Let's imagine something together.
A farmer wakes before the sun.
They climb the mountain, not for ceremony, but for labor.
They’ve been tending cacao trees for months: nurturing soil, watching for pests, managing water and weather, reading the language of the land. And now, it’s time.
They harvest the pods—one by one, by hand, with a machete they sharpen themselves. They gather them into a pile. Split each pod open, again by hand, revealing the sticky pulp and seeds inside.
They scoop the cacao—seed by seed—into a new pile. When enough is gathered, they carry the harvest, on foot, to the fermentation site. If they’re lucky, there are wooden boxes. If not, it’s a tarp. A barrel. A pile in the shade.
Fermentation begins. This isn’t automation. This is attention.
The farmer tends it—turning, checking, feeling. Reading pH with the fingertips. Measuring readiness by smell, texture, temperature. This goes on for days. Miss the window, and it’s ruined. Hit it right, and something beautiful is born.
Then comes drying. In the sun. In the rain. Covered and uncovered, turned again and again by hand.
More days pass. The pressure builds. If the beans mold, it’s over.
If they dry unevenly, they’re rejected. If they dry too fast, the flavor’s flat.
And yet, if the beans are perfect, they’re bagged and sent off… not to celebration, but to a price that was decided long ago, without the farmer in the room.
All of this, for $1.00 to $1.50 per day.
That’s the daily income of the average cacao farmer. The entire week-long process of harvesting, fermenting, drying, and bagging might earn them the equivalent of $7 to $10 total.
While the chocolate made from those beans? One bar—just 2oz—can sell for $5, $8, or even $14.
And of that bar? The farmer might earn $0.05 to $0.10.
Five cents. For a ritual the world forgot was sacred.
So let me ask you:
Would you do this job?
Would you do it with love, every day, in heat and humidity, with your own hands and your own machete, knowing you’ll earn less than the cost of a latte?
Would you do it if your child couldn’t taste what you grew? If your future was built on someone else’s margin?
Would you do it if your name appeared in the marketing, but never on the balance sheet?
We are at a crossroads.
We have the chance to rewrite everything. To restore meaning to the words we print on our packaging.
To make flavor traceable, and dignity non-negotiable.
To build chocolate that feeds the soul, yours, and theirs.
Because this isn’t about charity. It’s about honesty.
It’s about remembering that systems are built by choices, and you are a part of the system every time you choose a bar.
The system must change.
And we’re here to change it together.
