Growing Bananas in Brazil’s ‘Forest’

I. A Journey That Began with Bananas

This parallels my work on agroforestry farms in Brazil: in these high-density, multi-crop systems, you cannot simply understand the plants themselves; you must also develop a profound sense of where each species fits within the wider ecosystem. Grasping these botanical dynamics has brought immense pleasure to my work, leaving me constantly awestruck by nature.

My interest in agroecology is rooted in both intellectual curiosity and personal fulfilment. It connects directly to the themes I explored during my postgraduate philosophy studies—colonialism, capitalism, lifestyle, and the meaning of life. On a practical level, it offers a deeply satisfying way of living, guaranteeing ample physical activity and nutritious food. After nearly a year travelling through farms in Kenya, Tanzania, South Africa, and Brazil, I’ve now arrived in Yunnan, keen to apply what I’ve learned to the land here in China.

II. The Banana Orchard That Became a Forest

Louis was my second host farmer in Brazil. His property sits in a small village on the edge of the Atlantic Rainforest in Paraná state. Stretching across the southeast near the borders of Argentina and Uruguay, this tract of rainforest is among the most biodiverse regions on the planet. Its ecology, however, was severely degraded during the colonial period by widespread monoculture farming. After inheriting this century-old estate from his grandfather, Louis spent sixteen years gradually transforming the old banana plantation into an agroforestry farm. Bananas naturally took their place as a keystone crop.

The agroforestry approach he employs is formally known as Syntropic Agroforestry. It is an ecologically restorative polyculture system that mimics natural forest succession through multi-layered planting. Such traditional cultivation wisdom is found in many regions, from Indigenous communities across the Americas to south-west China. Over the past few decades, scientists have begun to study and refine this traditional model. Though it runs entirely counter to the logic of industrialised agriculture, it proves both ecologically sound and highly productive. By validating and improving these methods through scientific research, they have inspired many farmers to change course and steer away from conventional practices.

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

While the word ‘farm’ typically conjures images of vast monocultures of wheat or maize, the sight here is entirely different. Beyond the wooden cabin Louis spent seven years constructing, the entrance is lined with plants of an almost magical quality, flanked by centuries-old trees. Along the path, tropical foliage closes in from either side, a clear stream babbles past, and birds, blossoms, and butterflies dart between the trunks, playfully guiding us forward.

Reaching the entrance to the first cultivated zone, the landscape suddenly opened up. Towering banana leaves and a staggered array of tropical flora filled my sight. Dew-laden undergrowth brushed against my calves, while countless mosquitoes and gnats hovered in the humid air. I felt completely enveloped by the rainforest’s dense canopy of green.

It was my first time witnessing a fully established agroforestry system in person. Between the three-metre-tall banana trees stood cocoa seedlings reaching my calves, waist-high turmeric and taro foliage, and stalks of Mexican sunflowers that towered up to my head.

The banana trees’ broad leaves offer shade for the cocoa or coffee crops, while pruned fronds and trunks form a protective mulch over the topsoil, suppressing weeds, retaining moisture, and cycling nutrients back into the earth. Turmeric acts as a natural pest repellent, while its foliage, alongside that of the taro, helps insulate and keep the soil damp. The Mexican sunflowers serve as common ‘service plants’; they are periodically “chopped and dropped” to form green manure, steadily replenishing nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium.

The farm also features planting areas at various stages of development: sixteen years, ten years, five years, three years, one year, and just a few months old. These plots cultivate a range of crops including coffee, avocados, papayas, oranges, and Pacific star apples (cajamanga)… I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to witness an agroforestry farm at every stage of its lifecycle, all in one location. The initial phase is essentially a polyculture kitchen garden, known in Portuguese as horta. The three-year and five-year banana groves are already deeply impressive. As for the plots that have been established for ten years or more, unless you look closely at the rows of fruit trees planted between the larger trees (called canteiro in Portuguese), you would hardly realise it is a cultivated woodland.

When it rains, you can spot five or six different bird species sheltering under just a single coffee tree. These native plants and animals (woolly monkeys, frogs, lizards, abundant wild birds, bees, butterflies…) together form a complex, diverse ecosystem. They assist with pollination and pest control, while their droppings enrich the soil, fostering healthier and more resilient vegetation growth.

Louis told me that when walking through a mixed-forest farm, your eyes and hands must always be on the lookout and ready for action.

The first task is clearing the banana leaves. For those that have already yellowed, we cut them away along the midrib, then slice off and chop the leaf blades on either side of the petiole. Leaves that have drooped, rotted and softened are harder to detach; they must be cut away with patience, otherwise the rotting juices will splatter from the mushy petiole, leaving stubborn brown stains on your clothes.

Along with the leaves, the entire banana “trunk” is also cut down. In fact, the banana is an herbaceous plant. The “trunk” of every banana “tree” we see is actually layers upon layers of leaves tightly wrapped together (a “pseudostem”). Once the fruit has been harvested, this plant will bear no more. Therefore, at harvest time, we fell it completely to use as mulch and green manure.

This is work that demands both skill and physical stamina. To “fell” a banana tree, you first need to control the direction of its fall to avoid damaging surrounding plants. Louis showed me how to cut a triangular wedge out of the trunk’s mid-section. By gently pushing the upper half, it will naturally and slowly tip towards the cut, ensuring the hanging bunches do not crash down violently onto the ground.

Once the trunk has fallen, we harvest the yellowed, ripe fruits for eating, leaving the unripe green bananas behind. The flower at the base of the bunch serves as a nectar source for hummingbirds while still attached; once removed, it becomes an ingredient in Brazilian stews.

