I Want To Bee Free

It is with a heavy heart that I have to announce that operation “Lets not get stung again because it hurts like a bastard” comes to an end and a very undramatic end at that. Worse still, it’s come to a honey-free end! In fact, operation “Lets not get stung again because it hurts like a bastard” could easily have been renamed to “Lets sit on my arse and wait for the bees to leave”, an equally snappy title as the original. It would seem that my attic was only the bees winter get-away and now that the weather is heating up (how nice it is to be back in shorts again) they have decided that the attic is getting a little warm during the day and decided to relocate to a more temperate environment.

Watching them swarm Sunday morning, it didn’t really dawn on me that they were actually in the process of shifting. It was only when we went into the attic to (finally) retrieve the honey that we realised they had scarpered. I mean, honestly, they took every last drop of honey with them, how rude! So my bee problem has come to an end, not necessarily the end I was hoping for but at least I only got stung the once and we were able to live in relative harmony. Now I can go back to only being disturbed by the army of ants that now seem to be everywhere.

Your bee-free author in the middle nowhere

A Snake-tastic Weekend

While I am only hours away from another weekend, the last one is still very fresh in my mind and the thing that featured the most, other than perhaps laughter was my old leathery, scaly, slithering, scream-inducing friends, the snake population of Chikuni.

So I am sitting on my front step, enjoying a sneaky coffee and ginger-nut on a hot Saturday afternoon when I should be in Chikuni. The concrete underneath my (cute) butt is hot, the birds are flying through the air and I am pondering the meaning of… ”What the Hell was THAT?” Rustling comes from the corner of the flowerbed just below where the house meets the front step. I knew immediately what the hell that was. That was the sound of a snake slithering over the dry leaves that have built up in the corner. Next came the difficult question, do I finish this fine coffee or do I run away? Of course I finished the coffee; I mean come on, it’s coffee! I will admit though, I finished it quicker than normal with regular glances over my left shoulder. After escaping into the ‘safety’* of the house I got myself ready to return to Chikuni and then before shouldering my pack I picked up an old broom handle and went for a proper look. I could just make out the not-so-little bugger in amongst the leaves. It was light brown/tan in colour making it hard to distinguish. As the end of the handle got closer to it, it hissed louder and louder. In a moment of inspiration I suddenly came to my senses and thought, “what the hell am I doing? If I provoke it then it’ll probably bite me; if I leave it alone then I don’t get bitten and it doesn’t have to die.” So I sensibly decided (yes, me, imagine!) to leave it alone and hope that it didn’t decide to take up residence there. I hopped on the bike and we both went our separate ways, (hopefully) never to meet again. I will tell you though that coming home in the dark that night I made far more noise than normal in the yard and didn’t hang around before slamming the door behind me. *Fun fact though, snakes can get through the gap between the floor and the door, hurray!

Next was Sunday morning, on my way out to meet a friend for a picnic. I rolled the big gate that keeps the cows etc out of our garden shut behind me and made it approximately two steps forward when I heard and then saw a little wiry green snake jump into another pile of leaves. This one was only a baby compared to the day before. I didn’t have anything to poke it with and I was already on Zam-time (i.e. half an hour late, yes even here I am useless at time keeping) so decided to just keep going. I met a girl walking in to see the guy I live with so I did at least warn her and the contorted look on her face was well worth it.

Lastly, later in the day, this friend and I were walking along through the bush having a great old chat when lo and behold, we literally stumbled across a snake sunning itself on a patch of grass. I’ve always been led to believe that snakes can feel the vibrations of footsteps long before you get near them but if that’s true this one must have been a real dunce because it was as surprised as we were at the encounter. My friend screamed and ran for the hills (literally, because that’s where we were walking to) while the snake did a very acrobatic little jig and plunged head first into it’s hole (the internet has failed me in finding the name for a snakes home and even I don’t believe snakery is a word). All this happened as I stood there like a sack of spuds looking at the spot where the snakes tail had disappeared only moments before and thinking “cool, three snakes in two days”. Meanwhile my friend was fifty metres down the path in obvious shock and muttering “ewww ewww ewww, I HATE snakes!” I quickly realised that I had to go and calm her down but no amount of comforting words and accounts of personal heroics involving many a maiden would console her. She spent the rest of the walk keeping two very weary eyes on the ground and even the very mention of a s-n-a-k-e resulted in a shiver and a cold glance. Thankfully we didn’t meet any more though and the picnic turned out to be a very lovely idea.

