Narrator: Vanilla is the world's
second most expensive spice.
And the East African island of Madagascar
produces roughly 80% of the global supply.
Here, farmers have to pollinate 40 million orchids,
that only bloom for one day a year.
Narrator: Only then will a vanilla bean, or pod, grow.
Inside are the seeds and oils used in popular desserts.
But Madagascar is still one
of the poorest countries in the world.
Maureen: Volatility of the vanilla prices,
this bust and boom,
creates such a toxic environment there.
Narrator: Farmers can earn more when the price
of vanilla is high. But rampant inflation often follows.
And the big bucks attract thieves, who attack farmers
and steal crops.
Today, farmers arm themselves to defend their vanilla.
Narrator: Farmers can plunge into extreme poverty when prices are low.
The government has tried to stabilize the price,
but it's backfired.
And now global customers are turning
to other countries for cheaper vanilla.
As locals fight to protect Madagascar's "green gold,"
they worry how much more they,
the land, and this crop can take.
Narrator: Razafintsalama grew up on a vanilla farm,
and seven years ago, he bought this
hectare of land for himself.
Vanilla is an orchid that grows on a vine.
Narrator: And it grows best in this rainforest environment,
where there's plenty of rain and sunlight.
But vanilla isn't native to Madagascar.
It's actually from 10,000 miles away,
in Central and South America.
Indigenous groups like the Totonacs,
and later the Aztecs, cultivated native vanilla
for centuries, thanks to this insect.
Orchid bees are needed
to pollinate a vanilla's flower,
allowing a fruit, or that pod, to grow.
After Hernán Cortés conquered the Aztecs,
he brought vanilla back to Spain
in the 1520s.
It became popular across Europe in desserts like ice cream,
crème brûlée, and sweetmeats,
which Queen Elizabeth I loved.
Except the Spanish still controlled the trade.
So, hoping to get in on the market,
other European countries tried cultivating vanilla
on their own. But they didn't have that bee.
So their vanilla vines wouldn't produce any fruit.
Then, in 1841, on the French-controlled island of Réunion,
a 12-year-old boy figured out an answer.
Edmond Albius discovered that the orchid could
pollinate itself if he moved aside the membrane
separating the male and female parts.
Albius was born into slavery,
but even after he was freed in 1848,
he never made money off his discovery
and died in poverty 32 years later.
France took Albius' work and started growing vanilla
on the French-ruled island right next door,
Madagascar.
It thrived here because the growing conditions were perfect.
Today, in towns like Razafintsalama's,
almost everyone works in the vanilla industry.
And they still hand-pollinate every orchid,
just like Albius did nearly 200 years ago.
Each flower blooms for just one day a year.
Narrator: Razafintsalama works alone and can pollinate
up to 500 orchids a day.
It takes about nine months for a pod to grow.
The price of this vanilla bean has skyrocketed
in recent years due to rising demand
and the destruction of crops by cyclones.
In 2018, vanilla hit a high
of nearly $600 per kilo,
more than the value of silver.
It since dropped to $250 a kilo,
but that's still a lot.
And those prices
are really attractive to thieves.
Narrator: So many farmers in the region are arming themselves —
and patrolling their fields at night,
when thieves usually strike.
Thieves stole 20 kilograms
of farmer Berlin Ranary's harvest, leaving his vines bare.
Narrator: In 2018, officials estimated 10%
of the year's harvest was lost to theft.
Narrator: He often sleeps out here overnight.
Narrator: And because farmers only get one vanilla harvest annually ...
Narrator: Some of the thieves are actually children,
driven to steal because of poverty.
They were held in overcrowded and unhygienic prisons
in the northeast of the country for years without trial.
Farmers have started branding their vanilla beans
with identifying codes, making the crops easier to track
if they do get stolen.
Another protective measure? Some farmers pick their beans
before they're completely ripe to beat thieves to harvest.
Maureen: And so the quality goes down a lot.
Narrator: This year, Razafintsalama was able to wait
until his beans were completely mature.
Narrator: Farmers have to move quickly, because the pods
start fermenting immediately once they're picked.
