My name is Yoraima Cristina Navarro Izquierdo. I am a leader and an active member of the Arhuaco community, and also the mother of four children. As part of an Indigenous people, the essence of our community is caring for all the living beings on our territory. But it has taken time for us to recognize the value of that care work and the women providing it.

I was born on the northern face of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, in Colombia. From a very young age, I was a leader. This was true in school and then university. I always had a revolutionary spirit. Not in the sense of wanting to stir trouble but wanting to do more and to help people.

Leadership was something that I saw in my mother and in my grandparents. They were always serving their community. My mother dedicated all her time to caring for her people. When I was growing up, my house was never empty. There was always a plate of food and shelter for those who didn’t have a place to stay. When my mother passed away, it was as if my life had split in two. But I decided that the best way to honour my mother was to keep doing what she did — helping those in need.

Our community in Colombia now sees the value of care work

Back then, I could see so many needs among the women in our territory. So, in 2020, I decided to form Josa Constructoras de Paz – Josa Peace Builders – an organisation dedicated to valuing the work of our women weavers. It was an act of resistance in honour of all those mothers who have sustained the territory and brought food to their homes by crafting mochila (traditional woven bag).

The mochila is truly part of the economy of our people. It is a practice that should be protected and recognized. For us, mochila are just as important as other products like coffee, cacao, or sugarcane. But sadly, they are given less value. The intermediaries who buy the mochila want to pay 30,000 or 50,000 pesos for each one. But when you go to fairs or exhibitions, you find prices of between 400,000 and 600,000 pesos. The act of intermediating is not bad in itself. But it shouldn't be unjust.

Through Josa Peace Builders, we are forming alliances and empowering women so that their work is not undervalued.

For us, the mochila carries the thoughts of each woman who weaves. It captures her emotions, her challenges, her love stories and her joys. It represents our ancestral legacy. (Colombia, 2025)

When we met the team from the International Labour Organization’s (ILO) Cooperative Care Provision programme, we came to understand they had the same goal as our organisation: to make visible the work that women do in the territory. They were very respectful of the essence of the Arhuacos people and of our pace. It took several months of dialogue before we knew how we wanted to be part of the programme to recognize the work that women do in the area of care.

We, as Indigenous people, do not only care for ourselves. We care for everything in our territory, from the smallest being to the largest, from the stones to the rivers. Without territory, without land, we are nothing. Before joining the programme, we knew that we provided care every day, but we didn’t recognize that we were doing care work.

We, as Indigenous people, do not only care for ourselves. We care for everything in our territory... Before joining the programme, we knew that we provided care every day, but we didn’t recognize that we were doing care work.

Arhuaco leader and Founder of Josa Peace Builders 

In the beginning, recognizing the care that we provide was a difficult subject within the community. But we worked together with the mamos (spiritual leaders) and the authorities, and they were able to truly understand what we women wanted: to continue strengthening the territory.

It was important to talk about the care economy in the community because this had never been discussed before. Never had there been talk of the five Rs of care work: recognize, redistribute, reduce, reward, and represent. Then, after several months of visits from the ILO to the territory, we started envisioning a way to ease the overload for our women: a care house.

When a young Indigenous woman begins to weave mochila, she can buy her first fabrics to make her own traditional dress. She can also contribute to the household. (Colombia, 2025)

At first, the mamos asked whether this care house would really be good for our people. Eventually, we received the green light for two small houses. Then one day, they said, “Look, we have a surprise for you. We’re going to give you a bigger space.” That meant they understood it is truly important because this will also strengthen the territory.

The care house will offer early childhood services. Women will be able to continue their training and professional studies. They will be able to attend their medical appointments. It should serve as a learning space for the families of our people.

And when there are community meetings, women can leave their children at the care house. It won’t just be the men going to those activities. Women will also be able to take part in decision-making in our community.

The work of raising the voices of women in the territory has been worth it. A leader should be a person who helps to empower others. (Colombia 2025)

The care house will have three people from our community heading it up. They have received training in occupational health, nursing, food handling, and early childhood caregiving.

With them, the children will learn the traditional songs in the Iku language, so that our culture stays alive. The house will also provide complementary meals based on our people’s diet — maize, grains, root vegetables, and all the natural products in our Arhuaco diet.

