Upon finding a bee hive in the storage basement, Andreas assembled a makeshift beekeepers outfit, and retrieved the whole hive, totally abuzz, with angry African bees.
It was almost 11pm, when he knocked on my door saying it was ready. In their yard were buckets and buckets of fresh, dripping combs. I squatted in the grass for 20 mintues, spoon in hand, warm sea breeze on my back, lingering bees a’ buzzing – sampling the warm honey and chewing on the wax.
I have long held the desire to be a bona fide bee charmer. I want to walk up to a hive, calm and unnerved, and stick my arm into a hole in a tree and retrieve a hunk of the comb. Of course, in this moment I wasn’t even apart of the procuring, I was only enjoying the fruits of Andreas’ hunt.
Maybe it was the sugar high or the lingering buzz from the bees, but I was so happy. And without much ado (at least on my part) this has become one of my fondest memories made in Mozambique so far.