Your snake-charmer in the middle of nowhere

The Lusaka Express

I welcomed the alarm after a wretched night of fitful sleep entwined with tear-jerking half memories, thoughts of a future love and “what ifs”, all choreographed to 65daysofstatic. Ninety minutes later, beautiful tall gnarled trees stand proudly in black silhouette against the cool dawn light as a new day is birthed from the horizon; this sight alone more than makes up for the early hour. Minutes later my favourite vista in all of Zambia appears as we crest a hill and the valley below, which must stretch out for over a hundred kilometres, is bathed in the soft pink light of dawn. Mountains on the distant horizon produce a topsy-turvy sky and the sun beyond them is only a few minutes away. Not long after, down in the same valley we come to a temporary statutory stop before crossing (yet again) the seldom used railway line that links Lusaka and Livingstone. The morning fog here in the bowls of the valley is light and patchy. It makes for a one more beautiful sight as the railway line heading northeast towards Lusaka disappears into the fog while at the same time people are walking towards us along the line who are in varying degrees of emergence from the fog. All very picturesque! This is the second “memory photo” at this crossing. The first was on the return leg of my trip to Lusaka with Gian when a group of boys were sitting on the railing just before the crossing. Annoyingly, both times I have been unable to photograph the moments and so the images only live on in my (often forgetful) mind.

It’s the colour and movement that catches my eye and draws my attention away from the conversation. It’s her shape that makes my head turn. Hey, whoa, hang on a second, I’ve missed this; well dressed talent (Irish slang for cute girl)! And it’s not just singular either but plural; sweet eye candy how I’ve missed thee… Now for clarification and in order to not get lynched by my local (female) audience, I should point out that there’s no shortage of good looking girls in Chikuni but most of it is out of bounds for one reason or another and is invariably wrapped up in a chitenge. A chitenge is a piece of patterned material, measuring roughly 1x2 meters, worn as a sarong and while functional (and more importantly tradition) it’s far from flattering. Many a cute derriere or lovely pair of pins are hidden away for private viewings only. This incidentally isn’t necessarily a bad thing in my humble opinion. It’s just that having it on display is a nice contrast to what I’ve been used to in my village life.


This productive little day trip to Lusaka was wonderful, a delightful day to contrast against my quiet life in the village. Amongst other things, I drank coffee, I wrote, I people watched and I browsed through shops. I felt the buzz of crowds of people going about their own lives and remembered what it’s like to live in a city. I leave you with this funny little anecdote though which happened to me as I found myself walking up and down the aisles of a supermarket. (In your best David accent) Look. CHOICE!! And look at all this fresh fruit and vegetables. And look at the eh…, oh dear Lord, look at the price! Quick, get me back to Chikuni…

Your day-tripper in the middle nowhere

Dessert For Sir?

This month marks the completion of nine whole action packed and memory stuffed months here in Chikuni. Imagine, it’s been nine months since getting off the plane in the scorching hot morning heat of October. Nine months of delicious, fresh and organic fruit. Nine months of dealing with various forms of wildlife. Nine months of crap haircuts. Nine months of you reading this drivel…

I remember before I left for the airport in London, the priest in charge of the volunteer programme said to me “See you in six months” to which I replied, “Probably more like twelve or eighteen actually”. I knew ever before leaving that I wanted to spend more than six months here. And I was right, that’s exactly how I have always felt. In fact, I’ve had such a great time here that I’m adding a little aperitif to my one year plan. So it is that I announce that I will be here until December, December the 8th to be exact. I would probably stay longer but Christmas is in the way and I am far too much of a home bird to want to spend a second Christmas away from family and friends and any notion of a traditional Christmas.

