‘Bees are people,’ said Agus, not long after we had arrived in Kupang. This was the first fact I learnt about this animal (Apis dorsata) and its relationship to people, a subject I had come thousands of kilometres to Timor to learn more about. It was my second trip to West Timor. Indeed, it was because of Agus that I was back again. The first time we had met, a little over seven years earlier, I had spent time with him, and his oldest brother, Balthasar, travelling from the provincial Indonesian capital of Kupang to visit their extended family along the border dividing East and West Timor, a colonially imposed border that had divided not only the island but also its people. The traditional mountainous kingdom of Lookeu, the royal domain of Agus and Balthasar’s ancestors, traversed the border.

At that time, in 2011, Balthasar and I had been researching people’s connections with spring water, the ways in which water and springs had, like Balthasar’s own family, moved for centuries back and forth across this part of the island. Awaiting my departure to Australia, I was languishing in the tropical heat of one of Kupang airport’s outdoor eateries. After a physically and emotionally intense visit I was both pleased with the result of the research and to be returning home to my own family. For some reason, Agus and I began to chat about bees and honey. He passed the time telling intriguing stories of wild-honey harvests, of the associated community ceremonies and his role as a Laku during these events.