Above all, we want this care house to be a successful pilot for replication in other communities. So that we can help to reduce the overload many mothers face.

I want to bring a voice to women: a voice of encouragement, a voice of solidarity and a voice of recognition for all the effort that they have made for decades.

Today, the 250 women of the Arhuaco territory that are part of Josa Peace Builders feel more empowered. We dream that, in the future, Josa Peace Builders will continue to grow. We want it to be a strong organization where women’s work is valued and where women can change their lives. 

I hope to be able to reach every corner of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, to provide training even in the most remote mountain areas. I want to bring a voice to women: a voice of encouragement, a voice of solidarity and a voice of recognition for all the effort that they have been making for decades.

The children will be raised in nature and cared for by our Arhuaco people, so that they continue the legacy we hold as a people. (Colombia 2025)

Strengthening care through the social and solidarity economy: The support given to Josa Peace Builders is part of the ILO’s “Cooperative Care Provision” programme. It uses Social and Solidarity Economy (SSE) models to formalize care work, improve jobs and promote gender equality.

Global partnership with Sweden: The programme is financed by the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (Sida)

National partnership for decent care work: In Colombia, the ILO works with the Ministry of Equality and Equity to strengthen territorial care organizations and expand quality local care services.

Institutionalized in national policy: The initiative is part of Colombia’s National Care System and anchored in the country’s National Development Plan.

Community-based pilots: ILO teams assessed 10 SSE care organizations across Colombia as a first step toward capacity-building and cooperative-based service delivery.

A model for the Global South: Colombia’s pilot shows how SSE and community-led care can advance gender justice, social inclusion, and decent work, aligning with South4Care’s global agenda. The South4Care initiative, led by the ILO, promotes South–South cooperation to strengthen care systems through knowledge sharing and capacity building.

Video interview with Gisela Strand, Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (Sida)

The ILO and the Ministry of Equality and Equity promote care organizations in Cesar and Chocó, Colombia

Providing care through the social and solidarity economy - Colombia

The social and solidarity economy and the care economy

Cooperative care provision as a gender-transformative decent work solution

Yoraima Cristina Navarro Izquierdo is an Arhuaco leader and founder of Josa Peace Builders, an association of women weavers in Colombia. An ILO project has provided training on economic autonomy and recognizing care work, and is helping Yoraima and the women to create a childcare centre.

Our community now sees the value of care work

My name is Kalian Sampoa Gumah, and I work as an enumerator in Ghana, collecting data from agricultural workers. People often think data collection is just about ticking boxes, but it's much more than that. The data we collect helps the government understand labour conditions in agriculture — who is working, how many hours they put in, what they are paid, what their working conditions are and what challenges they face.

But beyond the numbers, it’s about listening to people’s stories and helping them see themselves and their work in new ways.

I started this journey in 2015. While the work has changed over the years, the areas of agriculture and climate change have remained close to my heart.

I love it. Not just for the job itself, but because it allows me to connect with farmers and workers, visit new places and form relationships that last beyond the surveys.

When I go into a community, I’m not just an outsider with a questionnaire. Over time, the farmers and I build a connection. We call each other now and then, checking in, offering help when we can. Sometimes they call to ask when I’ll be back, especially when the data collection is delayed.

That’s me in the blue shirt. My working day starts as early as 4.00 a.m. in the morning. As part of a team of enumerators, we aim to reach farmers all over the country, however remote, travelling by ferry, truck, bike, and with a lot of walking! (Ghana, 2025)

A typical day starts early. Really early. During the rainy season, we leave home by 4.00 or 4.30 a.m. If we don’t get to the community by 6.00 or 7.00, the farmers will already be out in the fields, and we will have to wait until the evening when they return. On a good day, we might manage to administer the survey to two or three people in the morning and maybe two more in the evening.

The survey data helps to inform national employment and agricultural policies, helping make visible the contributions of informal workers and supporting better systems for them.

This data informs national employment and agricultural policies, helping make visible the contributions of rural workers and supporting better systems for them.

The work itself is not without challenges. The questionnaires can be long, especially for farmers with many plots of land. Some have up to ten. It takes time, and farmers sometimes get frustrated. Others have moved since the first round—finding them again is a task in itself.

Then there are the sceptics. Some people are wary of outsiders asking questions. I remember one case where someone questioned who I was. I had to show my ID and our project documents to gain their trust.