As I am on the public service announcement bandwagon, I will also take this opportunity to announce a sad milestone. At some point during the beginning of July the blog finally reached €10 in advertising revenue. That equates to 33 ad clicks which is pretty crap given that the blog has had approximately 1300 visitors since January, which equates I think to a 2.5% click through percentage. I suspect I will reach no more than €15 by the end of the year so I think I am going to buy some colouring books and crayons for the HBC kids with the proceeds. The grand notion of being able to dig a well or do some other medium sized project has fallen flat on its face without the support it needed. But ce-la-vi, I guess people dislike or are impervious to advertising much the same as I am.

Your reporter in the middle of nowhere (for just a bit longer)

Earth-feckin-quake!!

I’m Irish; Ireland doesn’t do earthquakes or anything like earthquakes. Indeed, the only time I’ve ever ‘felt the earth move’ was when there’s been a lovely lady involved. Not so any more though. Yesterday afternoon I was happily sitting, drinking coffee, and trying to persuade my brain to restart. I was in the middle of a happy daydream when I suddenly heard glasses beginning to rattle together. “That’s odd”, I thought. Especially given that there were no cars/tractors/loud explosions around to cause such a vibration. But the glasses didn’t stop rattling and I felt more and more confused. This went on for maybe 7 or 8 seconds until things started to get interesting and the shaking intensified enough that I realised it wasn’t just the glasses rattling, the entire bloody house was at it, myself included!

Instinct told me to get up and get to a doorframe. I don’t know how I knew that or whether it was even the right thing to do, but I did it! I wasn’t entirely sure just how much of a joyride this was going to be and I knew enough not to go outside in case of falling debris. Thankfully/sadly after only a few seconds the entire thing (the earthquake that is) came to an end. I was left feeling slightly stunned and oddly, a little disappointed that it was over before things had become interesting. Yes I am a selfish, sadistic, inconsiderate bastard, with a clear adrenaline addiction problem! I promise to seek immediate treatment upon my return to Europe. It was very impressive to know that the entire earth, for many kilometres around, was shaking because deep underground two tectonic plates had just shoved past each other like rushing commuters.

While people came out to chat about what had just happened I went back to my coffee, which was getting cold after all. One has to have their priorities in order. So just to add yet another once in a lifetime experience to the plethora of memories I already have from my time here in Chikuni, I can now add minor earthquake to the tally. I love this place!

A taste of Chikuni

Yum, yum, yum I thought as I was led towards the bowl sitting atop of the table. Eating new foods is part of living in any new culture and each culture has it’s own food types. “Down the hatch” someone said and I thought I might as well just play it ‘cool’ and go for it. I looked into the dish to find thirty or so fried caterpillars. They looked a bit like dried beef but more circular in shape. “Oh God” I thought as my hand went in to fish one of the little buggers out. I grabbed hold of a medium sized one, opened my mouth, tossed it in like it was no more than a peanut and promptly closed my mouth. Now came the difficult part… chewing. I hesitated. My co-conspirator smirked. She had already tried and knew just what I was going through. I open my jaws and shudder, started to chew. It actually wasn’t too bad. Not good mind you, but if I had to I could have eaten another. Of course then I had to swallow the thing. My throat felt tight and my stomach was ill-inclined to receive what my brain knew I was eating. But it relented and I swallowed and it was gone, except for the taste. But lovely beer took care of that problem! Happy days…

I looked at her when she told me it was hippo meat. This girl has fooled me many times already and I am not about to be fooled again so easily. But this time she’s not kidding me. It really is hippo, as in hippopotamus! They had a time trying to cut the skin off of it but eventually through gritted teeth, stamina and sheer determination the epidermis was detached and just the meat remained. Later in the evening I get to sample and very nice it was too. Not too strong a flavour. I’m tempted to say “a bit like chicken” but actually I thought it was more like a mashup of beef and pork. This seemed quite apt given that a hippopotamus does actually look, at least to me, like a cross between a pig and a (very large) cow. It apparently had to cook for just three hours which I though was quite short given how tough the meat looked.

