Cacao Continued

A hen protects the seeds germinating below

I got to visit the CEIBO plant with David and others in Sapecho on Thursday.  It smelled better than anything industrial I have ever smelled except perhaps the Malto-meal factory when the winds would blow from the south toward Carleton.  What smelled so good was the fermenting and drying cacao beans—like a slightly sour chocolate, very hard to describe really and probably not worth it.   This was actually the last and most visible step of the cacao preparation process.  It was quite a processing plant.    All of the cacao that CEIBO produces—over 6million dollars in sales (which makes it the largest producer in Bolivia) passes through this plant's warehouse—most of it gets fermented and dried here as well.  But that is only the base of the pyramid that has by now grown to mammoth proportions.  CEIBO runs a seed bank, plant nursery and research area, as well as an actual lending bank all for the benefit of it's many members.

Moniliasis--the epidemic destroying cacao harvests

The seed bank and nursery are run by Bambi, Ana Maria's daughter, who is an agro-forestry expert.  They not only keep and produce cacao plants, but also many varieties of fruiting and lumber tree species that can co-exist with cacao production.  Saturday I was able to work in the nursery seeding new cacao plants of which they have tens of thousands, and got to see how these funny plants get their start. 

A recently sprouted cacao plant.  That seed stays attached for a while

Over this time I have also learned a good deal about the economics of agricultural production in the Alto Beni and Caranavi, in general.  From a broad perspective, most plots of land are about 10 hectares, which is fairly large.  If planted with cacao, this usually does not make up more than 50% of the land.  In fact, cacao is less profitable than papaya for instance, and has around the same margin currently as coffee—and with labor prices high here, a land owner makes a small margin indeed on any agricultural product.  That coupled with the fact that cacao and coffee are single-season crops, has led to increased desire for diversification.  Economics however are not the only thing pushing cacao producers toward other crops, Moniliasis, or Monilia as it is known widely has infected the area.  This plague can wipe out entire crops, greatly reducing the productivity of a region.  But Monilia is like almost no human plague—no medicine exists, organic or conventional, to control it.  Varieties that are resistant are either of lower quality (CC51) or produce little (though delicious) fruit (Creole).  And planting new cacao means waiting between 4 and 6 years before producing—feeding the inertia of any agricultural system.  It is a problem that at meetings with local cooperatives I heard voiced forcefully and repeatedly.  It is a conundrum. 

There were thousands of plants.

Meanwhile, back in Caranavi I await a organics fair known as Bio Caranavi where Diane (of Artesania Sorata) is presenting a water turbine for use on small farms in the area.  Yumm I can smell the fried chicken even from my hostel window.  At least lodging is cheap. 

An Accidental Homestay in Cacaoland

David cuting open some cacao

The result, suculent, sweet fresh cacao.  

The road toward Caranavi is as I remember it.  Though over two years have passed since last I bounced along it, it seems the same hairpin curves and precipitous falls dot the path from La Paz down into the region called the Yungas.  A long five hour ride bypassing what used to be the “world's most dangerous road” (now only open to bicycle traffic) winds past Coroico, the beautiful mountaintop town, continuing its circuitous 3300meter drop to the dusty working town of Caranavi.  This is the service center of a vast region which grows everything and anything including delicious cacao and Bolivia's most sought after coca.  The town itself is populated by prodigious chicken-eaters and car mechanics. Never has a chicken pecked its way into town that was not promptly fried and served on a plate of rice.  Nor has a broken down car coming from La Paz ever been disappointed by the sight of the fifty or more mechanic shops forming the gauntlet that is the entrance to town.  But this market town full of revelers on a Wednesday night was not our final destination.  The bumpy road continues on, and we followed it past Sapecho and on to Palos Blancos where I am currently sitting writing surrounded by dinosaur toys, and game consoles. 

Aldaid with his beloved pods--he sometimes had 10 in his arms.

