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BloombergBusinessweek December 23, 2019B
y the next day we had rejoined Lochhead and
RandriamihajainSambava.Samacalledthemtosay
thefalsebidhadthrowneverythingoff.Negotiations
hadstartedanew.Thefarmerswerenowangry—andempow-
ered.They’dobservedsomecollectorsseriouslyconsidering
matchingthebogusbidthedaybefore,andtheirbaselineask-
ingpricewasnolonger$55perkilo.Whena fewcollectors
agreedtothe$62,LochheadandRandriamihajabowedout.
Thecooperativefarmerssoldtheirbeanstoothers.
“It’sfrustrating,becausethefarmerscansayourco-op
didn’tofferthema goodprice,”Randriamihajasaid.“ButI
thinktheywillcomebacktous.Wewilltryagain.”
Themanintheredhathadbeena saboteur,heguessed.
Butwhosenthim?Rumorsfloatedaroundthemarketthatthe
manworkedforanexporter
thatdidn’twantcooperatives
limitingitsaccesstobeans.“I
thinkheprobablywassentby
a bigcompany,justtoupset
themarket,”Randriamihaja
speculated.“Ithashappened
before,severaltimes.They
wanttoruinourreputations.”
In 2019 about 400 compa-
nieswerelicensedtoexport
vanillafromMadagascar,and
manyaresmallandrelatively
new.Randriamihaja,whogot
hislicensethreeyearsago,is
oneofthoseup-and-comers.
Some people,particularly
the established exporting
companies,arguethatsomeoftheseinexperienceddealers
aredilutingMadagascar’smarketwithlow-quality,poorly
curedbeans.Theysupportongoinggovernmentinitiatives
tocutthenumbertoasfewas 40 licensees.
“Theysayit’sforqualityreasons,butthatdoesn’tmake
sensetome,”Randriamihajasaid.“Thosebigcompaniesare
handling 600 tonsa year,sohowcantheycontrolthequal-
ityofthat?Wedosomethinglike 15 tonsa year.Wecanpro-
videa good,qualitybean,becausewe’recontrollingthem
everyday,througheverystepoftheprocess.”
Lochheadnoddedinagreement.Toher,thelicensereduc-
tionschemefeltlikea powerplay.“It’sa racket,”shesaid.
“Abigboys’club.”
SheandRandriamihajanowneededanotherwaytoget
vanillabeans.Theyspentthenexttwodaysgoingtovillages
in search of vrac, the term for beans that have been par-
tially cured. Vrac can be stored for longer periods than raw
beans, and some farmers like to deal in it because it can pro-
vide income in the months after the harvest. Inside a one-
room hut of split bamboo, Lochhead and Randriamihaja
found an 80-year-old man named Farlahy Gilbert. He looked
as thin and wizened as the beans he spread out for them to
inspect. Lochhead cast a critical eye on his supply. She lifted acoupleoftheoilybeanstohernose.“Ooh,”shesaid,wincing.
“There’s mold. That’s bad. Smell it.”
Gilbert fetched another batch and poured it out for them.
“It looks pretty wet,” Lochhead said. She guessed it was about
40% moisture. Gourmet vanilla vrac should be 32% to 35%.
“Tell him to get this out in the sun,” she told Randriamihaja.
Their next stop was a hut right across the road, where
a 34-year-old farmer named Be Olivier lived. “Now this is
workable,” Lochhead said, kneeling down in front of the
vrac the farmer had spread out on a coffee table for inspec-
tion. Her flowing white dress pooled around her legs, and
she closed her eyes as she inhaled the sweet, heavy scent.
To her, this was the best part of her business: the direct,
sensory pleasure when things went right. “This,” she said,
pulling a moist brown pod
from the pile, “is the perfect
vanilla bean.” She admired
it, smiling, for an extended
moment. “How much does
he have?” she asked.
Olivier told them he
had plenty to sell, but he
wouldn’t say exactly how
much. “They will never tell
you that,” Randriamihaja
said. They feared theft.
By any international stan-
dard, Olivier was living in
poverty, without running
water or reliable electricity.
But high vanilla prices had
allowed him to accumulate
someenviableassetsinrecent years. He’d grown up in a
hut made of palm thatch and moved to one of split bamboo;
now his walls were made of solid wood planks. And unlike
most of the village’s huts, his had two rooms. Where once his
floors were bare earth covered by rugs, now he walked on
smooth, red-painted boards. The chairs in the living room
had cushions on them. And he had a television, powered by
a single solar panel balanced on the peak of his corrugated
roof and connected to the village’s only satellite dish.
When we asked Olivier to verify the spelling of his name,
he motioned to his 7-year-old daughter, who’d been watching
from a bed in the adjoining room. He’d recently enrolled her
in school, and when she spelled out his name for us, he smiled
with undisguised pride. She was mastering things he’d never
thought possible for himself.R
andriamihajacouldrelate.Hegrewupina crowded
hutwithsixsistersandthreebrothers,thechildren
ofvanillagrowers.Tinyfingerswerevaluablewhen
handling delicate flowers, and he worked the fields for years.
His parents rarely collected cash for their beans; more often,
they’d trade them to visiting Chinese and Indian merchants
for items such as blankets and sugar. As the vanilla marketOlivier, with his family, shows off some of
his partially cured beans, known as vrac