Growing Bananas in Brazil’s ‘Forest’

I. A Journey Starting with Bananas

This mirrors my work at a mixed agroforestry farm in Brazil: in this high-density system where different crops are interplanted, it is not enough to understand the plants themselves; one must also have a profound sense of where a particular plant fits within the entire ecosystem. Understanding these plant dynamics has added a great deal of joy to my work, and I often find myself immersed in wonder at the natural world.

My interest in ecological agriculture stems partly from themes I explored during my postgraduate studies in philosophy, such as colonialism, capitalism, lifestyle, and the meaning of life. It is also because ecological agriculture satisfies me on a practical level—it ensures plenty of exercise and a healthy diet. After nearly a year of travelling through farms in Kenya, Tanzania, South Africa, and Brazil, I have now come to Yunnan, hoping to put the knowledge and skills I have acquired into practice on Chinese soil.

II. The Banana Grove: From Farm to Forest

Louis was my second farm host in Brazil. His farm is located in a small village on the edge of the Atlantic Rainforest in the state of Paraná. This tropical rainforest, situated in the southeast near the borders of Argentina and Uruguay, is one of the most species-rich regions in the world, though its ecology was severely damaged by the large-scale monocultures of the colonial era. After taking over this century-old farm from his grandfather, Louis spent sixteen years gradually transforming what was once a banana plantation into a mixed agroforestry farm. Naturally, bananas became a key crop here.

The specific form of agroforestry he practises is known as Syntropic Agroforestry. This is an ecological restoration-led intercropping method that mimics the succession process of a natural forest through multi-layered planting. Such traditional planting wisdom exists in many regions, including among the indigenous peoples of the Americas and in southwestern China. In recent decades, scientists have begun to investigate and uncover these traditional models, which run counter to the logic of industrial agriculture but are both ecologically sound and highly productive. By validating and refining these methods scientifically, they have inspired many farmers to change their course.

On the second morning after arriving at Louis’s farm, we strapped on our machetes, loaded our tools into a wheelbarrow, and prepared to head deep into the woods to work.

When people hear the word “farm”, they naturally think of vast monocultures of wheat or maize, but the scene here was entirely different. Passing through the small wooden cabin Louis spent seven years building, we entered the farm through a gateway filled with fantastical plants, flanked by century-old trees. Tropical flora crowded in from both sides as we walked, clear streams murmured past us, and birds, butterflies, and flowers flickered by, as if guiding our way.

As we reached the entrance of the first planting area, the view suddenly opened up. Giant banana leaves and a staggered array of tropical plants came into view; dew-drenched wild grass brushed against my calves, and countless insects hovered in the humid air. I felt myself tightly enveloped by the lush greenery of the rainforest.

This was the first time I had truly seen what a mature mixed agroforestry system looks like. Between banana trees over three metres tall were cocoa seedlings reaching my calves, waist-high turmeric and taro leaves, and Mexican sunflowers that reached as high as my head.

The broad leaves of the banana trees provide shade for the cocoa or coffee, and the pruned leaves and stems provide a cover for the soil surface, suppressing weeds, maintaining soil moisture, and returning nutrients to the topsoil. Turmeric helps repel pests, while its leaves, along with those of the taro, help keep the soil warm and moist. The Mexican sunflower is a common “service plant”, used for “chop and drop” to become green manure, providing nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium.

The farm also contains planting areas at various stages—sixteen, ten, five, three, one year, and even a few months—growing diverse crops such as coffee, avocado, papaya, orange, and cajamanga… I felt incredibly fortunate to see the various stages of a mixed agroforestry farm in one place. The initial stage is essentially a mixed vegetable garden, called a horta in Portuguese. The three- and five-year-old banana groves were already stunning enough, but in the groves ten years or older, if one does not look closely at the rows of fruit trees (called *canteiros* in Portuguese), it is almost impossible to tell that it is a human-cultivated woodland.

When it rains, one can see five or six different species of colourful birds seeking shelter under a single coffee tree. These native plants and animals (marmosets, frogs, lizards, a vast array of wild birds, bees, butterflies…) together form a complex and diverse ecological environment that assists in pollination and pest control. Their droppings fertilise the land, making the vegetation healthier and more resilient.

Louis told me that when walking through a mixed agroforestry farm, your eyes and hands must always be observing and on standby.

First comes the cleaning of the banana leaves. For leaves that have turned yellow, we cut them down along the midrib, then slice and chop the leaves on either side along the stem. Leaves that have already drooped, rotted, and softened are harder to cut; these must be sliced away patiently, otherwise, the rotten sap will splatter from the softened stem, leaving brown stains on your clothes that refuse to fade.

Beyond the leaves, the entire banana stem is also cut down. In fact, bananas are herbaceous plants; the “trunk” of every banana “tree” we see is actually a series of leaves wrapped tightly together (a “pseudo-stem”). Once a plant has borne fruit, it will not produce again. Therefore, at harvest time, we cut the whole plant down to be used as mulch and green manure.

This is work that tests both technique and physical strength. When “felling” a banana tree, one must first control the direction of the fall to avoid damaging surrounding plants. Louis showed me how to cut a triangle into the middle of the stem; by pushing the upper half of the trunk, it will naturally and slowly lean towards the gap, ensuring that the bunch of bananas hanging from the tree does not smash violently onto the ground.

Once the stem has fallen, we clip off the yellow, ripe fruit for eating, leaving behind the unripe green bananas. The flowers on the fruit bunch serve as a nectar source for hummingbirds before they are removed, after which they become a staple in Brazilian stews.