My path here was as unpredicted as the road was uncomfortable. I met Ana Maria in Atesania Sorata, the store from which I buy most of our alpaca knitwear.  Within minutes we were talking about a  visit to the organic herb cooperative she supports through her NGO and her family's cacao farm.  Plans were made and two weeks later here I find myself.  The plans however never did include who I would stay with, or what I would be doing.  She was going on vacation back to her family plot where her daughter was tending the cacao, and I was accompanying her.  Unwittingly, as it seems most things are here in Bolivia, I have become their guests and could not be happier.  The family is well educated, having made their living from being part of El CEIBO, the nation's cacao association which is made up of over 50 cooperatives each with an average of 35 members bringing it's member population to well over 1000.  Ana Maria and her daughter, as members of El CEIBO are currently attending an assembly o all the cooperatives, while I accompany David (the daughter's husband) on his tasks as an agro-forestry consultant—they hire someone to tend their plot of cacao.  Although I haven't yet visited the cacoa plantation I am looking forward to doing so tomorrow. 

Piles of harvested cacao pods

 I should be here until the 28^th when we head back to Caranavi.  Although I don't much like the prospect, I have two days of waiting there before Diane and Ron (of Artesania Sorata) come to join me to present at the town's annual fair. 

Bolivia

Plaza San Fransisco in La Paz with new friend Adri

In Sorata a little outside of La Paz

Much and yet very little has actually happened since I last wrote anything down.  I left the hills of Ecuador and, sprinted to Arequipa in the south of Peru.  I hiked around in the world's second deepest canyon for three days (Canyon del Colca), saw the requisite condors, and then took a bus to La Paz, Bolivia.  After spending a month in unfamiliar places across the Andes, when I finally smelled the formaldehyde of preserved llama fetuses wafting from the witches market, a wave of comfort filled me.  The Cactus hostel was still here, operating incredibly enough with unchanged prices: 30bs a night or about $4.50. Some things had changed though—the plaza was reconstructed, my favorite cafe, Pepe's, had closed, but all in all it was a little like coming home.  I immediately found Diane and Ron at Artesania Sorata and spent the day catching up and explaining as best I could what I was doing here anyway.  As usual though, South America has a way of making one wait to get anything done.  I contracted some unidentified and short lived feverish disease while keeping my salmonella-filled  roommate company, so am only now gearing up to visit the Quinoa growers association, El Ceibo (the  cocoa/chocolate cooperative (a real behemoth), and hopefully Coproca, the best alpaca yarn producers around.

Nitty Gritty Coffee

With the family

Manuel and Martha are the heads of the host family with which I am staying. They appear typical of the area. Their extended families are deeply entrenched in the area with cousins, parents and siblings living on all sides. They have six children, making their family a little small compared to those of their parent's generation, but I think pretty normal for theirs. They own three small plots of land which were acquired through a mix of parental gifts and purchasing. Before receiving any land, Manuel worked in Spain for seven years, moving with the harvest and coming home for a month or two at a time. A strange number of people in the community seem to have done this in fact. And like many of them Manuel saved enough money from his time abroad to build a house in the center of town. And also like many of people who left, he came back to work the coffee farms that grow all around town.

Picking coffee

The plots they own have mainly old plants, some as old as 15 or 20 years old which produce less fruit than they used to . This I believe is due to the fact that they inherited much of what they now cultivate from aging parents who may not have taken as much care as they as Manuel now plans to with the land. He is planting at least three varieties of coffee: Arabica Tipica being the most plentiful, Colombia 6 which produces plentifully, but only for three years, and something which sounded like “Chakchimoro” which will be the primary cultivar in the coming years. Although I have spent only a few days working with Manuel harvesting coffee beans, we have almost picked all of his plants clean, leaving him with only about 100lbs of dried coffee. Due to some sort of plague as they call it here the harvest has been drastically decreasing for the past two years. For reference, Procairo, the grower's association Manuel is a part of sold around 400 quintales of roasted coffee in 2011, in 2012 however that number was around 125, and this year they think it will not reach more than 70. But even without this dramatic plummeting of local coffee production, it is hard to make a living growing coffee.

The morning's haul

The process itself is not easy. Although the plants do not need intensive care, the organic processes used here require a good deal of composting, weed and pest control throughout the year. The harvest season is about 3 months from June to August, and because not every coffee cherry comes ripe at the same time, the grower must return multiple times to the same plot to harvest all of his/her fruit. Coffee in the area grows on steep slopes, though I didn't measure it, I would say that the average slope I harvested on was more than 15 degrees and often much more, making it very hard to remain balanced, and definitely putting a strain on the leg muscles. Once the red cherries are harvested the coffee is ready for processing. Though some people simply dry the cherries at this point, Manuel and his fellow association members de-pulp the coffee removing the fruit and skin so that it dries faster. This process uses a specialized mill that does not damage the inner bean which is after all what they are after, and garners a better price in the open market.

