Beekeeper in Ethiopia rebuilds after civil war, hoping to restore white honey production

In his stone house perched on a hill in northern Ethiopia, Amanuel Hiluf puts on his protective suit, carefully adjusting the hood and gloves.

“We have to hurry up, it starts to be hot, and the bees will be upset,” he says.

In his garden in Hawidela, a village about an hour from Mekele, capital of the Tigray region, the beekeeper has about 40 hives from which clouds of bees are soon escaping.

For nearly 20 years, his hives have produced white honey, a creamy, highly prized variety for which the northernmost region of Ethiopia is famous.

Beekeeper Amanuel Hiluf puts on a protective suit before heading to check his beehives in Hawidela, Ethiopia. Photo: AFP

Amanuel, 42, remembers a time when they produced “in abundance”.

But that was before the war in Tigray between federal government troops and Tigrayan rebels that raged from 2020 to 2022, which forced him to flee with his wife and children.

Beekeeper Amanuel Hiluf among his beehives, of which he has about 40. His production of honey is at one-sixth what it was before a civil war that forced him to flee his home. Photo: AFP

“In this region, there was a lot of damage,” he says, pointing to a hill from which shells were fired.

When he returned a few months later, all his hives – and his livelihood – had been destroyed.

Before the war, he could produce about 600kg (1,300lb) of white honey each year and earn some 900,000 birr (about US$7,500 at today’s rates).

The conflict harmed everybody. The sound of bullets has stopped, but there is still the sound of misery.

Beekeeper Amanuel Hiluf

That is a considerable sum in a country where more than a third of the population lives below the poverty line, according to the World Bank.

When he resumed production, Amanuel said he had lost 95 per cent of his earnings. He has gradually rebuilt the hives, but still only produces 100 kilos.

The situation is replicated across Tigray.

Amanuel Hiluf at work. He is not the only beekeeper to have suffered losses as a result of the civil war. Around half the region’s hives were destroyed, an official says. Photo: AFP

Goshu Welealeabzgi, a specialist for the Tigray authorities’ Bureau of Agriculture and Natural Resources, says 40 to 60 per cent of hives were destroyed by the war.

Before the conflict, he estimates there were 500,000 colonies in Tigray, with 200,000 people directly dependent on beekeeping, in a region of around six million inhabitants.

Bees were also victims of the environmental damage caused by the conflict, especially as desperate villagers were forced to cut down trees, particularly the acacias that covered the hills, to sell or use for firewood.

Amanuel Hiluf cuts honey and beeswax from a beehive slot in his house in Hawidela, in Ethiopia’s Tigray region. Photo: AFP

“If trees are lost and flowers are lost, production will decrease,” says Amanuel.

“The conflict harmed everybody,” he adds. “The sound of bullets has stopped, but there is still the sound of misery.”

His hives are home to Apis mellifera monticola bees, a particularly productive species that can survive the region’s high altitudes. Mekele sits at more than 2,200 metres above sea level.

Ethiopia, an East African country with a population of around 120 million, is the continent’s largest producer of honey.

Nectar is particularly important in Ethiopian culture, with yellow honey used to produce tej, a popular local mead.

Clients try honey at Birhanu Araya’s shop in Mekele. Beekeeper Amanuel Hiluf regularly sells his honey to Araya. Photo: AFP

Amanuel regularly sells his honey to Birhanu Araya, who runs a small shop in Mekele where dozens of cans containing the precious nectar are piled up.

“There are only very few (bees) because of the war and drought,” says 61-year-old Birhanu, who has been running his business for 25 years.

“The amount that’s entering now is small and the price is very high,” he adds.

A client buys honey at Birhanu Araya’s shop in Mekele. Photo: AFP

Goshu says he remains optimistic.

“If resources are allocated and the community gets on board, maybe it could recover in three to five years,” he says.

“We have to look forward.”