Dealing with the lower half of the trunk is the most strenuous part: the cut must be as close to the root as possible to ensure no new shoots emerge, and the surface should be shaped like a bowl. This allows water to collect at the ‘bottom’ of the bowl, preventing stem borers from entering the rhizome and infecting other plants. We watched and learned Louis’s technique: first, plunge the machete into the centre of the trunk, then make 45-degree cuts upwards to the left and right; repeat the process on the reverse side, and then push the trunk over, naturally creating a bowl-shaped cut.

The felled leaves and trunks make excellent mulch; they suppress weeds and decompose quickly, returning nutrients to the soil. Sometimes the trunks are too thick, so they need to be split in half after being cut down. This speeds up decomposition and prevents them from rolling and crushing the saplings.

The other volunteers and I used our machetes with great caution, terrified of accidentally injuring ourselves. We would make an initial cut in the middle of the cross-section, then hold the handle in one hand and press the tip with a foot, sliding it down in a somewhat clumsy attempt to segment the trunk. Louis, however, was like a seasoned warrior; with a series of precise strikes exactly along the centre line, he split the trunk in two with ease.

Finally, to ensure the bananas grow healthily and receive enough nutrients, we have to remove ‘excess’ shoots—a process known as thinning. This is because banana plants typically grow as ‘families’ sharing a single rhizome, which is the banana’s true stem. Although the cycle from growth to harvest is usually a year, new shoots typically emerge from the sides of the rhizome every six months. Brazilians affectionately call this shared rhizome the ‘cradle’ (*berço*), naming the shoots ‘grandfather’, ‘father’, ‘son’, and ‘grandson’ based on the order of their growth. When thinning, we select the healthiest plant across three generations within each ‘family’ and remove the relatively weaker ones.

This is one of my favourite tasks. Unlike other simple, repetitive manual labour, thinning out seedlings requires a nuanced understanding of each plant’s vitality. Is this sapling firmly rooted? Are its leaves upright enough? Is it positioned to receive sufficient sunlight? Will it be easy to harvest or remove once mature? Is it providing shelter for shade-loving plants, or is it stealing sunlight from others? This kind of work demands full engagement of both the senses and the mind; in a way, it requires empathising with the plant before you. Although plants cannot speak, through the care of pruning and thinning, I feel I am communicating with them in a more direct and subtle manner. It brings a sense of intimacy.

In a setting of such rich biodiversity, and having come to understand the various forms of life and the relationships between them, I feel more deeply that “I” exist as part of nature—bearing a responsibility within this environment (hardly different from a bee, in some respects)—rather than as a master, commanding and berating other living beings.

IV. A Surprising Variety of Bananas

Seedling cultivation, fertilising, and forest management all require immense effort. A bountiful harvest is the finest reward for a farmer’s hard work.

In Louis’s woodland, the bananas hang from the bunches, large and plump, looking as if they are eager to leap from the tree.

Animals are always more attuned to the scent of fruit than humans. Some split-skinned bananas have already been claimed by marmosets, birds, and insects. Sharing food with animals is part of farm life; it is their “earnings” for the contribution they make to the forest ecosystem.

I have slowly fallen in love with this fruit. There are nearly twenty varieties of banana in Louis’s grove. My two favourites are the Golden banana (Ouro), with small fruits and a sweet aroma that feels like a slow-burning fluorescence lighting up the mouth; and the Silver banana (Prata), which is elongated, with a distinctive tangy fragrance that glides down the throat upon chewing; its complex flavour profile is like passing through a winding tunnel.

There are also apple bananas (Maçã), Nance bananas (Nancia), plantains (Banana da Terra), and more, with each variety further divisible into several sub-types. It is said that there are over a thousand distinct varieties of banana worldwide!

Plantains serve as a staple food in Africa and Brazil. The plantains I saw in Kenyan supermarkets were as long as a forearm. If you think you’ve found a bargain and eat one raw, your expression will likely be as bitter as mine was then. Unlike common dessert bananas, this crop—known as *matoke* in Swahili—is commonly stewed as a staple in East Africa, tasting much like a potato.

In Brazil, while plantains are slightly astringent and have a floury texture, they are sweeter. They are typically pan-fried in butter and sprinkled with Farofa (a common Brazilian toasted cassava flour), served as breakfast or dessert. On Louis’s farm, bananas are also made into a more shelf-stable canned syrup—called *banamel*, a banana honey—used for spreading on bread or mixing with water. Elsewhere, bananas are processed into cakes, dried fruit, and fruit wines.

Beyond the rich, sweet taste, they offer a fresh perspective: the cultivated bananas, bred from the original hybridisation of wild species, now feed approximately 500 million people.

V. Next Stop: Yunnan

From consumption to cultivation, bananas are no longer just a commonplace commodity to me. I have begun to take an interest in their varieties, origins, growth conditions, and culinary uses. Similarly, “imported goods” such as coffee, cocoa, avocado, and acai—which travel vast oceans—suddenly became tangible lives before my eyes on the farms of Africa and Brazil, inextricably linked to the land they grow in and the people who work it. This has led me to reflect: what histories and journeys have the fruits and vegetables of my daily life undergone before arriving in front of me?

Carrying these reflections, along with the insights gained from my year-long ecological farming journey through Africa and Brazil, I have just returned to Yunnan. I intend to gather more young people to work together on agroecology, sustainable architecture, and nature communication.

Author for Foodthink

Zhang Zhiwei

Focuses on smallholder farming practices in the Global South, climate change, and youth action. Currently studying and practising agroforestry.

 

 

 

Unless otherwise noted, images in this article are provided by the author

Editor: Pei Dan