✳️ By Julius Mucunguzi | TWITTER THREAD via @j_mucunguzi
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One day after class at Ryabirengye Primary School in the 1980s, a few friends and I were stung by bees and went home with swollen faces, after trying to harvest honey from a cave in a rock in a once forested part of Mashure Hill where we used to graze goats in Kigezi.
Our class teacher Jolly Kasikano, a tough lady, had just taught us about the role of bees in the pollination of crops by carrying pollen from one plant to another as they looked for nectar. She told us it was the nectar, a sweet syrup found in flowers that eventually made honey.
She told us that the male bees are sent out by their commander, the Queen, to collect nectar as its food. This collected nectar is what eventually would turn into layers and layers --ebisaasi--combs-- either in a beehive or wherever the bees collected.
The story, teaching& learning was so entertaining that we immediately felt we should go and practically witness the making of honey and collect some to eat. In our village, there were three known men that kept bees: Kabuzi, Nzaarwa& Kakiriro.
The first idea was that we should attack the beehives of the trio, but they were known as fierce men in the village who could instruct bees to follow you and sting you even when you just attempted to come close to their beehives. Instead, we decided to go to caves in Mashure
Bees, milk and honey were very popular expressions to describe nice places and posh life. For instance, in folk songs at weddings, a woman would be welcomed with dance and told that she had come to a place where she would only feed on milk and honey--amate no'bwookyi.
So on this fateful day, armed with classroom knowledge about bees and how they behave, we climbed Mashure Hill to the cave. We had been told that we had to use smoke to chase the bees in order to get to the honey combs. With our glowing pieces of fire wrapped in grass, we set off.
On arrival at the cave, we divided roles:I would carry the smoking grass into the cave, my friend would hit the combs to fall and the third would pick the combs and ran with it outside. When I put in smoke, the bees refused to leave,but we still said we would not abort the mission.
The second guy made the attack by hitting the combs--they fell down, and the ugly party started: the bees went on rampage and started stinging us and as we scattered into the forest. Bees can be deadly. They can kill. We survived them, but with swollen faces and hard lessons learnt.
One day after class at Ryabirengye Primary School in the 1980s, a few friends and I were stung by bees& went home with swollen faces, after trying to harvest honey from a cave in a rock in a once forested part of Mashure Hill where we used to graze goats in Kigezi. pic.twitter.com/GzAZLRMTdZ
— Julius Mucunguzi (@j_mucunguzi) January 29, 2023
As I end this story of my life, I should mention that today is the International Day of Balanced and Inclusive Education #BIEday --an education that is rooted, nurtured& informed by the context of the people within which it is applied. Visit oec-oce.org to learn more.
Finally, do you have any bees and honey & bees story? What is the use of honey in your community?
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SOURCE: TWITTER
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