“So you eat the head as well?” I asked tentatively looking at the fish, held by its tail between two of my fingers. Yes was the answer and so with only minor in trepidation, in the fish went. The fish is only about five or six centimetres long and perhaps two wide so the bones and skull (do fish have skulls??) were easily crushed by my amble molars. Any fears instilled by my mother about the hazards of fish bones are momentarily forgotten as I enjoy the new experience. I do grind down the fish thoroughly though to ensure any stray bones don’t skew my throat because as the saying goes… mother knows best! Of course one of the reasons why the fish tastes so exceptionally good is because they are fried in oil but I don’t think cholesterol has been invented here yet so I just enjoy yet another new experience.

Your reporter in the middle of nowhere,
Bon Appetite

Liquid Gold

Thwack, smack, whack goes the axe through the night sky and into the hollow tree. Woodchips rain down on us with each swing of the axe. Eriterial stands on the platform above us and swings the axe with expert control and precision. The platform he is standing on continuously wobbles despite three of us holding it. Excitement, anticipation, adventure and adrenaline flow through me with each thump of metal tearing into wood. In the dim light I can see similar excitement in Elizabeth’s eyes. Slowly the buzzing sound grows louder and louder until I feel the first of the bees land on my bare arm and I jump. Elizabeth, beekeeper and enthusiast, tells me to just be calm and relax, the bees will not sting me unless I pose a threat and they can apparently sense my fear and will sting me as a result. So I breathe, try to relax and Eriterial continues chopping.

Next comes the smoke, Eriterial picks up a bunch of burning hay and stuffs it into the hole he has hacked in the tree. I am now standing back behind the dying embers of the fire about 2 meters from the tree. The embers glow red and make a curious shape, something like the shape of a three-legged starfish. Somewhere on the ground I can hear the distressed buzz of bees disoriented by the smoke and the disturbance of their slumber. I watch in awe as Eriterial reaches into the hole in the tree and starts to pull out great big lumps of honeycomb. He has stripped to his trousers to avoid bees getting trapped between his clothes and his body. No such thing as a beekeepers outfit here. His work-sculpted body is silhouetted against the star studded night sky and yet again I feel the utterly compelling reality that I am in Africa and this experience will never happen again. I watch as time after time, he tilts into the tree, his left leg going in the opposite direction to counterbalance his body. His right arm dissolves into the tree all the way up past the elbow and then emerges with even more honeycomb. This gets dropped in the waiting bucket that Elizabeth is holding. After depositing the honeycomb in the bucket he gives a masterly flick of his arm to clear it of little lumps of honeycomb and presumably, bees. This goes on and on for the best part of twenty minutes until eventually I hear “gwamana”, meaning finished and we all exit stage left to leave the bees recover from our night time raid.

Back near the cooking fire we examined the haul. Both Elizabeth and I are worried for Eriterial but apparently he has escaped with just one sting and seems totally unphased. Men are clearly made of tougher stuff here because there’s no way in Hell I would have been able to do that! The bucket is three quarters full and in the dim light we can see glistening honey, white larvae, sealed up cells containing more larvae and of course a few bewildered bees. We cannot see the queen which is good news as it means she is most likely still in the tree and may decide to stick around meaning more honey in a couple more months. Eriterial, Elizabeth and Gian start to sort through the honeycomb as I ‘supervise’. They carefully examine each piece of honeycomb and talk excitedly about each piece. Gently, they brush off the bees and return them to the bucket while putting the honeycomb in another basin. The bucket will be returned to the base of the tree so that the bees can return to the slightly tattered hive either immediately or in the morning. By the time the job is complete the basin is practically full to the brim. Elizabeth and I look astounded while everyone else seems to just take it in their stride and are just pleased to have the honey without anyone getting badly stung.

Your honey thief in the middle of nowhere