Cumin Sourcing in Turkey

By Kai Stark

Halfway to the horizon in the late afternoon sunlight filtering down through chilled air, a wandering flock of sheep is visible. It’s late September on the Anatolian plateau and the cumin is gone from the fields. The July harvest, done entirely by hand, has exposed a sparse ground littered with rocks. A few kilometers away lies the small village of Karakisla, home of Hilemet Senturk, who is taking me to see his organic fields.

“In old times, more than one thousand people lived here,� says Mr. Senturk, “but now many less, only one hundred fifty. The young people all move away, to the cities. It is difficult to make a living farming here; many fields are now empty all year.�

As we stand there, the sheep make their way closer and I can see the man shepherding them. Encircling the flock are four Anatolian sheep dogs — large dogs that are made even larger by the spiked steel collars they wear to protect them from wolves.

Mr. Senturk is proud of his land and what he has accomplished, He is wearing a black suit coat and dress shoes to show us his farm, even though recent rains have turned the fields to mud. He grew up in Karakisla and is now its mayor, a position normally reserved for much older members of the village. He began farming in 1993 and is the first farmer in his village to adopt organic practices.

Karakisla is a small place, slipped down into where several large hills meet. To the west, a road winds its way down between the hills, makes its short way through the village and continues to the east, becoming steadily less maintained as it proceeds across the flat expanse of the valley floor. The forty-five houses that make up the village are simple mud brick structures with grass roofs supported by timbers covered with woven mats. Next to the houses are neat, dark piles, several meters high; mixtures of grass and manure that will be used for heating the homes during the winter months.

When I ask Mr. Senturk the reasons behind his switch to organic farming methods, he responds that he gets paid more. But after a brief pause, he says, “The farmers here always want to earn more for their crop; that is why they start organics. But after farming that way, they see it is better. It is good for their health. They are protecting their children and families. It is good for the environment. It takes time for them to learn this, but that is why they continue to grow organics. After they learn this, it is no longer about money.� Mr. Senturk says that is how it was for him.

Walking further out into the field, Mr. Senturk finds a withered cumin plant among the rocks and drying mud. He picks the straggler, missed by the busy hands of the harvesters, and holds it out for me to see — then poses for a picture.

This area in Turkey, nearly eleven hundred meters above sea level, is an arid, open space, lacking any fences that cut into the landscape and dole it out in portions. It is land ideally suited for the cultivation of cumin and anise. Mr. Senturk gestures to me and explains that rain is the key. In this region, organic and conventional methods are essentially equal in what they produce per hectare; it’s the rain that determines the year’s yield. But it must be good rain — not too much, not too little — and it must fall at the right time, as there is no irrigation for the farmers around Karakisla and the neighboring villages of Siram and Kocyazi. This year, the rain was good.

Mr. Senturk believes that he is setting a precedent for his village — that as something of a pioneer, he can inspire others to take up organic methods on their farms. And it is true; the people of Karakisla have witnessed his success and they are excited.

The hills separating us from the village are beginning to darken on their eastern slopes with the waning of the day. There is a wind from the north, but the field is quiet. Mr. Senturk’s voice breaks the stillness as he continues. Most years, he says, organic cumin will command a twenty percent premium in the market. But this year was different. This year he was lucky and received thirty percent. Having seen that he was paid well for his crop, the other villagers are asking him about how they too might grow organics. Their excitement and eagerness are signs to Mr. Senturk that he is making progress. And just as the cumin seed starts small, but matures into something much larger, so will the farmers in Karakisla. Hilemet Senturk’s fifteen organic hectares are growing not just cumin, but the dream of a better life for an entire village.

September 29th, 2006