But having a shared cultural background helps. Many of the farmers I meet are from northern Ghana, like me. Once they realize I am one of them, the conversation changes. The atmosphere relaxes. We joke, we laugh, and the data collection becomes easier.

Many of the farmers I meet are from northern Ghana, like me. Once they realize I am one of them, the conversation changes and the data collection becomes easier. (Ghana, 2025)

Data collection is more than filling forms. While the larger impact on the policies might take a while, the most immediate impact of the survey process is the perspective it provides to the farmers.

It opens their eyes to the realities of their work, about efficiency and productivity, as well as the working conditions.

Many don’t keep records of how much they spend or how much they borrow each season. When they see all their expenses written down, some farmers are shocked. They realize how much of their income goes to pay back loans — often with high interest rates, sometimes as high as 100%.

Although most farm workers aren’t formally employed, there’s an informal understanding about pay, work hours, and breaks. The working conditions – like being provided with food, water and sometimes transport – are generally fair, but men and women are often paid differently for the same work.  

Data collection is more than filling forms. For the farmers, it opens their eyes to the realities of their work.

Once I’m back home from the field, the work isn’t over. I go through all the data I’ve collected, making sure everything adds up. If something doesn’t look right, it gets flagged — by our supervisors or even the software system we use. 

Sometimes I have to get back in touch with the farmers to double-check details or explain why they answered a certain way. Because I was there, I know the story behind the numbers, so it’s my job to make sure that story is clear before the data moves up to headquarters.

We conduct two to three surveys early in the morning and two more later in the evening when the farmers aren’t working.

For me, this work also connects with my personal mission. I am passionate about sustainable development and how to support people at the grassroots level to build a sustainable income.

I studied psychology and sociology at the University of Ghana. I’ve worked in the NGO sector, on climate change, on women’s empowerment and on financial inclusion. Now, I’m studying for an MSc in Financial Investment. I want to build my capacity further, not just for myself but to help young people, especially young women, build financial literacy and secure their futures.

So yes, I’m an enumerator. But to me, I’m also connecting people, stories, and data — and playing my part to improve the lives of smallholder farmers.

Kalian Sampoa Gumah is an enumerator and collects data from agricultural workers in Ghana for the JobAgri project.

JobAgri aims to fill a knowledge gap about the quantity and quality of jobs in the agri-food sector in Ghana. It is strengthening national statistical and research capacities in the areas of agriculture and employment.  

Through better evidence and policy dialogue, the project aims to strengthen the ability of agrifood value chains to create decent employment, improve agriculture productivity and contribute to food security.

JobAgri is a partnership between the African Union (AU), the International Labour Organization (ILO), the Food and Agricultural Organisation of the United Nations (FAO), and the Agricultural Research Centre for International Development (CIRAD). The project is supported by Germany’s Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development (BMZ).

Kalian Sampoa Gumah is an enumerator in Ghana for the JobAgri project, which is supported by Germany’s Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development (BMZ).

JobAgri Ghana: Shaping better policies based on innovative data in agri-food sector

ILO launches JobAgri project to strengthen employment and sustainability in Ghana’s agri-food sector

ILO topic portal on agriculture, plantations and other rural sectors

Kalian Sampoa Gumah shares a day in her life as a survey enumerator in Ghana, collecting data from farming households and farm workers to inform employment policies and empower rural communities.

How my data collection work empowers Ghana’s farmers

I was alone from an early age and did not receive an education. My life has been a struggle since then. When I joined a savings group, I gained knowledge and support which has allowed my children to continue their education. Now, I encourage other parents to join these groups so that we can help to end child labour.

My name is Rebecca Nakayega Wandegge and I am 43 years old. My husband and I have eight children. Seven of our children are studying. The eldest is at university studying for a diploma in Agriculture and the next is doing a nursing course. The other five are in primary and senior school. 

When I was growing up, life was hard. My father died when I was four years old. Then, our mother got married again and left us alone.

Because I had no support, I did not get educated. If I had been educated, I would be in a better place now. But that is how life has been for me. Now, I try my best so that my children do not suffer as I have suffered.

A savings group helped me to keep my children in school

My husband and I, we have lived a hard life. We got married 26 years ago, at a young age. Back then, we would work on rich people’s farms.

