Who and Where Created White Widow?

White Widow didn’t just appear out of nowhere—someone made her. Somewhere. And that someone? That somewhere? It’s a bit of a haze, like the strain itself. But let’s start with what we do know, or at least what people say they know.

Mid-90s. The Netherlands. Amsterdam, more specifically. A guy named Shantibaba—yeah, that’s the name he went by—was working with Green House Seeds back then. He’s the one who gets the credit. Or most of it. Depends who you ask. Some folks swear it was a team effort, others say he was the mastermind. Either way, he was deep in the scene, crossing strains like a mad scientist with a joint in one hand and a vision in the other.

He took a Brazilian sativa landrace—wild, untamed, full of sun—and mixed it with a South Indian indica. That’s where the punch comes from. The result? White Widow. A frosty, sticky, resin-drenched monster that hit Europe like a thunderclap. People weren’t ready. It won the High Times Cannabis Cup in ’95 and just... exploded. Posters, seed packs, everyone talking about it like it was the second coming of weed.

But here’s where it gets murky. After Shantibaba left Green House Seeds and started Mr. Nice Seedbank with Howard Marks (yeah, that guy—the real-life drug smuggler turned folk hero), he took the original genetics with him. Or so he says. Green House still sells White Widow. Mr. Nice sells “Black Widow,” which is supposedly the real deal. So which one’s legit? Depends on who you trust. Or maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe the myth is part of the magic.

Also, let’s be real—Amsterdam in the '90s was a weird, beautiful mess. Coffee shops, techno, legal gray zones, tourists with wide eyes and no tolerance. It was the perfect place for something like White Widow to be born. Or at least to thrive. Maybe it could’ve only happened there. Maybe it didn’t even happen exactly like that. Stories get twisted. People forget. Or lie. Or both.

But yeah—Shantibaba. Amsterdam. Mid-90s. That’s the closest thing to a creation story you’re gonna get. The rest? Smoke and mirrors, baby.