A day at the oil mill

Palm oil.  There’s really no way of avoiding it while living in the Grand South of Cameroon.  In the North, the majority of the population used cotton oil, if they used oil at all, as it was a byproduct of their major cash crop.  Down south, it’s a different story.

Palm trees are everywhere here in the Center region, and consequently, so is palm oil. 

Palm oil is one of the few very highly saturated fats, semi-solid at room temperature (but what is room temperature, really, when you’re in Cameroon?), and reddish in color.  This reddish hue is apparently due to a high beta-carotene content, which makes me feel better about not eating carrots (or any vegetables, for that matter). 

I never really knew much about palm oil before coming to Cameroon, but now, I’m realizing I cannot escape it.  When I eat at my neighbors' house, I am often served dishes of corn or greens cooked in “jus de palme” (AKA, home-made unrefined palm oil).   While these dishes are often delicious, if I have too much, I swear I can feel the red oil moving slowly through my arteries.  When I’m at home, I tend to eat a lot of ramen (first ingredient: wheat flour.  Second ingredient: palm oil). 

Monsieur le Mayor

Anyways, last week I got the inside scoop.  I was invited by Monsieur le Mayor (not the real mayor but the Cameroonian who is the first adjunct to the actual mayor, who happens to be a white French woman, because that makes total sense for an African village *ahem ahem* NOT.)

To earn a secondary income, Monsieur le Mayor works with palm oil extraction, and then sells the oil. 

The way that the villages are set up in the region, he has no way of finding one single space large enough to satisfy his needs for his plantation.  Consequently, he has small parcels of land in villages spread all over the subdivision.  Unfortunately, this leads to a lot of extra costs, some of which include workers, land rental, and transportation. 

However, once the regimes of palm nuts are harvested and transported to the mini-factory behind his house, he has a efficient oil extraction system, which provides him with extra cash flow throughout the year. 

We sat around waiting for the nuts to finish heating, we sipped glasses of palm wine (I have to admit, as far as local brews go, I much prefer the bilbil, or millet beer, of the North).  Once our glasses were empty and the nuts were ready, the machines were fired up and the extraction began!

Here’s how it all goes down:

You probably wouldn't guess from looking at it, but inside this shed is a whole oil-extraction factory.

First, the palm regimes are put into this machine that spins and removes the nut from the bunch.

The nuts are then put over this sifter to remove all of the bugs, twigs, and other unwanted items.

The nuts are heated for seven and a half hours in a big drum above a fire.

The nuts slide down the ramp into a grinder.

The nuts are then ground into this scrumptious-looking substance, which is then poured into another large drum.

The nut-sludge is heated to separate the oil from water, and is then poured out through a filter to remove all of the unwanted materials. 

Finally, the oil is bottled up, in large and small quantities, and sent to buyers and distributors.

A liter of palm oil sells for 450CFA ($0.90).  Palms produce all throughout the year, though not consistently.  In the height of rainy season (AKA, now), he runs the machines three times per week.  Come dry season, they might extract oil only once per week.  

Though this is the first oil mill that I've seen, it is most definitely not the only one in the village.  My counterpart has one as well, and Michael (Carole's husband / my neighbor) is often employed to run the machines owned by the Church.  I guess that goes to show you just how important palm oil is to the local economy and local cuisine!

Later this week: Learn how to make "koki" -- A Cameroonian culinary delight which uses plenty of good ol' palm oil!