We would dig people’s fields in exchange for food. Sometimes, we would get some money for our basic needs. If we did not work on other people’s farms, then we would not have food to eat. This is a normal life when a person is not educated.

We cultivated tomatoes and cabbages to afford food. That was our life from the beginning. We endured it and welcomed our children into it.

In the past, the children would help us with harvesting grass, rearing our cows, and feeding them. But I desired that my children stay in school as I never had that opportunity. (Uganda, 2025)

Due to our limited income, our children started school when they were six years old.

I have always encouraged my children to study hard. Until now, I check on them while they are at school and often inquire about their studies. If a child repeats a class, to me that is a loss of income. I will have to spend more on school materials which are expensive.

But in the past, it was hard for them as they also had to support in providing labour. On days when they did not have school, they would work with us so that we could increase the little income that we had. Back then, we would sometimes give them heavy work beyond their age because we had no other alternatives.

There was a time when the children would spray tomatoes, even at a young age. Through the ILO project, we realized how hazardous this was and how my children might be affected by the chemicals.

I learned about the International Labour Organization’s ACCEL Africa project through a community mobilizer during the COVID-19 period. It was a tough time for us then.

The children were at home, and they helped us by harvesting coffee on rich people’s farms so that we could afford food. They would bring the money that they earned, and we would combine it to buy food for the day.

When the ILO project came, it supported us. Our children got teachers who taught them within the community. The project encouraged us to keep children in school and taught us not to involve children in hazardous work.

Some parents, who received a basic education like me, claim that my family and I are living a good life and that is why we don’t want our children to work. Still, my message to those parents is to end child labour. (Uganda, 2025)

Life has changed greatly thanks to the project. When the project found us, we did not have a lot of knowledge about savings. Through the project, we learned how to save and manage savings. That is how our life started changing for the better.

The project gave us saving kits that included boxes, books, and t-shirts for the saving groups. The skills of saving and loaning that we learned helped us to get school fees for our children. We were able to follow what the project had taught us and keep our children in school. 

As part of the project, an agricultural officer from the ILO also taught us how to cultivate coffee with high yields. Now, we are  able to take diligent care of the coffee plants. This has allowed us to increase our income and help pay for our children’s school fees.

Without the project, I do not think my elder children would be in school now because I could not have supported them.

When we were taught loan management and improved coffee farming, we increased our earnings and got more money than ever before. (Uganda, 2025)

During the coffee harvest around August and September, you can still find parents who refuse to let their children go to school so that they can support in harvesting coffee.

When I see a parent practicing child labour, we try to sensitize them. Our biggest challenge is that many parents are not educated. They do not care whether their children get educated. They see that they are not educated but they can still make a living.

Many parents make life hard for their children because of their decisions.

Being in the group taught me public speaking... My message to other parents is to stop giving children heavy work beyond their age. Child labour must stop.

Through the project, I have also become more visible in my community. Being in the group has taught me public speaking. Even when there are many people, I am not scared to stand up and express myself.

My message to other parents is to stop giving children heavy work beyond their age. Child labour must stop.

I encourage other people to join these groups because on your own you cannot manage everything. We need to work together. Like the saying goes, “The teeth that are together are the ones that chew meat.”

I have also gained friends. Each week, I find a day to go to the savings group meeting and we learn from each other. We always stick together in every situation of life. When I have a challenge, I reach out to the group, and we work together to solve it.

Rebecca Nakayega Wandegge is a beneficiary of the ILO project: Accelerating Action for the Elimination of Child Labour in Supply Chains in Africa (ACCEL Africa).

ACCEL Africa, funded by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Netherlands, operates in Côte d’Ivoire, Ghana, Kenya, Mali, Nigeria, and Uganda.

The project aims to accelerate the elimination of child labour in Africa through targeted action in the cocoa, cotton, coffee, tea, and gold supply chains.

It addresses the root causes of child labour by improving access to social protection, promoting decent work for adults, supporting the school-to-work transition for youth, and ensuring a safe and healthy working environment.

Video interview with Renate Kersten, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Netherlands

Interview with Renate Kersten, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Netherlands

Accelerating action for the elimination of child labour in supply chains in Africa (ACCEL Africa)

Child Labour: Global estimates 2024, trends and the road forward

Rebecca Nakayega Wandegge is a farm labourer, market vendor and mother of eight from Uganda. Through the ILO's ACCEL Africa project, she has learnt financial literacy and improved agricultural practices, which have helped her to keep her children out of child labour and in school.

