The women behind Ceylon tea: Inside Sri Lanka's century-old tea factories

The day begins before sunrise in the mist-covered hills of Kandy.

As the rest of the world is still waking up, thousands of women are already moving through the emerald plantations of Giragama, a village located about 30 minutes from Sri Lanka’s Kandy city. With woven baskets tied across their foreheads, they carefully handpick leaves from one of the country’s oldest tea gardens.

Their nimble fingers know exactly what to look for. With a quick scan of the bush, a careful touch, and a practiced pluck, the perfect “two leaves and a bud” is picked and tucked away in the basket.

“Tea is not just something we pick. We know the leaf. We know when it is ready, when it needs more time, when something is not right,” said 32-year-old Kannagi, one of the estate workers, describing the instinct built over years of working among the bushes.

And it is not just the plucking that runs on women’s hands. Walk into most tea factories across Sri Lanka, and you will find women powering almost every stage of the process. New Giragama Tea Factory is a perfect example. The moment you step inside, you see women dressed in green T-shirts and caps, working side by side along the conveyor belts.

They handle everything from weighing fresh leaves and operating machinery to quality checks, factory operations, and even guiding visitors through the tea-making process.

But what truly stands out at this tea factory is that age is no barrier.

A workplace where generations meet

A mix of generations work side by side at the Giragama factory.

There are young women in their twenties, quickly sorting through fresh green shoots with sharp eyes and steady hands. Alongside them are older workers in their sixties and seventies, whose hands carry decades of experience.

“The younger girls learn by watching us. Tea has many small secrets. You cannot learn everything from a book,” said a veteran estate worker who has dedicated decades to the plantation but chose not to share her name.

She pointed out the small details that most people would miss, like how a leaf feels, how soft it is, its smell, and when it is ready to be processed.

But the story does not end with the pluck. Once the leaves arrive at the factory, a whole new process begins.

The quiet craft behind every cup

Once the baskets reach the factory, the leaves begin a carefully timed transformation.

Inside New Giragama’s old timber and iron factory, the process follows a rhythm perfected over generations.

First comes withering.

Fresh leaves are spread across long trays, where warm air slowly removes moisture over several hours. The crisp green shoots soften, preparing them for the next stage.

Then comes rolling.

The leaves pass through heavy machines that twist and bruise them, releasing the natural oils that give Ceylon tea its unmistakable aroma.

But the most delicate stage is oxidation.

In cool, humid rooms, the rolled leaves slowly change colour from fresh green to a rich copper-brown. Workers watch closely, relying on both technology and instinct.

“You can’t rely on the clock alone. You have to read the leaf to know when it’s ready,” said a quality-control worker.

A change in colour, texture, or smell can determine the final character of the tea.

Once oxidation reaches its peak, the leaves are dried to lock in their flavour. At this stage, firewood is burnt in a furnace to generate heat, which is transferred through a heat exchanger to produce hot air. This hot air is then circulated through the tea dryers, removing moisture from the leaves while keeping them free from smoke and preserving their aroma.

Finally, they are sorted and graded into different varieties before making their way to markets around the world.

A factory frozen in time

Speaking of the machinery, you would never guess its age. Most of it looks almost new, but many of these machines at Giragama factory have been running for close to a century.

Many of these machines date back to the British colonial period, when Sri Lanka’s tea industry began taking shape after coffee plantations were devastated by disease in the 19th century.

But these machines are not museum pieces. They are still part of the daily routine.

“This machine is older than many of us, but it still works because we take care of it,” said Nipoli, the factory tour guide.

Yet, behind this impressive operation lies a harsher reality. The tea pluckers, who form the very first link in the tea-making process, remain among Sri Lanka’s most economically vulnerable workers.

The physical toil alone is daunting. Pluckers routinely navigate steep, slippery terrain for eight to ten hours a day, exposed to harsh weather, all while carrying heavy baskets weighing up to 18–20 kilogrammes suspended from their foreheads.

“If it rains, we get soaked to the bone. If it’s hot, the baskets cut into our foreheads,” said a 34-year-old plucker, speaking on the condition of anonymity due to estate restrictions. “We bring in millions for the country, but at the end of the month, our pay packets barely cover a week’s worth of food. If we complain too loudly, we risk losing our daily wage entirely.”

These hardships have left many plantation families struggling to make ends meet. In January, the UN World Food Programme estimated that 44 per cent of families living in Sri Lanka’s tea estate areas were food insecure, nearly twice the rate seen in urban areas. With wages remaining low and the cost of living continuing to rise, many mothers say they often skip meals so their children have enough to eat.

For a country that ranks fourth in global tea production and third in exports, the numbers tell one story. The lives of its tea pluckers tell another.