SOURCE: Onz Chéry, Haitian Times
Djimy Saintil will never forget the night he cried over his ruined papaya plantation in Caracol, a village about 20 miles southeast of Cap-Haïtien. It was a day in May two years ago, a day when the agronomist should have been harvesting the plump yellowy-orange fruit on the 2-acre field.
Instead, dessicated browned leaves faced down from the papaya trees, shriveled and facing downward after a swarm of diseased flies infected nearly 50 percent of Saintil’s crop. Saintil, 30 years old at the time, held back the tears as his team went from tree to tree to assess the damage, picking off the unripe green fruits still worth salvaging. He held the tears back while applying fertilizer and calculating the financial toll — about $3,800 worth of fruit salvaged instead of the $22,800 he had forecasted.
When Saintil arrived home, the tears would no longer be denied.
“Even though I fought not to cry so my wife would not see, the tears said to give them room to pass,” Saintil said. “I let loose. I cried.”
Papaya is among the most beloved of fruits Haitians consume in beverages and dishes across the country — when they can find it, that is. Saintil and other papaya growers say the fruit requires considerably more care to cultivate than other common foods. For starters, planters must find the appropriate seeds that can sprout, which are very expensive. Once planted, insects and viruses often attack papaya plantations, requiring professional care to eradicate or rehabilitate the trees.
As a result, Haiti produced only 28,600 tons of papaya in 2022, according to the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO). By comparison, sugarcane topped the list of the 20 plants most produced in Haiti in 2022, at about 1.4 million tons. Cassava’s 650,000 tons is the second most produced and the 320,000 tons of mangoes grown ranks third.
A growing headache
Wilfrid Sinclus, an agronomist who had a papaya plantation in Saint Raphaël, knows the growing struggle well. Two years ago, rotten papayas from his plantation were falling off the trees. He was so stressed over $3,800 in produce that rot, he said his hair began falling out.
“I’m bald now,” Sinclus said, as he sat on the grass in Place Carénage last summer. “I lost my hair because of the difficulties I faced from [growing] papayas in 2017 and 2019.”
Still, Sinclus remains in the papaya business even after having to halt operations in 2023 after incurring too many losses. Through his company, Flore Aï-ti Enterprise, Sinclus sells Papaye Maradona F1, which are bags of seeds and papayas. He provides technical assistance to customers who buy Papaye Maradona F1 to keep the fruit growing. Sinclus’ devotion to papaya earned him the nickname, Nèg Papay La, Creole for ‘The Papaya Guy.’
“A lot of people love ji papay, a lot of people love legim papay, so there’s good money in papaya that caught my attention,” Sinclus explained recently. “It struck my curiosity as a businessman.”
Replacements won’t do
All over Haiti, hotels, bars and restaurants purchase papayas to make ji papay. The madan sara, street vendors, often buy in bulk to sell in fruit cups or to re-sell to others such as local establishments.
Saintil, the Caracol-based agronomist, mainly sells his papayas to the madan saras. With more than 1,500 papaya trees, if everything goes well during harvest, Saintil should earn more than $22,500 every eight to 12 months— at $15 to $23 per tree. The madan saras then re-sell each papaya for about $4.
Faine Saint-Prévil, a madan sara, began selling papayas imported from the Dominican Republic because she had trouble finding papay peyi, or the homegrown papayas. Saint-Prévil, 46, struggles to sell the Dominican fruit since residents prefer papay peyi. She’s lowered her price for them to $1.
As she peeled green beans at the outdoor market in downtown Cap-Haïtien last year, Prévil explained her resignation. “That’s the kind of papayas I have to sell, since I can’t find papay peyi,” she said.
‘Let’s value our own’
When papay peyi are available, Mickerlange Pierre, a bodybuilding aficionado, is among the most loyal customers in town. He grew up blending papayas with milk and sugar, then adding salt then ice to the fluffy, peach-hued smoothie. He makes the blend, passed down from his parents, for his daughters.
After the virus caused a papaya shortage in 2022, Pierre spent 14 months not tasting the papaya drink. Then, finally in September 2024, he stood in his living room in the Fort Saint Michel neighborhood, a glass full of ji papay in hand. He sat down, took a quick sip, then rested the glass on a dumbbell nearby.
“Papayas never went bad in my house,” Pierre said, his voice lowering. “Today, I’m feeling a little pumped from drinking it again.”
These days, Pierre is also thinking about selling papayas as a business.
“Let’s value what we have,” Saintil said. “Instead of buying what the Dominican Republic produces, say you’re going to produce it yourself.”