I have had many jobs in my life. But I am a farmer’s child and now I am a farmer myself. I have been planting patchouli and producing patchouli oil for around two years. In the past, my family suffered from the instability of this sector. One day, I hope to ensure that patchouli farming provides decent work, not only for myself and my family, but also for others, especially young people.

My name is Teuku Razuan. I am 38 years old and I am from Aceh Jaya in Indonesia. I am the second child of ten siblings.

When I was growing up, our family life was among the simplest in the village. Until my teenage years, our house didn’t even have electricity. But my father had one strength. He raised all of us with great discipline.

Back then, my parents had two professions. They were fishermen for half the day and farmers for the rest. In my village, most of the community lived like that.

I also experienced both professions during my teenage years. But eventually, farming became my life.

I am reviving patchouli farming in Aceh, Indonesia

My grandmother also used to farm patchouli. In her time, the conditions were very difficult. There were no national roads in our area and agriculture was not very advanced.

By my father’s generation, the conditions had improved significantly. From 1997 to 1999, patchouli was one of the most promising commodities for our region. As far as I remember, there wasn’t a single family in our area that didn’t grow patchouli.

Before the rise of patchouli farming, only one or two people in the village had a motorcycle. When the price of patchouli increased, almost every household was able to buy a motorcycle.

But then, in 1999, the price of patchouli collapsed.

My father had planted patchouli and the investment costs were high. When it was time to harvest, we couldn’t even recover the cost of the seedlings. For many people in our community, that trauma remains to this day.

In the 1990s, patchouli farming felt like a breath of fresh air, a promising hope. But when prices collapsed, there was no community support. It was heartbreaking. (Indonesia, 2025)

My father was someone with a strong mentality. He rarely complained. When patchouli prices plummeted, my father immediately shifted to cultivating corn and continued farming.

Those events taught me a lesson: nothing is completely stable. There are always ups and downs.

After completing school, I went on to study at university, but I was self-funded and busy with other things, and I didn't graduate. Then in 2016, I enrolled again and completed my degree. Now, I am pursuing a master's degree at the Syiah Kuala University.

Over the years, I have had many jobs. I have been a teacher and a police officer. I have worked in companies, and I have had several businesses. After 2017, I was appointed to the assistance team for the Governor of Aceh, and I was an advisor for the agricultural sector.

But whatever professions I did before, my goal was to make it here.

When patchouli prices plummeted, my father immediately shifted to cultivating corn... Those events taught me a lesson: nothing is completely stable.

Since I began farming around two years ago, my challenge has been to figure out how to make patchouli farming more sustainable.

To produce patchouli oil, there are three phases: planting and maintenance, harvesting and distillation. Each stage has its own process, and we are working to simplify these processes.

For example, we used to chop the plants manually with machetes. But now, we have a machine to do this. Before, it took ten people one day to collect 500kg of leaves. Now, the machine can process 2 tons of leaves in an hour.

Another challenge involved distillation. Before, we used a small-scale distiller, with a capacity of 30 to 40 kg and it took two or three months to distill the oil from 1 hectare of plants.

With the help of the Atsiri Research Center (ARC), we were able to get a bank loan and acquire a large-scale distiller, with a capacity of 300 kilograms. Our distillation process now only takes one week.

We must keep motivating the young people to achieve a bright future. It’s easier now they have seen the results of their friends. (Indonesia, 2025)

I am also working with the younger generation. I want to instill in them that we have something that is the best in the world: patchouli.

In the beginning, I tried to initiate a cooperative system with a 50:50 share of the profits. But the young people didn’t want that. They wanted me to guarantee that they would be paid for their work.

The first ones that I invited to the cooperative, mostly disbanded before planting. They took their seedlings and chose to manage the land by themselves. Only two stayed in the cooperative. But after the harvest, the ones who stayed found that their results were better than those who left, even after sharing profits.

In the following waves, we had no choice but to set a price for all the work. After harvesting, the young people also receive a 10% share of the profits.

The first two waves of the cooperative are independent now and they work on their own land, thanks to the capital they earned here.

