like little striped missile batteries preparing to fire. A sort of warning buzz ripples through the hive, but they do not attack. The rush of bees into the air I had been dreading does not occur.
I carefully place the lid back on the hive. Then, while still standing just beside the hive I remove my veil and gloves and turn to smile to my spectators. They come back to about 20 yards away and seem a bit impressed. I let out a deep breath of relief.
In the evening Teferi, Beide, Kerealem and I go to a hotel in town that’s known for its tej. Tej is Ethiopian “honey wine,” or mead. In addition honey and water, the other signature ingredient of tej is the root of the gesho plant, a local shrub. Gesho acts as a bittering agent, the way hops do for beer. Kerealem talks to the owner to make sure to get some real tej.
“It used to be commonly drunk throughout Ethiopia but nowadays people often make tej with sugar instead of honey, and it’s not as good, so people have gotten out of the habit of drinking it.” he explains.
Presently the proprietor brings out glasses shaped like scientific flasks – a round lower section and narrow neck, and then fills them with the golden amber tej from a larger bottle.
“Traditionally tej is drunk from these glasses, called berele,” Kerealem explains, “because the belief has been that it’s the smell that gets you drunk but from the narrow neck you don’t smell it.”
It’s delicious. Sweet, but balanced by the gesho root. It compares favorably to most meads I’ve had.
April 27th, Day 21 – I carefully follow my two guides through the farmer’s house, feeling uncivilized to be walking through someone’s house in a bee suit. The floor is just packed earth, there’s some low home-made looking chairs, some woven baskets, a low bed in the corner. We go out the back door and enter a sort of shed, only accessible through the house, in which sit a dozen yellow beehives. Horizontally along the whole width of the shed wall there's an opening about a foot wide, about level with the beehives’ entrance, for the bees to come and go. This is an arrangement unlike anything I’ve seen before.
“Okay, where’s the smoker?” I say to the two young men with me. But they look at me blankly through their bee veils. They don’t speak English. I make smoker-using hand gestures but they still don’t make any sign of understanding.
It had taken some arguing to even look at hives during the day, again. With Kerealem and Terefe once again saying we couldn’t look at hives until after dark. Finally they had relented and I thought they’d agreed I could use the smoker we’d brought, but here I am in the bee enclosure without a smoker or anyone who speaks English. I look back at the door, but the ground is a bit muddy in here and I don’t want to go back and forth through the house multiple times.
Finally I relent and carefully put the hive tool against the lid of the hive and begin to carefully try to open it. Immediately the pitch of the bees increased to the heavy angry hum that denotes bees that are not about to brook any tomfoolery.
I look at the two young men again in their bee suits, they’re looking at me like they expect me to do some beekeeping. Its frustrating for me to come out to a bee yard and get fully suited up only to do nothing, but there’s nothing that can be done without creating a fiasco. I make a shrugging gesture to them and say “well let’s go then I guess,” gesturing with a palm down motion that we’ll leave the hives alone and to the door to indicate that we’ll leave. Just from our brief activities bees are zipping around angrily. Outside I argue with Kerealem and Terefe again. They’re convinced smoke will make the bees angry. I am anxious that I will have no improvements I can report to the project planners and sponsors if we can’t get past this.
April 28th, Day 22 – “Use of beeswax products is not in the scope of work” Teferi had told me. Fortunately, Kerealem had sided with me on this and on this the last day of training in Bahir Dar we melt down and render beeswax.
We try finding a suitable mold to pour wax into to make candles but can find nothing suitable at hand that works. Instead Kerealem shows the trainees and I how to make a candle the traditional Ethiopian way by dipping. While familiar in theory with this, I had never seen it done myself before. One might imagine one simply dips the wick (in this case locally made wool string) in melted wax, but that would require a very deep pot of melted wax and by extension a huge amount of excess wax beyond what is used to make the candle. Instead, while one person holds a stick above the pot of melted wax from which the string wicks hang, Kerealem uses a ladle to pour wax repeatedly down the wick. Slowly the candle comes into being and gets thicker. The final candle is long, narrow and slightly curved. It has a rounded bottom that has to be sliced off to make it flat so that it can be set down.
“They use these candles in the Ethiopian church” Kerealem informs me.
“Very nice, I’ve heard the Catholic church only uses 51% beeswax candles anymore as a cost saving measure” I respond, “I really think they could afford to support beekeepers by using 100% beeswax candles but, what can you do” I say with a shrug.
The candles are lit later during our closing session. As is common with pure beeswax candles, they burn brightly, without flickering, and with a pleasant aroma. I’m not sure I’ve changed the way anyone here does beekeeping but the attendees seem cheerful, and at least I’ve educated them about a lot of more scientific bee behavior details they probably didn’t know. I hope the two remaining training sessions in Ethiopia will actually involve some beekeeping.
April 29th, Day 23, Sunday – Beide meets me in front of my hotel in the morning and we get on a “bujuj,” the ubiquitous auto-rickshaw consisting of the front half of a motorcycle and the back half seating for two in a semi-enclosed cabin. We have no car because it isn't a work day, but he has generously volunteered to take me to see Ethiopian church on his day off.
We travel a few blocks across the city, as always the roads don’t have a lot of traffic. We pass donkey carts loaded with goods, and other bujujs, including one in which the passenger is transporting a bundle of sugarcane stalks that obviously don’t fit within the cabin, so he holds them out the side of the bujuj like a knight with a (bundle of) lances. At this slower pace and through the open side of the bujuj I can feel the fresh air and see the city better. We pass an acacia tree full of vulture headed marabou storks perched with macabre dignity.
