Tagua is a common sight in Ecuador’s tourist markets, turned into jewelry and trinkets, but few know the care —and danger— that goes into collecting the seeds.
The bulbous “mococha”, or palm fruit, overladen with its precious seeds, looks like a pregnant belly ready to pop. When the cord is cut on this purse full of enormous natural wealth, severing it from the base of the tree’s leaves, twenty or so of its seeds fall to the tropical forest floor. The oval grains, which some have nicknamed “white gold,” at one time a tightly-guarded treasure, lie in wait to be collected.
They say those who cut the mococha from the tree before it is ready, put the mother palm’s natural processes at risk, and the tree will be lost forever. There is some truth in the legend; farmers know now that if a tree is disturbed before it is ready, the resentful palm stays infertile for two to four years before producing the amount of fruit it normally does if it is left in peace.
Patience is one of the tree’s greatest lessons to humanity
The tagua industry dates back to pre-agricultural times, an ancient gatherer task in remote rainforests, which few know about, or participate in today. As modern and high-tech as our societies might seem, no businessman, scientist or farmer has ever tamed the ivory palm; great plantations do not exist. The tree gives what it wants to give. That’s what Francisco Luna and Sandra Dirani, owners of Trafino, the most important tagua exporter in the world, taught us. The only formula to increase production in the industry is to conserve and fortify the forests in Manabi, in the hope the tree feels at home, and has the right conditions to prosper.
While tagua is native to all South American equatorial regions, the trees that produce the largest nuts are endemic to Ecuador. The real interest in tagua’s profitability started in the 19th century, when some Germans living in the South American nation moved to live in the tangled mess of the jungles of Manabi and Esmeraldas to collect the seeds —avoiding the venomous snakes on the forest floor— and sell them as a new material for Italy’s button industry. They sliced the seeds with serrated blades and exported them to Germany, where factories cut them into disks before sending them to Italy to be worked into buttons. The origin of the raw material was a secret the Germans managed to keep for many years. The Italians assumed it was from Africa, but as soon as they found out the truth they hot-footed it to Ecuador, installed their own factories and slashed their production costs.
The invention of plastic in the last century considerably diminished tagua’s value. Few persist with the arduous business, which demands great conscientiousness from those who participate in it. It’s an industry that requires understanding of conservation and environmental care for the trees, and a spirit of sustainability must be inspired in the communities the gatherers come from. There is still a demand for tagua from those who appreciate the beauty, durability and quality of this organic ivory, but those who buy it should know about the people who risk their lives in the tangle of the jungle, with the venomous snakes, to fulfill the niche demand.
