Women for food sovereignty

A group of female producers from Terebinto who sell the fruits they grow and harvest in the city, organized themselves in 2018 as a cooperative with the support of Casa de la Mujer.

By: Maria Paola Zuluaga

For over thirty years, residents of the Terebinto canton, in the municipality of Porongo, have traveled to Santa Cruz de la Sierra to sell their fruits and vegetables. When it all began, a few men would come in oxcarts, taking a whole day to reach the city. They would sleep wherever they could and then get up early the next morning to sell their fruit.

Then the women joined in and now they are the ones who shoulder bundles of tangerines, lemons, *achachairú, bananas or plantains – depending on the season – take public transport and arrive in the city to sell their products right next to Casa de la Mujer.

With the aim of organizing themselves to improve their situation as informal vendors, they approached the institution for support and guidance. This led to the planning of workshops on food security and sovereignty linked to their rights as women. And with expert advice, they formed the Terebinto Women Citrus Producers Cooperative, comprised of more than thirty women and three men.

Casa de la Mujer supports and advises the organization process, because as Miriam Suárez explains, "what these women are doing is building their own economic autonomy and therefore cutting that umbilical cord between economic dependence and the violence that is exercised against women."

During the meetings as a cooperative, topics such as joint production and purchase of supplies, agreements and consensus on prices to maintain a balance between the cost of production and profits have been discussed.

*Achachairú: is a fruit that grows naturally only in the alluvial plains region of Bolivia.

For the past year, some women from Terebinto and other nearby communities have been coming to Casa de la Mujer (Women's Center) with concerns about the decline in their crops and water sources. According to Miriam Suárez, they suspected that as luxury homes proliferated in the area—"Turquoise Pools, I don't know what beach, Urubó Golf Course, etc."—their communities' agricultural production was being affected.

The first workshops covered the environment, solid waste management, composting, and water conservation. They also began discussing the situation of women, leading to questions such as: how much time do they invest in citrus production, and what is their role in the production chain, from planting the seed to harvesting and selling the fruit?

“In these initial workshops,” the director explains, “we saw how these women, quietly and effectively, were ensuring that the diet in Santa Cruz had a diverse range of foods and access to essential plant-based nutrients.” This highlights the connection between their initiative and food security and sovereignty.

What is food security and sovereignty?

Food security, according to the definition given by the World Food Summit (1996), “is achieved when people, at all times, have physical and economic access to safe and nutritious food to meet their dietary needs and food preferences for an active and healthy life.”

For its part, food sovereignty, according to the Nyéléni Declaration, Mali 2007, “is the right of peoples to nutritious and culturally appropriate food, accessible, produced sustainably and ecologically, and their right to decide their own food and production system (…). Food sovereignty implies new social relations free from oppression and inequalities between men and women, peoples, racial groups, social classes and generations.”

Meetings in the field

It's Saturday at 9 a.m. in Terebinto, and there's a cooperative meeting. Miriam feels tired and a little under the weather, but her commitment to the women is unwavering. The shared taxi takes about 45 minutes to arrive. Instead of engines, in Terebinto, you only hear roosters, dogs, and birds. The air is light, and the sun is gentle. Children are playing next to the booth where the meeting will be held. Several women are already seated. After a while of chatting, Miriam begins the meeting.

- Teresa, shall we begin? – he asks the president of the Cooperative.

"That's what I'm saying," one of the women is heard saying to a colleague, "but if they're at work, that can't be..."

"I'm going to take attendance," Teresa says. "Who's here?"

"Oh, she's going to issue a fine," Miriam says. "No one's going to come after your fines, Teresa." The other women laugh.

"They come for the fines, doctor," Teresa replies calmly and firmly. "If there are no fines, they don't come."

The issue remains open for discussion, as not everyone agrees, and the meeting begins.

What the associates say

Teresa Soto (President of the Cooperative)

At the beginning of the year we start with achachairú, from December to February, then we sell bananas, yucca, and lemons; when they're available. Then in June or May we start with oranges, tangerines, limes, and lemons; we sell all of that. If there's papaya, we get it too.

We don't produce much here; we produce for our own consumption. We plant seasonally. Sometimes we plant rice, cassava, peanuts, corn, and sometimes coffee. After harvesting rice, we plant vegetables like tomatoes and onions, and that's enough for us to eat.

It's tough, but we're used to it now. At first, the mayor's office wouldn't let us; they kept chasing us around. Some of my colleagues even had their fruit taken away.

Years ago, we used to give away 100 tangerines for 2 bolivianos at the market, and as we've already said, it's better to go from the producer to the consumer, without intermediaries.

Maribel Vásquez (accountant for the Cooperative)

I think the cooperative is great because it's a help; it's good that we have this group so we can support each other. We'd like to keep going, plant more plants, and have more crops to sell.

We started years ago, three or four of us; many of the women here now are new. Back then, that was just a sandy area where we sell now. Uh… how many years ago was that, about twenty or thirty years.