We disembark the bujuj next to an overgrown field on the edge of town, a steady flow of people in white robes are walking along a path through the field to where the dome of the Church can be seen over the trees at the far end. We’re not wearing white robes ourselves but nice slacks and collared shirts and no one looks askance at us as we join the procession. Within the grove of trees we find a large crowd of berobed church attendees gathered in the open space around the church building. The church itself is circular, surrounded by a veranda, with entrances facing the four cardinal directions. At the top of the steps of the entrances priests holding red parasols address the crowds. As far as I can tell the church service seems to be relatively unstructured, attendees arriving and staying as long as they feel like. The morning light seems to make the simple white wool robes of the churchgoers glow amidst a background of the vibrant green leaves of surrounding trees fluttering in the wind.
After taking a bujuj back downtown, Beide, and I have breakfast on the balcony of a restaurant. I have a plate-sized flatbread drizzled with honey, he has some meat and vegetables in injera. From there we walk a block to his own restaurant, slowed by the fact that every ten feet he seems to run into someone who is very happy to see him. At his restaurant we drink coffee and chat for two hours along with others who come by, such as his brother, and his young son climbs on him like he's a jungle gym. After awhile he says with a grin that he has a special treat for me. The serving girl brings out a plate with several chunks of raw beef glistening on it, as well as several different spicy powders in little cups.
When I’d first heard of tere siga, the Ethopian delicacy of raw beef, I swore I’d never try it. Raw meat sounds like something to avoid in a first world country, and tenfold in a third world country. But perhaps I’m not as immune to peer pressure as I thought I was – it turns out when a friend is smiling expectantly expecting me to try raw beef that’s exactly what I’ll do. I spike a morsel with my fork, dip it in some of the spice powder, and apprehensively bring it to my mouth as Beide beams at me. As I sink my teeth into the tender meat, I find it's juicy and tender and the spices give it a good flavor. There's nothing objectionable about it at all really ... other than my certainty that I'm signing my death warrant, which makes it a bit hard to enjoy.
When I get back to the hotel I and internet access, I google “I ate raw beef will I die now?” but it turns out the only outcome of any likelihood would be to get tapeworms but “prevalence is not well studied since there are usually no symptoms so it is often underreported” … which is a relief, but I still don’t terribly want a tapeworm.
In the early evening I meet the hotel manager Woinshet and her friend, the hotel’s accountant, Tsion, by the lake. We get into one of the small motorboats, Tsion stepping in carefully in her high heels. We take the boat across the bay to the outdoor dining and events area of another hotel, located on its own peninsula surrounded on three sides by the gentle lapping of the lake water, and shaded by some enormous fig trees. One portion of the outdoor area is being set up for a wedding to occur later in the evening.
“It must be a very expensive wedding” Woinshet comments, 'at least $300!'”
Over our multi course meal we discuss our plans for life. Woinshet wants to emigrate to the United States, she knows someone in Las Vegas. Tsion hopes to join her sister in South Africa. Woinshet has a bachelor degree in law and is the manager of a hotel, and earns about 1.8% as much as I do, and I don’t even get paid that well by Western standards.
Tsion orders a glass of Ethiopian wine and I decide to follow suit. Woinshet, whose name means “wine,” declines because “the bible forbids it.”
“Aren’t they always drinking wine in the bible?” I ask a bit incredulous
“That’s a mistranslation” she assures me “it’s just grape juice.” I let her think I believe her though I sincerely doubt her claim. Meanwhile this Ethiopian wine tastes pretty decent to my wine-ignorant palette. The final tab for a multi-course meal with wine for three at probably the nicest restaurant in town is $15, which I’m happy to cover entirely myself.
The girls call a friend of theirs to drive us home. After he drops the girls off at their homes he takes me to my hotel and I try to pay him but he refuses to take any payment, insisting it was a favor for his friends. 
So there you have it. We're in the real meat of the project now. And 60% of the way through the Ethiopia chapter now. As always, very interested in any feedback
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 04:14 am (UTC)It can be anxiety inducing. Many of these projects have begun with me constantly questioning why I was there and how I'd get through it.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 06:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 10:11 am (UTC)Ah no you hadn't, a pitcher of smoke is a lovely image!
no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 07:28 am (UTC)Learn more about LiveJournal Ratings in FAQ (https://www.dreamwidth.org/support/faqbrowse?faqid=303).
no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 05:33 pm (UTC)Your writing is wonderful in itself, but the photos are what I enjoy the most.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-21 10:28 am (UTC)Thanks! There were even more pictures I would have liked to include but was trying to keep them down to in between days or big breaks within days
And as I mentioned a bit ago, this is intended for a book, which traditionally would not necessarily involve a lot of photos but I was thinking if its technically possible, I would rather like to include the photos. So hearing that you're greatly enjoying them is encouraging (:
Though the pictures bring up another issue ... while I'm not opposed to changing inconsequential details to better fit the story ... the photos would have to match the story if they were included. For example, I can't write about a black pig with a photo of a pink pig! Though there was indeed a black pig it just was a less good photo.
And I only noticed when rereading this entry that I describe eating the meat with a fork but the photo clearly shows me not using a fork! In this case I think I'll change the text to match what the photo proves.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-20 06:05 pm (UTC)How interesting that they think the wine in the Bible is a mistranslation. Clearly they've gotten their Christian training from teetotalers. Probably Baptists!
no subject
Date: 2022-11-21 10:34 am (UTC)That's an interesting possible interpretation and now I wish I'd drilled down on that more! Ethiopians are traditionally Ethiopian Orthodox christian, which predates baptistism and even protestantism (or the great schism!), and my assumption was she was Ethiopian Orthodox ... and they seem to have no qualms in general with drinking. But given her aversion to drinking clearly diverges from her compatriots, maybe a conversion by baptists is the explanation! I'm still facebook friends with her I wonder if if I were to message her I could somehow non-awkwardly turn the conversation to her religious views. Hmmm.