How did a lockdown hobby turn into an ecological emergency? In the stillness of the Karoo, poachers aren’t after gold or ivory, but thumb-sized succulents so coveted that entire species are vanishing into the black market.

Under the cover of darkness, illicit cargo moves across South Africa’s borders. Stashed in boxes and stuffed into car trunks, these stolen trophies will soon be bound for Asia, where they will be snapped up in no time at extravagant prices. They’re not jewels or ivory or rhino horn, but they might as well be. Each of these thumb-sized plants represents one of millions stolen from the wild, smuggled across borders, and sold into the booming black market for succulents.

They don’t look dangerous or even that valuable. Some resemble tiny aloes or miniature grapes, while others look like pebbles with freckles. But these “living stones” – species like Conophytum and Lithops – have become the unlikely stars of an international plant craze that has stripped parts of South Africa’s Succulent Karoo bare.

Over the past six years, these tiny desert plants have been dug up by the millions, pushing several species to the brink of extinction and exposing a conservation crisis that’s as unexpected as it is devastating.

The desert that blooms

Drive through it, and the Succulent Karoo looks like nothing more than a barren landscape baking under a merciless sun. But walk through it – or better yet, get down on your hands and knees – and the desert transforms into something else entirely. Between the sand and stones is one of the most biologically rich arid regions on Earth, containing around 6,350 plant species (that we know of), about 2,500 of which are found nowhere else. In spring, it erupts into carpets of yellow, pink, orange, and white blossoms. It’s also home to the world’s smallest tortoise, the Speckled Padloper, and an array of insects found nowhere else.

This is a landscape built on subtlety and survival. Plants here have evolved into extraordinary shapes, bulbous and camouflaged, to conserve water and hide from grazing animals. Ironically, those same adaptations that give them their distinctive appearance are what make them so desirable to collectors in Asia, Europe, and the United States.

The making of the succulent underworld

Global interest in succulents isn’t exactly a new thing. Plant enthusiasts and collectors from the United States, Europe and Asia have been digging up small numbers of succulents and sneaking them home in their luggage for as long as anyone can remember. Locals soon took notice, and in an effort to meet the clear demand (and to stop tourists from digging around in the desert), nurseries started propagating and selling a wide variety of species from the Succulent Karoo. It is these same nursery owners who first blew the whistle when they noticed a change in consumer appetites. 

The turning point came around 2018, when demand among collectors in East Asia exploded into full-blown mania. Chinese and South Korean “plantfluencers” began posting photos of Conophytum species, positioning them as rare treasures from the African desert. In no time, demand outpaced supply. At the peak of succulent madness, a single Conophytum cluster could sell for the price of a new smartphone. South African nurseries simply couldn’t keep up – a problem exacerbated by the fact that mature succulents can take up to seven years to grow from seed.

By 2020, nurseries were practically empty and entire populations of Conophytum were being wiped out in the wild – but the worst was still to come. When the world shut down due to the Covid-19 pandemic, millions of people – stuck at home and staring at screens – discovered the joy of houseplants. Instagram and TikTok flooded with photos of “living stones,” and the #succulent tag sprouted an entire digital subculture. People had more time and less purpose. Looking to fill the void, many sought out something alive that they could care for. Interesting little plants felt like a way to connect with the outside world.

Organised crime syndicates spotted the opportunity. Using local intermediaries, they hired teams of poachers (often unemployed locals desperate for income) to scour the desert. Within months, the Succulent Karoo became a feeding ground for smuggling operations that stretched from small towns like Springbok to the ports of Hong Kong and Shanghai.

Between 2019 and 2024, South African authorities seized 1.6 million illegally harvested succulents – and that’s probably just the tip of the iceberg. The true number could be several times higher. At least eight species of Conophytum are now considered “functionally extinct,” which means that a small number may still survive in the wild, but there are too few to sustain the species’ population or to fulfill their previous role in their ecosystem. As of 2019, all Conophytum species have been reclassified in higher IUCN Red List threat categories.

