In Japan, a prepared dish costs up to $90 a plate, while in the northeastern United States they are worth thousands of dollars a pound, fresh out of the water.

But the gross-looking, wriggly fish that has become both a delicacy — and a currency — known as "zangi" in Haitian-Creole, is also fueling a new kind of illicit trafficking in the volatile Caribbean nation, the head of the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime told the U.N. Security Council on Wednesday.

Zangi, or eel, is fueling a booming wildlife crime business in Haiti, where illegal high-powered weapons from the United States and U.S.-bound Colombian-cocaine were already compounding an unprecedented security crisis.

“There is growing evidence that several Haitian nationals are part of a wider criminal network connected to lucrative eel trafficking, operating in Haiti and beyond,” Ghada Waly, executive director of the U.N. Office on Drugs and Crime, said. “Some reports indicate that powerful political and economic figures in Haiti use the eel industry to launder drug profits.”

Waly didn’t go into details. But U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agents in Haiti have long flagged concerns to their bosses in the Caribbean and Washington about suspected drug traffickers in Haiti branching out into eel trafficking both to hide drug proceeds and to move cocaine out of the country by stashing loads among the elongated fish.

Now after not getting much attention, the accelerating trade, which is legal, is getting a deeper look.

In October, when the U.N. voted unanimously to expand an arms embargo on Haiti to include all types of weapons and ammunition, they also mentioned sanctioning those “engaging in activities that destabilize Haiti through the illicit exploitation or trade of natural resources.”

Those familiar with the behind-the-scenes discussions leading up to the expansion and renewal of sanctions say the language refers to the rising concerns about the role of eel trafficking in Haiti’s ongoing destabilization.

Weeks before the U.N. vote, a twin-engine Cessna 404 crashed in a wooded area of southwest Haiti after taking off from the Les Cayes Airport. The crash claimed the lives of the pilot, Guy Emanuel Saint Amour, a U.S. citizen from South Florida and experienced flight operator, and his co-pilot, Codio Blaise, a Haitian citizen. The aircraft had been transporting a cargo of eel, reportedly from the nearby city of Jérémie in the Grand’Anse.

The cause of the crash remains unknown. But the nature of the crash — despite having fueled up in Port-au-Prince the plane did not catch fire when it fell out of the sky — along with the lucrative cargo it was transporting immediately raised suspicions among those who have been investigating the links between the booming wildlife business and Haiti’s illicit markets. After the incident, Haitian police opened an investigation.

“Corruption and money laundering continue to undermine prospects for stability in Haiti, while enabling trafficking and organized crime,” Waly told the Security Council.

The illicit markets, she said, are helping to fuel the ongoing violence and political stability in Haiti, where armed gangs last year intensified their attacks and expanded their control of roads and territory.

Even before the current security crisis, criminal networks had already turned Haiti into a narco-state. Evidence suggests, Waly said, that “a small group of individuals has maintained considerable influence over Haiti’s drug trade from the 1980s until today.”

“A review of documents and informal accounts reveals that this group includes Haitian former military personnel, law enforcement officers, members of parliament and businessmen operating in Haiti and the United States, as well as other countries in the region,” she said. “Breaking up this long standing and deeply entrenched network is key to stemming the flow of drugs through Haiti.”

The problem, however, is that the DEA office in Port-au-Prince is among 14 field offices around the world that the agency last year targeted for closure. Though it’s unclear if or when the decision will take effect, there is currently no DEA presence in the country, despite Waly’s concerns about the illicit eel market as well as those about armed gangs collaborating with South American and Mexican drug cartels.

The eel industry is one of the most opaque. Cuba’s eel trade, for example, has grown without explanation. As of October of last year, the country had $5.2 million in exports among top traders into Canada. In Haiti, there is even less transparency around the industry, including how many export licenses have been issued and who has them.

Haiti’s governments over the last few years haven’t said much about the eel exports in the country, which provides exports licenses through the ministry of agriculture. Government export figures don’t provide much information in terms of who holds the lucrative licenses, either. Central Bank figures, for example, only give data for two years between 2009 and 2023 on eel exports.

“Haitian authorities need support to start analyzing and investigating money laundering linked to illegal wildlife trade,” Waly said.

Eel fishing big business

In the northwest coastal city of Port-de-Paix, fishing for eel, which weigh only a few grams each, has become a source of revenue. At night both children and adults alike can be seen slogging through the murky waters with homemade nets and lights looking to harvest the slimy fish. Their catch is then sold to middlemen, who in turn sell them to exporters in Port-au-Prince.

Because the fish are delicate, they need to be moved quickly, which sometimes includes flying them out via small aircraft or racing in the middle of the night along gang-controlled roads. They are then exported out of Haiti to Miami, where the cargo is again quickly loaded onto aircraft bound for China, where they are then raised for food.

The fast turnaround between harvesting and export has raised questions about how much scrutiny goes into examining the shipments.

Samuel Tervil, who lives near the ocean in Port-de-Paix on the northwest coast, says at night he can “see a lot” of people in the water fishing for eels. At first, he said, he didn’t know what it was he was catching. But then someone came from Port-au-Prince and explained to them what the wormy-looking creature was, and began buying it from him and other residents. This was around 2013, Tervil said, and since then eel fishing has become lucrative.

“It’s a diamond in the ocean,” he said, showing off his homemade fishing net he made to scoop the fish out of the water. “This is why they buy it.”

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