Blog: Raging Reporter's Journey #1

Sietske won the mad reporters' trip in June 2016 with a joint campaign by Jumbo Supermarkets, Max Havelaar, the National Postcode Lottery and Tony's Chocolonely.

Text and photos: furious reporter Sietske Arnoldus.

Tasting another world: sweet dreams, sour cocoa

Packed your suitcases, you can dream up the itinerary. The airplane screen shows exactly which cities are hidden under the cloud cover and how long the flight will take. Satisfied, you see how the line approaches its final destination. Any idea what you will experience after arrival? Fortunately not!

Wake up (shocked) in a new, unpredictable world. For me, that is the magic of travel. As the road rushes by, I sit glued to the window of the car to take it all in. The same goes for my travel buddy Laetitia. We see women effortlessly balancing a bowl of sixteen loaves of bread on their heads. Green, rainforest-like landscape provides a stark contrast to the skyscrapers in the city. The roadside markets display fresh fruit, bagged popcorn, clothes and shoes. People look at us just as curiously as we look outside. Bienvenue à Côte d'Ivoire!

In a few days we learn 1000 and 1 things about the cocoa sector and Tony's work. Children are a common thread in the fight against slavery. And on this journey they are the main characters in my story. “Thank you Tony, long live the customer!” says the signs with which children welcome us to the Ecojad farmers' cooperative. Beautiful, but also a bit ambiguous: texts that mean little to children and which they present in a tightly directed manner. During the ceremony at Ecojad, my eyes meet those of two little ladies. A crooked face, a sneaky wink, yes... there go the corners of the mouth! Only afterwards is there time to really fool around with them. Before I know it I have a whole group of children around me. What do you do at such a moment? Smiling, high-fiving and… “1, 2, 3: dansez, dansez!'' It's contagious: happily swaying our hips, we walk towards the parking lot.

I focus on the holes in the dusty road, but also on the two hands that enclose mine.
Ruth and Marie, the ladies are called. For a moment I realize that a Western lump of joy surrounded by sweet African children is the cliché image of voluntourism(or a War Child commercial), but I don't really care. When we dance and laugh we speak the same language. I feel the connection and when we drive away from Ecojad I wave just as exuberantly as they do.

Ruth and Marie. Innocent, cheerful and with a whole future ahead of her. I wish girls who don't have to walk miles to get water. I hope they are sitting in school dreaming about what they want to be when they grow up, instead of doing dangerous work on a plantation. I will think about them more often this trip. For example, when adults stretch out their hands to show the lumps and scars from the machete they use on land. Is it tough, I want to know. Yes, of course. “Just feel it!”

I also learned that the knives are quite large during our visit to the first plantation. We walk under a large canopy through which hardly any light filters through. We move rustlingly between the trees. There is a cocoa fruit. Oh and there. And yes there too! The cocoa season is over, but there is still plenty to see. “This three is pregnant,” someone jokes about a tree full of green fruits.
The farmer determinedly cuts a ripe, yellow cocoa fruit from the trunk with his machete. In my hand is half the fruit, filled with beans. “Don't bite the bullet,” warns Wiebe from Tony's. The white flesh around the cocoa beans feels soft and sticky. Quite tasty, the rest assure us. Lime flavor, I taste, while Laetitia says 'lychee' out loud. Spit it out and move on.

Cocoa beans are drying on farmer Hamadou's plantation. So this is where it starts, I think. Caramel sea salt, white raspberry crackling sugar and all those other flavors. Anyone who sees the beans does not immediately think: attack! When we speak to the farmer he is shy, but he would like to have a photo taken with his harvest. The pride about his country is reflected in his answers. But also the worries. Climate change is an increasing threat and cocoa prices fluctuate considerably. One thing is certain: Hamadou and his wife send their children to school. The eldest is already taking lessons, the youngest has to wait a few more years. “My children are always welcome on my land later,” the farmer emphasizes. ''But I would prefer that they have the opportunity to study. Imagine if they could become a doctor or something else...''

We already got to know the smell of cocoa beans on the plantations. In the warehouses this air penetrates our noses even deeper. Compare it to Smullers fries on a busy Intercity train: a smell you simply cannot ignore. But what do cocoa beans smell like? Difficult to describe. Sour, with a hint of dark chocolate recognisability. Anyone who thought that the beans from the land disappear straight into the pockets is wrong. In the port of Abidjan, farmers' union Ecookim shows us the process from A to B. Dressed in blue overalls, we stand in front of a huge warehouse. There is nowhere to stand here during the cocoa season, says Vice President Ami. Trucks then crowd around, ready to unload beans. Once in the warehouse, the inspection begins. Hop, beans on the scale and cut them in half to look for diseases and abnormalities. Check everything? The beans are then stored in bags. Later, someone puts a giant skewer in such a bag to measure the humidity with a device.

Various certificates are written on wooden signs. Are there also beans for Tony's? There is a moment of doubt, then we find a large stack of Fairtrade certified bags. “We mainly use these beans for cocoa butter,” says chain director Arjen. He points out the numbers on all the bags. This allows Tony's Chocolonely to trace the beans back to the farmer who supplied them. Would I like to be on top of the pile?  A mild form of fear of heights makes way for: "Yes, I have no idea how I'm going to get up and what I'm going to do there (spread my arms like a bird), but I'd love to!" And so I hold on to the railing of the loading trolley and I wave cheerfully to the rest from above. “These are my beans now and later my chocolate,” I joke to Ami. She laughs.

In the port of Abidjan we can get a breath of fresh air, listen to the waves and watch the fishing boats. The circle is complete. From cocoa fruits on the plantations to storage in the port and all steps in between. This is the process in Ivory Coast. And to think that a lot happens in the factory in Belgium before the Tony's bars leave for our stores. Chocolate is not just chocolate anymore. Addictively delicious.

Raging Reporter Sietske