Over the last decade, North America has lost nearly half of all its bees.
Europe has lost nearly a quarter.
And when I say lost I'm not talking about your child in a supermarket.
These bees are dead.
Which is a huge problem.
We rely on bees for all sorts of things.
Bees pollinate nearly a third of all our crops.
And I for one am not ready for this beeless future.
So here in a bar on my last day in Ethiopia, I’ve come up with a solution to all of our problems.
We're going to get drunk.
Today’s episode operates on a very simple principle: The more we rely on an animal,
the more likely it is to survive.
There are more cows today than there could ever possibly be naturally.
There are more pigs.
More chickens.
More donkeys.
More dogs.
Even the silkworm thrives because we say it does.
Our ability to survive a species is long proven.
And I say we prove it again.
We need bees.
They’re more than just honey, they’re pollination.
They’re a major part of the ecological cycle.
Losing them is losing more than we’re bargaining for.
You may not be incredibly keen on insects, but we need them to keep eating fruit.
And fruit’s pretty good, so I say we keep them.
And I’m sure you do too.
You seem reasonable.
The problem is that nobody really knows what to do about these things.
How do you save bees from their existentialist futures if you can’t even save yourself from yours?
But don’t worry, I have a plan.
We need to socially engineer the next generation of ironic alcoholics.
And I’ve found the perfect drink for them.
It’s called tej.
It tastes like rubbing alcohol.
They’re going to hate it.
Tej is the generic name for a range of traditional Ethiopian spirits
made from the sugars of wild honey.
Over hundreds, if not thousands of years, brewers have perfected the art of producing alcohol
from a little wax, a little water, and a twig from a local tree.
They call it honey wine.
Which makes it sound so innocent.
Ooh, a mix of honey and water, you think.
How summery.
But in reality, it’s diesel fuel.
You could drive a truck on this stuff.
If you go to a true tavern and order a glass of tej, you’re getting something
with food colouring just so it looks orange.
Because they’ve definitely fermented every inch of that honey.
The only sweet thing you’re going to feel is when you get it back out of you.
People say it tastes better if you lower the alcohol content,
but I’m going to have to take their word for it.
Because although we’ve met dozens of people drinking it in Ethiopia, I've yet to meet anyone
who's asked for it to come weaker.
Even in countries with overwhelming religious pressure, people flock to alcohol.
Regardless of the taste.
And not just us in the modern day, either.
Throughout all history.
Drinking is a string through time as far back as the eye can see.
In Axum, the civilization at the dawn of Ethiopian history, they brewed tej.
Like coffee, like chat, for as long as it’s been here, it’s been popular.
And when tej is popular, beekeeping is popular.
Ethiopia has the most apiaries of any nation on the continent.
And these are not the technologically supported hives of the West.
Most local apiaries still rely on an ancient system that uses little more than wood and cloth.
Nothing is standardized and yields are incredibly low.
For any honey brewed in Ethiopia, there’s an 80% chance it ends up in a tej bottle.
This is just the average guy trying to brew some drinks.
To make a little money selling to the bar.
Most everywhere on earth, cheap alcohol is a strong driving force.
It's not different when that alcohol comes from honey.
Over the course of thousands of years, the people of this region have become socially conditioned
to associate bees with their desire for alcohol.
They’ve safeguarded the future of their colonies by attaching them to the future of their stupor.
It’s obviously unintentional, but I still think it’s genius.
The ends justified the bees.
Certainly, something to learn from.
We’re all drinking alcohol anyway.
So why not save our apples while we’re at it?
We should be spreading the message that a good environmentalist walks their streets
convincing their neighbours to drink tej.
And I think it’s going to work.
Because even though tej kind of tastes like someone dropped a single splenda into a tall glass of furniture polish,
it does have its strengths.
For example, they’ve really mastered the look.
The serve it in a glass called a berele, which is objectively awesome to use.
Okay, sure.
You pour a bit on yourself, but that’s fine.
It looks like something Whoopie Goldberg would serve you in the bar on Star Trek.
And on top of that, it has a very distinct colour.
If someone sets down a mad scientist’s glass in front of you full of an orange frothy liquid,
you’d be pretty certain something interesting was about to happen.
It kind of sells itself.
The real trick is keeping people hooked after they try it.
It kind of tastes like what you’d expect those silica gel caps to taste like if you broke them open
and mixed them into some old orange paint.
But someone out there is going to want it.
And since it isn’t available, they’re going to have to brew it.
Soon, a nation of ironic alcoholics are going to be watching our bee situation like hawks.
They’ll start blogs, they’ll create brewmaster associations,
and eventually once the food network catches wind and it spreads to the average dude, we’ll be back in beesness.
Now, for those of you still taking this seriously, obviously I don’t expect tej to take the world by storm.
It’s just a metaphor for how we choose what’s important to protect.
But the reality is that our insects are dying.
Not just our bees.
It’s not a problem we can choose to ignore.
We genuinely need them.
And all joking aside, we should be doing something about it.
We need a reason for average people to care without prompting.
Tej is just a symbol for that care.
In Ethiopia today, there are millions of people who are worried about their hives.
But it's not because they’re environmentalists.
It's not because they're world conscious.
They’re just doing it so they can get drunk.
And honestly, to me, that’s a pretty sweet deal.
This is Rare Earth.
Aah, every time.
You should be way more leaned back. Yeah.
Good stuff.