African Killer Bees: A Story In 2 Acts

Act 2:
Beekeeping in The Gambia is a non-traditional forest practice that Peace Corps is promoting to farmers and villagers as a way to make some money and improve the lives of Gambians. There is a National Beekeepers Association of The Gambia (NBAG) and AgFo Volunteers are trained in beekeeping.
At the end of training, trainees were given the opportunity to go beekeeping at NBAG with some of the current volunteers. Monday afternoon, eight of us loaded into the Coaster (the big tour-type van) and traveled to NBAG on the outskirts of Brikama.
This was a big moment. I was about to see whether or not I could handle the bees. Would I run screaming? Would I be stung again!? I waited with apprehension…
We arrived at NBAG just before dusk. The volunteers gave us a small tour and practiced a mock harvest with us before the real thing. Earlier in the week, the colony that had been in the observation hive absconded, so we had a beautiful empty hive to look at and practice with. (The observation hive is like a regular hive but with plexiglass sides to look into.) Matt and Jeff (the volunteers in charge) didn’t know why the colony left, but speculated the queen might have been failing. A hive without a queen cannot survive.
As dusk fell we got into our bee suits. Bee suits look like HazMat suits, only made of cotton duck. We stepped into rubber boots four sizes to big and duck taped them to the suit. Same for the thick rubber gloves. The tools of beekeeping include: flashlights, buckets, hive tools/knives, brushes and perhaps most important: the smoker. Smoke puts the bees in a calmer state and masks the pheromones they produce.
Safely in our bee suits and ready for action we tromped into the woods to the first hive. It looked like it was pouring bees. Apparently this is not normal for a hive. When we cracked open the lid it was clear there were too many bees. They were an inch thick! Matt removed one comb, but it was clear this colony was not behaving like it’s supposed to and we would get no honey. We closed it up for another day.
Hive 2 was the good one. The bees were calm and friendly, they made beautiful combs. We pulled one comb out and watched a worker bee being born. Right there in Africa, a small bee emerged from the hive to begin her life. It was amazing.
I stood for about 10 min holding a comb that was covered with bees. I had bees crawling on my chest, head, arms, back, hands and across the screen covering my face. Bees everywhere, but I was calm. We were having fun, and the bees were just going about their work.
We were able to collect a small amount of honey from that hive, and returned victorious. It took a while to brush all the bees from our suits, and Whitney did get stung once.
When we took the first bite of fresh honey from the comb the world became a better place. There may be nothing better anywhere than freshly harvested honey. It’s sweet and rich and pure. It energized me from the soul out.
And in spite of my first experience with the African killer bees, I’d like to continue working with bees.

African Killer Bees: A Story In 2 Acts

Act 1:
My first experience with the African killer bees did nothing to dispel the prejudice against them.
I had been in training village a few weeks and was feeling confident about going places by myself, like the pump. It was only a few hundred meters away, I couldn’t get lost, and I could even carry the bucket on my head by myself! Besides, I needed water to drink and take a wonderful bucket bath.
“N kata pumpoto.” This was a phrase I had mastered, and I grabbed my bright red bucket and waved to the compound as I left.
The pump was deserted at 4:00 in the afternoon. Perhaps it was too hot to fetch water. At the pump there were several bees buzzing in the spilled water. I didn’t think much of it. The bees and I had existed in harmony. I was careful, and they did their bee thing. After my bucket was filled I had to lift it onto my head. Oops! I knocked off my headwrap padding and had to start over. Readjusting my headwrap, the bees started buzzing around my head and the red bucket brimming with water.

I think one got stuck in my hair and it was all over from there.
Sting 1: In my hair. I left my bucket and started walking quickly away, annoyed that I was stung.
Sting 2: On my arm, maybe from attempting to brush away the bees as I left, moving a little quicker now, with some anxiety.
Stings 3-6: Thumb, calf, head and neck. Too fast to know the order, I was in a killer bee swarm! I started yelling and raced back into my compound. People greeted me from afar but I just ran.
As I entered the compound the tears started. I was stung by a million bees in The Gambia. This sucks. The adrenaline from running and the stings made me somewhat hysterical, and I ran to my host mother. She began flicking the stingers from my skin, but a lone warrior bee forced us inside. It really kind of hurts to get stung! I’m sure I hadn’t been stung since I was about 7.
She sent me inside my house to calm down and get me away from the 20 children that were attracted by the white girl crying. Two boys brought me new water, and my LCF Muhammadou came to check on me.
I guess the whole experience brought me closer to my host mother. I learned an important lesson: don’t go to the pump when there are a ton of bees or you are alone.
The village really got to know me better too. For the rest of training, every single day, somebody or somebodies talked to me about being stung. They yelled “Cumo” (bees!) at me and thought it was the best joke ever. The recounted my hasty retreat back to the compound.
I don’t think there was a single person who didn’t know I was the one stung by bees. I know if I return after 20 years there will be somebody who will yell “Cumo” as I walk down the street, as if I only was stung yesterday.