Handling the lower section of the trunk is the most labour-intensive task: the cut must be made as close to the base as possible to prevent any new suckers from sprouting, and the cut surface should be shaped into a shallow bowl. This allows water to collect in the “base” of the bowl, preventing stem borers from entering the rhizome and spreading infection to neighbouring plants. We watched Louis work to learn his method: he first slots the flat of the machete into the centre of the trunk, then slices outwards at 45-degree angles to the upper left and right. He repeats the same cuts on the other side before levering the trunk down, which naturally forms the cut surface into a bowl shape.

The felled leaves and trunks make excellent mulch: they suppress weeds, decompose rapidly, and return nutrients to the soil. On occasion, the trunks are too thick and need to be split lengthwise after being cut down. Doing so not only accelerates breakdown when used as ground cover but also stops them from rolling and crushing any young saplings.

My fellow volunteers and I wielded the machetes with extreme caution, wary of accidentally injuring ourselves. We’d begin with a tentative strike at the centre of the stump, then grip the handle, brace the blade tip with a boot, and let it drag down the wood, awkwardly halving the trunk. Louis, meanwhile, moved with the confidence of a seasoned hand, landing a series of rapid, precise blows along the central line that split the trunk cleanly in two.

Finally, to guarantee healthy growth and sufficient nutrient intake, we also need to remove “excess” shoots, a practice known as thinning. Banana plants typically grow in “families”, all sharing a single rhizome— which is, in fact, the plant’s true stem. Although the crop cycle from planting to harvest generally spans about a year, new shoots will sprout from the sides of the rhizome roughly every six months. Brazilians affectionately call this interconnected rhizome system the “cradle” (berço) and name the connected plants according to their order of emergence: “grandfather”, “father”, “son”, “grandson”, and so forth. During thinning, we aim to keep the strongest, best-positioned plant from each generation within a “family”, chopping away the weaker specimens.

This is one of my favourite tasks.Unlike other simple, repetitive manual labour, each session of thinning requires a precise understanding of the plants’ condition.Is the seedling firmly rooted? Are its leaves standing tall and vigorous? Will its position allow it to catch enough sunlight? Once it matures, will it be straightforward to harvest and eventually clear out? Is it sheltering shade-loving plants, or competing with neighbours for light?This work calls upon all the senses and the mind, and to some extent, requires putting oneself in the plant’s shoes. Though plants cannot speak, through the careful tending of pruning and thinning, I sense a more direct and nuanced dialogue with them. It gives me a deep sense of connection.

In a landscape so rich in biodiversity, and having come to understand the myriad lives around me and how they intertwine, I feel ever more clearly that I belong to nature—carrying out a duty within this ecosystem (in some ways, not unlike a bee)—rather than existing as a master, commanding and driving other living things.

IV. So There Are So Many Varieties of Banana

Raising seedlings, fertilising the soil, and managing the forest understory all demand considerable effort. A bountiful harvest is the fruit trees’ finest reward for the farmer’s toil.

In Louis’s woodland, bananas hang heavy and plump on their stalks, clusters so full they seem eager to leap from the branches.

Animals are invariably more attuned to the scent of ripening fruit than we are. A few bananas that have split their skins have already been claimed by woolly monkeys, birds, and insects. Sharing food with wildlife is simply part of farm life—a fair reward for the work they do sustaining the woodland ecosystem.

I have gradually come to love this fruit. Louis’s grove cultivates nearly two dozen varieties of banana. Among them, my two favourites are the Ouro (gold banana), with its short, plump fruit and a sweet fragrance that blooms across the palate like a slow glow; and the Prata (silver banana), elongated and slender, offering a distinctive tart aroma that slides down the throat, its complex flavours unfolding like a journey through a winding tunnel.

Then there are the Maçã (apple banana), Nancia (dwarf banana), Banana da Terra (plantain), and many more. Each of these can be subdivided into numerous cultivars, with some saying there are over a thousand distinct banana varieties worldwide.

In Africa and Brazil, the “Banana da Terra” serves as a staple food. The ones I spotted in a Kenyan supermarket were as long as a forearm. If you were to assume you’d found a bargain and tried to eat one raw, your expression would likely be as bitter as mine was. Unlike familiar dessert bananas, this crop—known as matoke in Swahili—is commonly boiled or stewed as a staple in East Africa, with a texture and taste not unlike a potato.

In Brazil, however, the “Banana da Terra” is less starchy and more naturally sweet. It is typically pan-fried in butter and dusted with Farofa (a common Brazilian toasted cassava flour), served as a breakfast dish or a dessert. At Louis’s farm, bananas are also processed into a shelf-stable canned syrup known as banamel—banana honey—used as a spread for bread or a drink mix. Elsewhere, they are made into convenient fruit bars, dried snacks, and fruit wines.

Beyond their rich, sweet flavour, they offer an entirely new perspective: the cultivated bananas born from early human cross-breeding of wild species are now feeding roughly 500 million people.

5. Next Stop: Yunnan

From consumption to cultivation, bananas are no longer just an everyday commodity to me. I have begun to pay close attention to their varieties, origins, growing conditions, and how they are prepared. Likewise, coffee, cacao, avocados, and açai berries—once mere imported “foreign goods” traversing oceans—have suddenly taken on a tangible life in the farms of Africa and Brazil, inextricably linked to the land they grow in and the people who tend it. This inevitably prompts reflection: what history and journey does each fruit, vegetable, or flower on our daily plates undergo before reaching us?

Armed with these reflections and the insights gained from a year of travelling through ecological farms in Africa and Brazil, I have recently returned to Yunnan. I plan to bring together more young people to work on agroecology, sustainable building, and environmental communication.

Foodthink Author

Zhang Zhiwei

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

 

 

 

Unless otherwise stated, all images in this article are provided by the author.

Edited by: Pei Dan