12 THE MONKEYFOLK OF SOUTH AFRICA 



all together, for our menfolk are more than a match for 

 them. 



ROBBING A BEES' NEST 



When I was a young man I was full of life and energy, 

 and always ready to take part in any adventure. One day 

 we found a bees' hive in the trunk of an old yellow-wood 

 tree. We talked the matter over, and I volunteered to 

 chmb up and explore. Before I reached the hive, the 

 bee sentries spied me and raised an alarm. The bees 

 poured out in hundreds and in thousands — and it seemed 

 to me there were millions. They swarmed around me and 

 stung my lips, my ears, and any other tender place where 

 they could thrust in their stings. With a yell of agony I 

 dropped with a thud, and ran, but those bees followed me 

 up -until I managed to creep into a big mass of thick brush- 

 wood. There I lay panting and suffering agonies of pain. 



When I got older, and my skin got tougher and my 

 hair grew thick and long, I didn't mind robbing bees' 

 nests, because I found that not many of them could manage 

 to sting me. I would make a rush and tear as big an 

 opening as I could into the hive, and drag out the comb 

 as fast as possible. Selecting the nicest piece, I would 

 rush off with it, brushing it against the grass and leaves as 

 I ran, or else rubbing it on the ground to get rid of the 

 bees which insisted on clinging to it. When I had finished 

 eating that bit, I would lie and watch, and when the bees 

 got tired of buzzing around, I would go and collect the 

 remainder. We used to find bees' nests in all sorts of odd 

 places. Sometimes they were in crevices of the rocks, in 

 holes, or in rotten trunks of trees. One day I was climbing 

 amongst the rocks, and I discovered the bleached skull of 

 a Bushman, and a swarm of bees had actually made their 

 home inside it. 