They pack the vanilla pods in 40-pound bags
and haul the loads for miles along dirt roads to the market.
Traditionally, middlemen called commissionaires bought
these beans in their raw, green state.
And they held a lot of negotiating power over the farmers,
since the beans spoiled quickly.
The middlemen are definitely
making a lot more money.
They can kind of tell people whatever price they want.
Narrator: So some years, farmers walk away happy.
In other years, they can barely make ends meet.
Maureen: I have heard farmers say things like,
"You have to have courage
to plant vanilla,
because it may not be worth it at the end.
You may not get anything."
Narrator: Nowadays, Razafintsalama sells
his pods directly to to a cooperative called Sahanala.
Narrator: Sahanala representatives check the bean quality
and the brand on the bean and pay the farmers
directly in cash, cutting out the middleman
and promising a consistent price.
Today, Razafintsalama earns about $17
for a kilo of raw, green vanilla.
Sahanala takes the beans to one
of its processing facilities,
employing thousands of workers across Madagascar.
But even these large operations still have to
protect against thieves.
Narrator: The facility has electric fences, surveillance cameras,
and private security patrolling at night.
Narrator: But it will still be another three months
of painstaking work before the vanilla is export-ready.
First, workers have to sort the beans by quality and size.
Next, they wash each bean to remove any impurities.
Then, the beans get dunked in hot water
to release the compound vanillin.
That's what creates the distinct vanilla flavor.
Narrator: The beans need less than a minute,
depending on how ripe they are.
Narrator: They have to run the bean baskets
so they don't lose the heat from cooking.
Workers move the cooked beans to boxes,
where they'll sit for 48 hours.
When they take the beans out, they'll be brown.
Narrator: There the beans will stay for 15 to 30 days,
depending on the moisture inside.
Narrator: In the packaging room, they massage the beans
to release the oils and the vanilla fragrance.
Careful not to damage the beans,
they group the pods in bunches.
Then they check that there are no stray metals,
like nails, hidden inside.
Workers then weigh the boxes
and package them for shipping.
Narrator: Sahanala's vanilla beans end up
with American-based food processor Archer Daniels Midland.
Narrator: Exporters like Sahanala earn the biggest bucks.
This cooperative has a turnover of $40 million annually.
That's because cured beans are worth a lot more.
Today, Sahanala earns $250 per kilo for its cured vanilla —
a 1,300% increase from what farmer Razafintsalama made
selling his raw beans.
The bigger problem is the volatility
of the price.
Narrator: In those low-price years,
farmers live in extreme poverty.
Like 81% of the country, many earn just $2 a day.
Narrator: So many farmers grow other crops, like vegetables
and peanuts, to supplement their incomes.
Narrator: During years of high prices, farmers, middlemen,
and exporters would make more. But this also drives up
inflation, making everything more expensive.
Maureen: In the ideal world,
vanilla would consistently
get a good price.
Narrator: To balance out
the ever-changing price,
in 2020, Madagascar's government
introduced a minimum base price.
Today, it's set at $250
a kilo for the exporter.
They want to protect against
this crazy up and down, right?
Narrator: But it hasn't gone to plan.
Maureen: Unfortunately, it appears that most people
are not going along with paying that minimum price.
Narrator: Global companies are turning to
other countries that sell at cheaper prices,
or they're buying synthetic vanilla.
Maureen: A lot of this depends so much on the government
of Madagascar and whether they will change tactics
and go back to allowing their price
to more accurately reflect the global price.
Narrator: Farmers are betting on cooperatives
like Sahanala to alleviate the need
the government can't fill.
Sahanala can guarantee that it's farmers make $17 a kilo,
at least $2,600 a year.
Narrator: But as they face theft, an unreliable government,
and shifting demand, farmers at the center
of the industry are unsure of what's next.
Maureen: Demand for vanilla
is continuously increasing.
And so if Madagascar
could find some stability,
and if these farmers could find some stability,
there's no reason for the outlook to not be really,
really good for vanilla in Madagascar.
But you know, it's hard to say
what the future brings.