Tank raising, bee hunting, and other productive activities

It is Sunday night, at the tail end of the most productive week yet of my time here in Bolivia. It began last Sunday with the group of bee keepers, now down to a solid 10 families, in their first training session. I prepared a theory lesson on the general basics of beekeeping and an introduction into bee biology. Worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold the group’s attention with a pure theory class, I organized the lesson into a series of answers to questions they’ve likely had about bees- why does smoke calm bees? How long do they live? How do they reproduce? To my delight, the approach worked well. All ten members were attentive, taking notes, and I even caught a few of them smiling. Afterwards they asked questions and to my own surprise, I was able to answer all of them. I am constantly amazed by the bee and plant knowledge Ive accumulated over the past year, and it felt wonderful to be able to share it.

I could have been satisfied for the entire week with the victory of the first successful bee class, but the community had chosen the following Monday to begin work on a 10,000 L water tank that will serve as the first step towards our community tree nursery. In the afternoon I went into Villa Montes to pick up the five other volunteers from the basic sanitation and environmental education programs who had signed up to help with the build. We caught up over fruit salad and lasagna as heavy rains began to fall, turning the streets into rivers and mud pits. That night we caught an express taxi up to Chimeo, paying the driver an extra 5 bolivianos for putting up with Chimeo’s muddy entrance. Five white pods, known in the PC as travel tents, popped up on my porch and we stayed up later than we should have, chatting and enjoying the company of fellow English speakers.

On Saturday I had been a bit skeptical that the build would actually take place this week; upon arriving at the site I found grasses taller than me and no semblance of a path to the “tree nursery.” That day though, Enrique had rounded up six men and together we machete-ed down the grasses and axed down the trees that stood in our way. We had chosen to put the tank on the highest possible ground, which was incidentally home to five small trees. When asked how we could put the tank there amongst the trees, they responded with a most typical Bolivian can-do attitude. Its simple, they said-move the trees. Three hours later the trees were gone and we had enough space cleared to let the dump truck and materials through to begin on Monday.

Having built an identical tank a few weeks ago in Villa Montes, the steps have become familiar. First, form the wire and iron skeleton, then pour the base, next slap on the cement walls, clamp on the roof, finally cover that with cement, and voila. It is always interesting working in a group of mixed linguistic backgrounds on projects such as this. Most of the time I find myself at the losing end, stumbling and pretending to keep up with rapid Bolivian speak. This week, however, we were split 50/50 gringos to Bolivians, and we often split into task forces according to ones mother tongue. The groups were nonetheless forced to cooperate on the second day, when the 10 foot iron skeleton of the tank had to be lined with ply-wood before cement can be applied to form the outer layer. Then holes must be punched from the outside so that the people on the inside can tighten wires around the irons placed inside the tank to the irons on the outside that are attached to the base, which also lies on the outside. The wood must be pushed on from the inside in order to permit the hole-puncher from the outside to reach his goal. You furthermore want to complete the task as soon as possible to get out of the tank, which in the late morning sun quickly becomes a cement and ply-wood oven. Participants cannot see each other, have a language barrier, and have a sort of heat-induced time limit. This week it was gringa Beth, myself, and Bolivian Juan on the inside, being directed by gringo Jeff and the Bolivian masons from the outside world. After a few unintentionally stabbed palms and a lot of confusion, we each ended up with a specialty on the inside, directed by one of our compatriots on the outside. All of the gringo participants have been in Bolivia for at least a year and speak pretty good Spanish, nonetheless we had to turn to our native language to get the job done quickly. I myself am nearing a decade of what I long considered Spanish fluency, and I still couldn’t keep up. In all the experience gave me an even more profound respect for immigrants to our (or any) country who must struggle daily to keep up with the chit chat of the the Joneses, or the Patels, or the Van Dammes.

After five days the tank was finished, and two fellows from Chimeo were half-way towards being certified in ferro-cement tank construction. The rest of our volunteer help headed out, while Beth stayed an extra two nights to come up the mountain to capture a colony of senorita bees. The senoritas are tiny, yellow, with legs that hang down like a wasp, and they don’t bite or sting. They make a honey that is lighter and more liquid than normal honey, and people around here swear that its medicinal qualities are greater than apis mellifera honey. Most hives are found in tree trunks near the ground, where the delicate things can retain a cooler temperature and hide more readily from predators. We went with Cecilio, armed with nothing but an ax, machete, and a specialized home-made cedar bee-box. The trained eye could see the tiny bees dancing around the entrance like dandelion fluff, making their way to the opening, a wax trumpet no more than 8 cm long and 1 cm in diameter. Cecilio cautiously set to hacking open the base of the trunk, making sure not to damage the tiny colony. As we got closer to the heart of the tree and the hive, he switched to his machete and began to peel away slices of tree to reveal the hive. First were half-inch balls of pollen, wrapped in the same papery wax and separated according to color. Apis mellifera bee pollen is packed with vitamins and proteins, but few would call it delicious. This senorita pollen, however, had a rich, sweet odor, and its flavor like eating the most delicious Odyssian lotus petal. Further up the trunk was stored the honey, packaged in the same wax sacs, so delicate that a light human squeeze breaks it open and sends the honey dribbling down your wrist. Whats even more impressive is that these balls are much larger than the senoritas themselves- I would estimate that over a dozen senoritas could fit into one of their storage balls. Finally towards the bottom of the colony we found the brood, whose honey comb was like a miniature apis mellifera colony. We placed the brood in the box with a good store of honey to get them started, and headed back to Cecilio’s puesto with our pollen and honey winnings.

Upon arrival we set the plate of trappings down on his home-made table. The honey we took would measure no more than a liter, as tiny bees also produce tiny bits of honey. A good number of senoritas had stayed with their honey, and I set my chin down on the wood to watch them. Half of them had begun to drown in their own unleashed honey, while the other half wandered aimlessly about the place, seemingly bound for the same fate as their brethren. Harvesting from an apis mellifera have is always a thrill that makes my hair stand on end and the honey taste even sweeter, while taking from senoritas almost felt immoral. They are fragile and unique creatures with no way of defending themselves against a big groping human (or other intruder for that matter). Granted, we placed the hive itself in a box next to its original home to hopefully grow and prosper, but these pixies are just so defenseless. The handling and raising of senorita hives will be one of the focuses of bee keepers in Chimeo this year, as the local bee keepers association ADACHACO will execute a project focused on them.

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After this whirlwind of a week, Im currently in Santa Cruz awaiting the arrival of a big Polish man I like to call Daddio. He will be in Bolivia, seeing the sights, meeting the people, and learning to drink chicha. While he is here we will celebrate Bolivian father’s day (March 19th) as well as his own 66th anniversary of life. Ill be sure to post fotos and stories of the trouble we get into.