We had a nephew who went around with his cart, and we'd set up there to sell things. We sold achachairú—no, I'm lying, it was plantains, bananas, and oranges; achachairú wasn't sold, it just ripened on the plant. And the market was all wooden. And that's how things settled down; they moved us to a different side, and then we'd go there every now and then, and so on.

Before, there were no buses or anything; you had to go one day and come back the next. We slept next to the cart, or those who had families would go to rest and return early to sell.

Now I have tangerines, or if I don't have any, I buy them from someone here and go sell them there. When there's a harvest here, we go; if there's nothing, we don't go. The doctor recommends that we go, even if it's just to sell lemons.

We've worked hard at the Mayor's office with Doña Teresa, and Doña Miriam supports us so they don't kick us out. She continues to defend us. I make a living selling fruit and bread, and I also pick tamarinds and things like that; the point is to do something.

Valeriana Sulca Cruz

I've been selling for a long time; nobody was selling before. We come from Santa Fe de Amoró; it's far away. I can't tell you the exact distance in kilometers; it's a four-hour walk, or an hour by motorcycle.

I've done what I can on my own; nobody helps me. I like the cooperative, but I don't like the fines they've imposed, and since I live far away, it's not convenient for me... that's all.

My husband keeps telling me to "stop doing that nonsense," but I like it. My foot hurts and I have to come by motorbike, but if they charge, I might not be able to stand it. Besides... I like being in meetings; you learn things there.

Damiana Delgado Ochoa

I really enjoy this because you learn and share experiences. I've always liked being involved in organizations, I like working with children, and if I have even a little something, I like to share it.

I'm a honey producer, but I don't sell in Santa Cruz, only here at fairs, or when the Chinese come. I make propolis, I package the honey. I've never gone where my colleagues go. What I produce, I give to them to sell: oranges, tangerines, bananas, plantains. They come and look for me, saying, "What do you have? I have this, can I sell it to you?"

The women suffer a lot, the winds come, the rains come… what can you do, you have to endure that, because you have to provide for your children, because if you don't work, there's nothing… that's the thing.

It depends on whether husbands understand you. Some husbands are sexist; they don't support you and won't even let you come to meetings. I know many like that. Thank God my husband supports me.

I'm going to sell in Santa Cruz; I buy from my friend. I have my plants, but they're not producing yet, they're still small, so I buy and sell them; I like doing that.

I think the Cooperative is great because they help us, they support us, because we are poor people, it's very difficult for us to go to Santa Cruz, we don't have roads, you've seen it. We have a straight road, but they don't even bother to fix it, they just run the grader over it.

You have to pay 15 pesos per trip, and 10 pesos for each basket.

I see some changes in production, especially in bananas; less is being produced, the plant started getting sick, it was growing and poof! it's already bent over, it falls without producing, the work is in vain because nothing useful can be obtained.

Wilfredo and the Story of Sales: Wilfredo's wife was one of the first to organize with her colleagues, as she was also a saleswoman. She recently passed away, and as a tribute, Wilfredo wanted to take her place in the cooperative. He tells the story of how it all began.

We were the ones who founded that stall there, me, Mr. Zacarías, and Tuqui. The three of us were the first to arrive there by cart, back when that little market was made of wood, all its stalls were made of wood, and that avenue was a sandy stretch all the way to the Plaza 3 de Mayo, and even further down, we'd go all the way there by cart. We'd leave from here early in the morning and go to a certain spot in the pampa, we'd cook there, rest for a while while the oxen rested, then we'd continue on and by late afternoon we'd be back there. We'd stay all day, and we'd sleep there, like they say, like dogs under their cart (laughs with her friend).

Then they took us out of there; that's how it's been, fighting on one side and on the other. From there they put us at the front of the fair between the Third Ring Road and Roca Coronado. That's where the line of carts was; we spent ages there. Then we went back to where the Women's Center is now.

After we had enough to go, they started robbing people on the pampa, stealing their oxen. Later, there were about thirty of us, almost all of us had carts. When someone went out alone, they'd get robbed, so we stopped. Several of us would get together and go straight to the market in the afternoon; we didn't rest anymore, or sometimes we'd go to sleep and get up early the next day.

As the years passed, those of us who could afford it bought our own transportation and, as they say, we were going to give things away at the market, because what you take to the market is like giving something away; you never get paid your fair price.

Now I'm not going to sell anything, I sell everything to my godmother or other ladies.

I like the organization; I've always been involved in organizations, but not in cooperatives. I manage my own money, I live peacefully, although I complain sometimes, that's just how I live.

While the cooperative doesn't yet have a feminist focus, the idea is that over time, through training, the women will learn not only about food sovereignty but also about gender issues. According to Miriam Suárez, it's a long process, but it's progressing very well.

Teresa Soto, the president, has demonstrated leadership skills and has participated in several discussions at Casa de la Mujer (Women's Center). She also traveled by plane for the first time this year to meet in La Paz with other Bolivian women working on food security and sovereignty.