De-pulping while the family watches

The local coffee market has two main branches. The first, more conventional branch, is that controlled by local store owners who buy at much lower prices and then sell their coffee to other middle-men or processors in bigger towns. At the moment the prices of a dried pound of de-pulped coffee is $1.70, and of non-de-pulped coffee is only $1. The stores offer local growers the benefit of being able to sell their coffee at any time, effectively making dried coffee a fungible currency. In town however there is also another branch of the coffee market which is the independent cooperatively controlled Procairo association. Procairo seeks better markets for the region's coffee and is required to pass on a larger portion of the earnings. Procairo buys coffee from its members at $2.40 / lb, making it a much better source of income for its members than selling to the local stores. However, because of the nature of the association it can only buy during the harvest season, and then only once a week.

Washing the de-pulped beans

Manuel, in a very good year his three plots of land can produce 8 quintals of coffee which is 800 lbs. This means that all he can hope to earn from his land is $1920 at the current price of coffee. Though the cost of life in Ecuador is low, it is hardly possible to live on $2000, especially with a family of 8, whose average monthly expenses they estimate are $450. Manuel's family situation appears to be typical of association members none of whom produce large quantities. After all, there were about 100 member families in 2011 when around 400 quintals were bought by the association, meaning that the average family plot produced 400 lbs of dried coffee. Indeed without other sources of income it is impossible to see how a family can exist. I think this should be startling news.

Dry and ready for sale

Check out EqualExchange's History of Ecuadorian Coffee for a broader picture.

A homestay in Coffeeland

There is a very particular kind of awkwardness that I believe is only known to guests in home-stay situations and particularly those in smaller towns.  It is the kind of awkwardness that is perhaps avoided in daily life either by the anonymity of a city dwelling, or the presence of ones own family.  It is a funny mix of feeling that one has overstayed ones welcome, that one is somehow crashing a party and not having anywhere else to be.  When work is done and the kids are no longer as cute as they once seemed, a guest is left with a lot of alone time.   But it is not easy alone time.  It is a discomfort explained best by the feeling one gets when rereading Harry Potter for the umpteenth time.  Guilt, at being reclusive. Pleasure at finding something familiar, and then guilt again at not forcing oneself out  the door – a curious feeling.  But what comes of this stomach curdling can be curiouser still. 

A cuter dance

And so I found myself Friday night in the procession of Saint Vincent, the local patron saint who comes out for a moonlit stroll once a year to start off the local three day celebration.  I, an non believing Jew standing one head taller than all, and as much as 2 feet taller than many, in a town of no more than 300 inhabitants, all of whom are related to one another, was walking with over half of them down the candle lit path around town.  I can't say it did much for my regular discomfort in the Jimenez household after all, there were a dozen other Jimenez households walking with me. But I stuck it out all the way back to church and then to the ensuing festivities.  True there were other people all alone (my host family had responsibilities that took them away from me), staring off with nothing to say.  But everyone has the right to be sulky at ones own family reunion. So at first I was a little annoyed that no one in town wanted to talk to me, however, I found that after helping with the beautiful flying paper lanterns and chipping in for some sugar cane alcohol the whole festival became a lot more bearable, if not enjoyable.  The catechism youth group put on at least four dances ranging from the adorable to a mildly inappropriate (at least for 11 year olds) “Gangham style” hip jerker. 

"Globo" or paper lantern launching

Chickens for sale

A few local crooners did some karaoke for us.  The church auctioned off some donated chickens to raise funds.  And a skit about driving while drunk was performed for the benefit of I'm not sure who, considering not a soul drove to the party, the town being far too small.  Fire played a role throughout – my host father was in charge of that, the paper lanterns dotted the sky, fireworks shot up at irregular intervals, and finally there was the “Vaca Loca” or “Crazy Cow” This was a costumed man with about one hundred different sparklers and fire crackers attached to him dancing around the central town plaza.  Needless to say, the kids had been talking about this for days.  And they were quite tired enough around midnight when it finally burned out and the family friendly part of the party came to an end.