In the dusty streets of Southern Mali, Diahara Kamissoko grinds grain with a mortar the length of a baseball bat. You’d be hard-pressed to crack a complaint from this inspiring entrepreneur.
Diahara founded the Balimaya Women’s Association, a no-nonsense, women-led farming co-operative with its eyes set on the international market.
If anything, the dry fruit and seeds Diahara produces compliment the surrounding landscape. It’s a tough business in a country that often has little tolerance for sustained agriculture. In a populous region fed by the Niger and Sénégal rivers, Diahara has carved a niche for herself by harvesting hardy seasonal and annual crops like mangoes,
onions, Mali grain and fonio seeds in the tropical South.
Diahara is an ardent supporter of preparation and adaptation. Surrounded by outbuildings composed of cheap, muddy cement, she tells me how she meets the seasonal
demands of each crop by rotating her produce throughout the year.
The mango season only lasts about four months each year. The same goes for the fonio season. The rest of the year we process coconut and ginger and we also produce peanut sauce. We work all year round because we also make juice, marmalades and other things.”
Six years ago, a group of women with raw skill birthed Balimaya, a co-operative that had little prospects in the way of funding. Diahara is visibly moved when she talks of Helvetas, the Swiss financial aid organisation that breathed life into her business. Helvetas supports over 100,000 members around the world, with 30 partner countries in Africa, Asia, Latin America and Eastern Europe. Balimaya was next in a long line of organisations that would benefit from the funding giant.
Helvetas coordinates development projects, offers advisory services to governments and NGOs, and raises awareness to combat the problems faced by developing countries. In a country prone to drought and famine, an injection of capital often goes a long way in triggering long-term, sustainable growth.
Diahara explains how Helvetas helped her to buy the equipment she needed, like the packing, labelling and drying machines so critical to her everyday business. The building is filled with chattering voices and the endless shuffling of feet on concrete as the women sift grain and package fruit from dusk till dawn. The small crop of novices has now grown to the point where other women from the village ply their trade at the centre. That’s exactly what Diahara wants.
The six initiators of the Women’s Association work at this plant every day, and they also employ lots of extra women,” says one employee, garbed in a coat so white it shines pink in the sunshine. “In the fonio season we have over 80 women working for us and in the mango season it’s about 30.”
Central to Diahara’s success is her obsession with cleanliness. The women have strict standards when it comes to hygiene, which is critical when dealing with foodstuffs. Walking around the premises, one could be mistaken for thinking the co-operative is a medical fraternity, with the women heavily clad in crisp white uniforms, hairnets and face masks.
Professionalism only takes you so far, and Diahara knows this. In a bid to compete with bigger producers, she personally oversees the production process from start to finish. High quality products deliver high returns and a steady stream of buyers, which is why she worked so hard to set up a trade deal to sell her products to Europe. Her origins may be local, but she has proven again and again that her growth prospects are global.
This growth isn’t only limited to the women who started the co-operative. A philanthropic spirit runs deep through Diahara, who believes in nurturing the best out of the community. The co-operative employs women from the village and buys produce from farmers in the region, stimulating trade and uplifting the community on a bigger scale.
In a country where half of the population live under the international breadline of US$1.25 a day, stimulating local production is imperative.
Diahara’s story is one of personal passion vested in long-term interest. The results, as they say, are abundantly fruitful.
Everyone is happy with us. The farmers who sell the fonio to us and their wives who work for us. Everyone profits from this initiative.”
In the dusty streets of Southern Mali, Diahara Kamissoko grinds grain with a mortar the length of a baseball bat. You’d be hard-pressed to crack a complaint from this inspiring entrepreneur.
