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This green liquid is what olive oil soap looks like before it hardens. Workers follow centuries-old techniques to handcraft nearly 8 million bars every year at this factory in southern Turkey. Handmade olive oil soap isn't only found here. It's still made in Lebanon and the West Bank. But the craft is under pressure. As industrial soap factories are squeezing out artisanal producers. Now, in a shift, demand for more natural bath products is bringing some of these workshops back to life. In Gaziantep's Nizip district, some shops export their bars to 25 countries around the world. So, what does it take to make olive oil
soap by hand? And how is this craft still standing? Dalan soaps is one of the largest producers of handmade olive oil soaps in Turkey. Erhan's grandfather started this factory in 1965. And today, it makes 8 tons of soap daily. The process of making these bars begins in fields like this one across Turkey. Here, olives are handpicked from November to March. The first press extracts extra virgin olive oil, which is expensive and typically reserved for food. The leftover pulp is pressed again to produce pomace oil.
This is what soap makers use as their base. They boil it at nearly 180° C in these tanks that are heated by steam instead of a direct flame. The mixture also contains trace amounts of palm oil. The third key ingredient is caustic soda, which causes the fat in the farmers' oil to break down and turn into soap. After 2 days of boiling in these 20-ton tanks, the mixture thickens into a smooth, glossy paste. Then, workers prepare for the next step, pouring the hot mixture onto the floor. They cover the surface with thin sheets of paper.
Emin has been doing this for over 40 years, so he knows how dangerous this step can be. Workers guide the flow until it's evenly distributed across each row. Their overnight rest allows the soap to cool, settle, and begin to harden. It's one of the many steps in the process that can't be rushed. So, for workers like Emin, being patient is part of the job. Workers sweep the surface and scrape away any excess material before cutting begins. And the leftovers don't go to waste.
They're used in the next batch. For this step, they wear soft leather shoes called meshed. They're hand-crafted right here in Nizip and prevent the craftsmen from slipping or carrying dirt onto the soaps. Cutting is a team effort. They use a simple farming tool called a harrow to slice the soap into cubes. A physically demanding task. Every movement is precise. They cut each row, called a mashara, into roughly 1,400 to 2,500 soaps. Next comes stamping the bars with Dr.
Olus' logo. Omer has been doing this for 18 years. These days, it takes him under 10 minutes to stamp one row. This entire floor is covered with soaps that have dried to the perfect consistency. And once they cut it, the smell of olives really hits you. Soap has been around in some shape or form for thousands of years. Some of the earliest versions date back to ancient civilizations like Babylon and Egypt, where people mixed fats with ash to create a basic cleansing substance. Olive oil soap came later, around the 10th century, in cities like Aleppo and Nablus, which have remained at the center of the craft even to this day.
By the 19th century, towns like Nizip, where olives grow in abundance, had established soap workshops, reflecting a growing local industry. Olive oil soap was no longer just a household item. It became a traded good. But in the 20th century, production methods changed. Industrial soaps and synthetic detergents began to take over. These products were faster and cheaper to make and didn't require months of drying or skilled manual labor. The rise of liquid soap added another challenge. It was seen as a more convenient and seemingly more hygienic alternative, shifting everyday use away
from bar soap. But these mass-produced products can contain around 20 ingredients, including synthetic fragrances and coloring agents. While the formula for handmade olive oil soap has remained simple. Just olive oil, water, and caustic soda. Today, as consumers look for more natural products, these bars are finding a global market once again, especially among those with sensitive skin. And that's helping traditional soap makers in Lebanon and Palestine. These places are widely considered the birthplace of olive oil soap, with some workshops dating back a thousand years. But decades of conflict in the region, even till today, has hurt the industry. While the West Bank once had nearly 40 workshops,
Al Shaka Soap Factory is one of 15 still operating. We visited it in 2020. Here, workers don't have hoses to spread the soap, so they carry the boiling hot liquid one bucket at a time. Then they individually measure and mark the surface before cutting. Bars from Nablus are more expensive because ingredient costs are higher. Over in Lebanon, Masbanat Awida is also one of the last soap makers operating in the region. Here, workers use powdered soap flakes instead of paper to keep the liquid from sticking to the cement. They bring buckets back and forth from the tanks about 700 times.
It takes 3 hours to cover the floor with one batch of soap. Before cutting, they mark the boundaries by soaking this cord in dye and stretching it across the floor. Back in Turkey, museums like this one play a role in telling that story. This 400-year-old building was once a working soap factory. Now, it attracts thousands of visitors a year. Each room reflects a different stage of the process. From the initial molding and cutting to the finished bars. This kind of craftsmanship still exists in traditional soap factories today. And even as methods evolve, the need for soap hasn't changed.
That's what Dr. Ulus is counting on to keep its factory going. Once workers finish down here, they place the bars on wooden trays, load them onto carts, and transfer them upstairs using this elevator. This is where they stack them in towering formations, carefully placing one bar at a time. Each dome holds about 7,500 soaps. The design allows air to circulate evenly around every bar. So, as you can see, every soap has some space between it, and this is also empty in the middle.
Over time, you can see the transformation. As the soap dries and ages, it actually changes color. This stack is a little lighter in color. This has been aging for a few weeks now, whereas this one is brand new and it has this deep olive oil color. It's one of the clearest signs the soap has been made the traditional way. Drying it for 6 months gives the soap its hardness and its shelf life. The factory sells them in packs of 24 to distributors who set their own price. Workers evenly group the bars in rows and cover them with coffee sacks.
The packaging protects the soap from humidity while allowing it to breathe and dry. They sew each bag by hand and load the trucks to prepare for distribution. Most of these soaps are sold in Turkey, but Dr. Olulu also exports to countries such as Russia and China. But they can't make them all year round, only for the 3 to 5 months when olives are in season. So to stay competitive, they also produce some machine-made varieties with different ingredients like rose, clay, and honey. For the workers here, keeping this tradition alive is a generational responsibility.
Now, Erhan hopes his family's business and this craft will continue to grow.