I want to make it easier for patchouli farmers to access resources, like the “MyNilam” app launched by the ILO. Hopefully, our efforts will succeed, and we can become a reference for others. (Indonesia, 2025)

One day, I was contacted by the International Labour Organization (ILO) about financial education training for the workers. I had often told the young people about keeping savings, but they usually spent their earnings immediately after planting.

Since the training, there has been a significant change. They have started to record expenses and make financial plans. We have high hopes for ILO to continue helping with this.

ILO has also provided the “MyNilam” application. It measures the production of patchouli in Aceh, which could help stabilize prices. For now, it’s just starting. But we hope it will be an extraordinary contribution to farmers.

Patchouli is already a leading sector in our region, but I want to develop it further to ensure it is sustainable for farmers.

When I see farmers in other regions prospering, I want to learn where our shortcomings are and what are our strengths.

The next step is to keep developing. From the traditional farming system, we are upgrading to more intensive farming, and from manual tools, we are upgrading to more modern tools.

I feel proud to continue something like this and maintain its excellence. I also feel proud to play a role in helping to educate young people, just as I was educated by my elders.

Teuku Razuan is a beneficiary of the ILO’s "Promoting Micro and Small Enterprises through Entrepreneurial Access to Financial Services Project Phase 2" (Promise II Impact), funded by the Swiss State Secretariat for Economic Affairs (SECO).

The project aims to build a stronger, more inclusive financial system to support the resilience and sustainability of small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs), including in the dairy cattle sector in West Java and the seaweed sector in East Nusa Tenggara.

In Aceh, the project is strengthening the patchouli oil value chain by providing financial training to farmers and improving access to digital financial services.

With support from the Atsiri Research Center (ARC), in partnership with the Promise II Impact project, Teuku Razuan received a loan from the Development Bank of BPRS Mustaqim to establish a large-scale distillation facility.

The project also developed a digital Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) system, made available to farmers through the online application "MyNilam" - "Nilam" means patchouli in Indonesian.

Interview with Olivier Zehnder, Ambassador of Switzerland for Indonesia, Timor-Leste and ASEAN

Strengthening Patchouli Oil Value-Chain Ecosystem in Aceh

Strengthen Aceh's patchouli oil sector with digital innovation and financial inclusion

Promoting SME Enterprises through Improved Entrepreneurs’ Access to Financial Services

ILO topic portal on Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises

In Indonesia, the ILO’s Promise II Impact project is facilitating access to digital financial services and financial training. The goal is to help small and medium-sized enterprises — like that of patchouli oil producer Teuku Razuan — build resilience and sustainability.

The carnauba palm tree has always been a part of my life. But a capacity-building programme on artisanal weaving transformed my life, enabling me to make a decent living for myself and my children. Today, I belong to a group of committed women working hard to preserve traditions and innovate with this craft.

During my childhood, my father's main activity was the extraction of carnauba leaves for wax production. It was our family’s main source of income.

In our community, everyone participated. The men would collect the leaves, while the women weaved the pieces together into brooms.

When my father was still married to my mother, I was too young to help. Later, when my father remarried, my sister and I would help by leading home the donkeys that carried the saddlebags of leaves. My stepmother would then process the leaves.

I grew up in this environment, always surrounded by carnauba. I saw a few items made from it, like mats and baskets, but in my family, the tradition of making handicrafts had faded over time.

I have always known about carnauba crafts, particularly those from the state of Ceará, and I had wondered why we weren’t doing the same in our state, Piauí. (Brazil, 2025)

Even when I was too young to help, I remember accompanying my father to the carnauba groves. I would play on the harvested leaves with my sister while my father worked.

But my father's work was very labour-intensive. One of the biggest challenges was starting the work early in the morning to avoid the intense sun.

Every Friday, my father would wait on the highway for a truck to transport the brooms to the fair. He would have to travel overnight to sell them. And even then, the products sold at very low prices.

I hope that my children will be proud of my courage and see that my sacrifices were for a greater purpose. I want them to carry forward the lessons of resilience and hard work. (Brazil, 2025)

I have always known about carnauba crafts, particularly those from the state of Ceará, and I had wondered why we weren’t doing the same in our state, Piauí.

One day, my father sent me photos of handicrafts made from carnauba straw and told me that there was going to be a course on how to weave carnauba straw.