The many holes in the net

Law enforcement has struggled to keep up with this plant poaching problem. A big part of the issue is that the Succulent Karoo stretches for hundreds of thousands of square kilometres (from Southwestern Namibia through the Northern Cape and into the Western Cape), and that vast expanse is patrolled by only a handful of officers. The local Stock Theft and Endangered Species Unit in Springbok has managed a few major busts, sometimes intercepting smugglers with carloads of boxed plants. But for every successful raid, thousands more plants slip through undetected.

Bureaucracy makes things even more complicated. Conservation laws differ from province to province, and enforcement depends on which side of an invisible border you’re standing on. In one province, collecting a certain species is a crime; in another, it isn’t.

Even when raids are successful and plants are confiscated, most can’t be returned to the wild. Their original locations (which they’ve specifically adapted to live in) are unknown, and those that are nursed back to health in greenhouses often go “soft”, losing their ability to handle harsh desert conditions. Two experimental replanting efforts have ended in heartbreak. Against all odds, the succulents survived – until poachers returned and stole them again.

The poachers themselves are rarely hardened criminals. They’re usually unemployed locals – out-of-season farmworkers, miners, or young men looking for quick cash. They earn a fraction of what the plants sell for overseas, but when they’re caught, they are given fines that destroy them financially. It’s a bleak calculation: a day’s work digging up little plants might earn enough to feed a family for a week, or it might lead to arrest, legal debt, and a permanent criminal record. And through it all, the kingpins stay untouched.

This is the moral tangle of the succulent crisis. None of us condone smuggling or habitat destruction, but the thorny truth is that protecting the desert often means punishing the poor. We expect people to value biodiversity, but when they can’t feed their families, it doesn’t feel like a fair trade.

The market cools – temporarily

Fortunately, there are small signs of change. In 2023, seizures of Conophytum plants dropped sharply, and by 2024, they had almost ceased. Prices in Asian markets have also fallen as commercial growers began producing their own stock. Some experts believe the craze has simply moved on – like all fads eventually do – to the next exotic collectible. But conservationists warn against complacency. Today it’s Conophytum. Tomorrow it could be another genus. 

As long as rarity equals value, the Karoo will never be safe. The tragedy of the succulent poaching crisis is almost philosophical. These plants evolved to survive drought, heat, and isolation. What they can’t survive is attention. For centuries, they hid in plain sight, thriving precisely because no one noticed them. Now, their survival depends on the opposite: being noticed enough to be protected, but not so adored that they’re collected into oblivion.

South Africa’s 2022 anti-poaching strategy includes community education and conservation outreach, but awareness alone can’t undo the economics driving the trade. Legal nurseries can’t meet demand quickly enough, and policies often arrive after the damage is done. In the end, the battle over these tiny plants isn’t just about biodiversity – it’s about how the global appetite for beauty and novelty turns fragile ecosystems into commodities.

A future in the balance

Walk through a greenhouse of confiscated succulents and you’ll see rows upon rows of rescued plants. Tens of thousands of tiny living things, each one stolen, now waiting for a home they may never return to. They’re tended by scientists and volunteers who know that most will never see the desert again.

Their labels tell a sombre story of modern extinction: Conophytum acutum, Conophytum pageae, Conophytum obcordellum. Some are already gone in the wild. Others teeter on the edge of extinction. 

They don’t trumpet like elephants or charge like rhinos. They don’t bleed when cut from the ground. But they are part of South Africa’s living heritage, one that is vanishing not with a bang, but with a shovel and a box.

About the author: Dominique Olivier

Dominique Olivier is the founder of human.writer, where she uses her love of storytelling and ideation to help brands solve problems.

She is a weekly columnist in Ghost Mail and collaborates with The Finance Ghost on Ghost Mail Weekender, a Sunday publication designed to help you be more interesting. She now also writes a regular column for Daily Maverick.

Dominique can be reached on LinkedIn here.