I’d forgotten that early morning starts are standard fayre for these kinds of trips. These places are huge and 2 hours is just around the corner. I’m woken first by my alarm and then by an Imam singing out a call to prayer. In Jersey that would bring a noise complaint here it’s just part of the tapestry of the culture. Breakfast is an odd combination of fried things, so I stick to a fresh Papaya juice and some sponge cake, I feel neither hungry nor willing to experiment. The coffee though was a welcome relief.
Back on the road and the usual mayhem greeted us, it was raining, a first for me in an origin country where that commodity, water is so precious. I spotted a young girl standing at a bus stop holding a banana leaf over her head as a makeshift umbrella, others were simply getting wet whilst a few had the luxury of an umbrella that yesterday had been shading them from the sun. The rule here apparently is that it rains in the morning and evening but is dry by day.
The traffic whilst chaotic isn’t gridlocked in the way that cities in Sumatra are. The tuk-tuk dominates, whilst there is a good combination of motorbikes and small lorries most of which we dodged with a combination of skilful driving and a liberal use of the van horn.
There are people everywhere along the roadside, all purposefully walking to wherever they need to get to. There are plenty of animals too, goats, cows and donkeys plus a few stray dogs. Ownership of said animals isn’t always obvious as many end up in the middle of the road unimpressed by the apparent danger in front of them. It’s a landscape completely removed from my daily experience but which works here. Many carry the tools of their trade, a large machete, an axe, a spade. Others and mostly women will be carrying branches of wood or container of fresh fruit on their head and/or back. It’s a tough gig, but not earning isn’t an option. Us white guys are seen as curiosities, unrelated to their world as we are unrelatable to theirs.
Eventually we reached the farm I’d come to visit. We drove down a track between coffee bushes, now devoid of coffee cherries. Not all had been picked, a lot had simply fallen to the floor because there are insufficient coffee pickers to carry out this tough work for piece rate pay. Teddy told us that 50% of the crop had not been picked this year, that’s extraordinary.
Having been to many coffee farms, this one felt slightly unkempt and reflected the market they were in. My business buys what is described in the trade as “speciality”, this however only represents around 30% of the entire market, Teddy is in the 70% category, much of his coffee is used as “filler” for roasters looking to bulk up blends with cheaper coffee. It’s massively competitive and very much volume led.
A short drive later and we reach the washing station. We are greeted with row upon row of “African raised beds”. These are the equivalent of large trays on stilts that have a mesh base. In full production all of these beds will be full of coffee, however today only a handful are in use and these had been covered with a plastic sheet to stop the coffee cherries from getting wet and in turn fermenting.
There are plenty of people milling around with apparently very little to do. One of them has a gun, he’s apparently the “security”, although when the gun was last used in anger would appear to be lost in the eons of time. Deterrent, rather than lethal threat is probably the best way to sum it up.
As we arrive some women start to remove the plastic sheets now the rain had stopped. It’s a bit of a mixed bag of coffee cherries. Some of the more recently picked looked very green but would turn black after a period of drying, these are what are called “naturals” and are sold as Grade 5 Jimma. The pulping equipment whilst state of the art is shut down due to the lack of cherries. In Myanmar I had seen this equipment in full flow at the height of the season stripping the outer skin off the coffee bean. It’s an impressive sight and a significant capital investment, here it remains unused until the next crop. A store nearby holds the last few bags of naturals and some remnants of “parchment coffee” awaiting delivery from the last “washed” production.
Keeping a track of all this coffee must be challenging when it’s scattered between washing stations and mills and you are trying to do a deal with a customer who wants a container of coffee. The logistics are phenomenal.
It’s time for some lunch and we’re taken to a series of buildings. In one a young girl is preparing our food, as well as brewing coffee over some very smoky charcoal. She’s working away receiving instructions from a man whilst other farm workers are standing around awaiting feeding. It seems to my eyes a very unequitable situation and something that made me feel very uncomfortable given how far we have come in our society. It’s so hard to judge when you don’t understand the culture, so I let it rest.
We were then ushered into a small hut, here we are given what is the equivalent of a rolled up pancake but which is actually a bit more spongy, then something akin to a dense soup-like liquid is poured over the “pancake”, the labour of this young girl. Once finished the coffee is called for and once again it is the young girl serving a room full of men and who when finished sits demurely awaiting further instructions.
A kitten appears and after eating a few scraps, sits purring on my lap. A little bit of kindness in a tough world.
Once done we make our way back to the van that is our transport. What is noticeable is the amount of plastic floating around. Our empty water bottles have been chucked on the road side alongside the tin lids of many a bottled beer. We obsess about micro-plastics and its impact on the environment yet here every “rule” is being flouted. It’s so tough to get everyone on the same page. Maybe I should have requested a container in which to place the waste and made a point, but then again where would that waste go, are there actually any collecting points out here or do they simply burn and bury?
We moved on to a drying station where the naturals are usually hulled ready for market only to discover that the Government had shut the place down. Apparently there was currently so much coffee in the system that a pause had been put on any further production. A couple of notices with official looking stamps were attached to the entrance doors. Nothing could be touched, we weren’t allowed to even see the hulling machine because “breaking” the Govt. seal would bring damnation, or at least a large fine. Quite incredible given how much cash Teddy has tied up in the process.
We moved to the patios where a heap of dried cherries had been placed and we watched as this was bagged up ready for when the hulling machine was allowed to start operations. I hadn’t appreciated the consequences on the livelihoods of the workforce this decision to halt hulling production had on the workforce until I saw an A4 sheet of paper stuck to a wall outside the site office. It listed a series of “piece rates” paid for work done at the plant. 20 bur for each bag unloaded from a vehicle and placed in the store, 20 bur for each bag of coffee cherries filled from the patio, and so the list went on. Basically no work, no pay. The consequences of this Government action devastating for the workforce. You learn so much by simply walking in others' shoes.
It was time to head back to our hotel and some great conversation over our evening meal.