At the time, he was a union delegate and he had heard that there was an ILO project reviving this technique and offering a capacity-building programme. He asked me if I thought I could handle it. From the start, I was interested.

I immediately saw an opportunity. I wanted to answer my own questions and prove that we could build something valuable from our local resources.

Before working with carnauba crafts, it was always a financial struggle, especially after I had my children.

Before working with carnauba crafts, I did other types of handicrafts. However, my primary income came from government social protection programmes and selling homemade foods.

But it was always a financial struggle, especially after I had my daughter and son. There were times when I had to choose between reinvesting in my business or buying essentials for my children. Sometimes, I earned enough; other times, I didn’t. The instability caused a lot of stress and anxiety.

From the beginning of the ILO project, we were told that it wasn’t just going to be about crafts. The project had bigger goals and aspirations for the future.

Learning the weaving techniques came naturally to me. The most challenging part for me was working on pieces that required machine sewing. (Brazil, 2025)

In the project, we learned a lot. Elisângela, the instructor, came to our community and spent a week with us. 

At first, it was my curiosity about the potential of carnauba crafts that motivated me. But as I learned more, I became eager to create something from start to finish. We learned how to make baskets using different types of braids. When I finally learned the techniques and saw the finished products made with my own hands, I felt victorious. 

During the training course, I saw many talented women quit, but I always believed in the project. I could see its potential beyond the initial struggles.

Some women dropped out of the course in the first week, saying they didn’t feel connected to it. Others wondered if this was really going to work or if we were investing time and money in something that wouldn’t succeed.

The uncertainty played with everyone's emotions at first. But the ones who stayed really identified with the craft and were very excited. By the end of the course, we had already begun to receive orders for our crafts.

This experience has transformed me. It pulled me out of a bubble of hopelessness and gave me a sense of purpose. (Brazil, 2025)

Later, Elisângela, our instructor, became the coordinator of our group of artisans, and she is now the president of the association.

Today, we are a group of committed women working hard to preserve traditions and innovate within this craft.

We have a strong bond, especially among those of us who took the first course together. We support one another. Seeing that kind of encouragement within the group is very powerful. We have since trained more people, but our initial group has remained tightly connected.

When we started working, our biggest challenges were the lack of resources to buy necessary materials and the uncertainty about selling our products.

Now, what we need most is support in commercializing our products in a sustainable way. We need better access to markets beyond local fairs, as those come with high costs and uncertainties.

Supporting us goes beyond generating income; it empowers women, strengthens communities, and uplifts local traditions.

If I were to tell my future grandchildren about this experience, I would tell them about the victory—not just for me, but for my entire group and our community.

For me, this experience changed everything. When I started the craftwork, I had been diagnosed with severe anxiety and was taking medication. I barely left my house. But the craft took me out of that bubble. 

Eventually, my doctor saw that I no longer needed the medication. I started socializing, traveling, and attending trade fairs. I now feel more confident and determined.

People think I was always this way, but it took a lot of preparation and overcoming psychological barriers. 

Carnauba is much more than just a plant. To me, the carnauba tree symbolizes resilience, strength, and survival. I see myself reflected in its ability to endure and thrive despite hardships.

If I were to tell my future grandchildren about this experience, I would tell them about the victory—not just for me, but for my entire group and our community. 

I would tell them how carnauba crafts became a recognized and dignified profession. And how it allowed so many women to earn a decent living.

Brazil is the main producer of carnauba wax, extracted from leaves of the carnauba, a palm tree native to the northeast of the country.  The wax is widely used in industry, particularly in the cosmetics, automotive, pharmaceutical, and food sectors.

The carnauba leaves are also used to create handicrafts. In the region where Fátima lives, this tradition had nearly disappeared. 

An ILO capacity-building programme, developed in partnership with the Brazilian Micro and Small Business Support Service (SEBRAE) and the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit (GIZ), has revived the craft, benefiting Fátima and 30 other women in the state of Piauí, in northeastern Brazil.

Fátima Laine Sousa Santos lives in Piauí, Brazil, in a community which farms carnauba palm trees. Thanks to an ILO project aimed at promoting decent work, she has gained financial stability by developing the skills to work as an artisanal carnauba weaver.

First-person perspectives on the world of work

From prison to a better life

I was put in prison for stealing vanilla.

Now I’m working, I make cinder blocks and I have no reason to go back to jail.