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Tentside Surgery
One morning, Demesse’s five-year old grandson, Lule, appeared at the tent porch with a cut finger. Nothing serious, it just needed to be cleaned, liberal amounts of antiseptic cream applied and a plaster. Then, the co-operative accountant’s son, Henock, arrived with a nasty sore on his foot caused by an ill-fitting sandal. Again, the same treatment (and a new pair of sandals). It didn’t take long before word soon got around and I was asked to visit Jerbose’s bedside who was suffering from a high temperature and severe back pain. The guardsman, Demesse, told me he had similar symptoms. A trip to the hospital in the nearby town of Agaro…
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Washing the Cherry Harvest
Shortly after nightfall, the relaxed tempo suddenly stepped up a gear, or two. The prelude to this was the arrival of the co-operative’s rusting Toyota pick-up truck as it barrelled up the slope with just enough momentum to reach the top. The sense of the excitement in the air was palpable. With its suspension groaning under the weight of the precious load, a dozen or so co-operative members jumped out of the back and – one by one – carried the queshas (hessian sacks) of red cherry on their shoulders to be weighed in on an antique floor-standing set of scales. When you consider that some of the sacks weighed…
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Morning Chorus at the Mill
The organically certified Choche Coffee Farmers Cooperative and its 844 members collectively own two wet milling stations and one dry huller. With a huge debt of gratitude, I was invited to spend a week on one of them. Nestled on the side of a sloping southeast-facing aspect with a gurgling brook at the bottom, the wet milling station is perfectly situated to catch the best of the daytime sun. I arrived just before nightfall and erected the tent with the help of the burly site guardsman, Demesse, and his son, Solomon, on high ground to catch the view of the sunrise over the numerous rows of drying beds that fanned…
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A Roundabout to Coffee
I never thought that I could be so overjoyed at the sight of a strip of tarmac. So overjoyed, in fact, that I wanted to kneel down and kiss its smooth, bitumen-coated surface. This was trumped shortly afterwards by a giant pot of coffee. After battling through seemingly endless kilometres of ungraded gravel, I finally reached Jimma, the capital of the coffee growing region in the western highlands. In addition to its bold claim to be the origin of coffee; the dusty, chaotic but charming university town is worthy of a visit for many reasons. For one, I can’t think of any other town that can boast of its very…
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Highland Hysteria
You know you’re getting off the beaten track because the faranji frenzy turns into pure highland hysteria. If you could bottle it, it would be strong, potent stuff. The more ‘off-piste’ you go, the more hysterical the children. It’s an overwhelming, psychologically challenging, at times hilarious, often surreal, deeply moving, endlessly entertaining experience; especially the bizarre sight of young boys jigging about whilst shaking their ‘moneymaker’ for all it’s worth on the dusty roadside verge. Following on from an account in a previous post, here is the latest abridged version of the perpetual roadside chorus that has accompanied my ‘Tour de Ethiopique’ wherever I go: Habasha (Ethiopian): High, high, highland,…
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Catching the Lion
There is an Amharic phrase that says: ‘Spiders webs joined together can catch a lion.’ It is fitting for a culture that still predominantly works to the principles of collectivism rather than the pursuit of personal gain. The tradition of co-operative working has deep roots in Ethiopian society, primarily to address rural challenges such as maintaining food security. In a country where the failure of the seasonal rains can literally mean the difference between food on the table or an empty stomach, collective action is the means by which communities are sustained through hard times. This mode of living starts, above all else, with the family unit. At the invitation…
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Tour de Ethiopique
When the day of departure finally came, the early morning sun was shining brightly in a big, blue African sky without a threatening storm cloud in sight – the first time in a month. A sign that Kareumt (the long rainy season from June – September) was finally coming to an end as the warm rays bathed the Friary garden with the promise of an Ethiopian spring. After bidding farewell to the Brothers over a simple breakfast of honey and bread, washed down with copious amounts of freshly prepared coffee, I took a deep breath and started to turn my wheels once more. If the truth be told, I had…
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A Family Affair
Eleven years ago, a man with a visionary idea walked into the Government office of Ato Tadele Dargie to seek his advice. The idea was so bold, so ambitious, that Tadele was prepared to do everything he could do to help turn this idea into reality. Many years of little contact passed between the two men after their encounter on that auspicious day. Then, early one morning, Tadele received an unexpected phone call. He knew exactly what was being asked of him when the voice at the other end of the line said the words: ‘The day has arrived, I need you now’. That man was Ato Tadesse Meskela. Fast…
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Let the Cupping Commence
An inviting aromatic smell of freshly roasted beans was our cue to enter the laboratory. The air of anticipation was almost palpable as we reverently filed into the spotlessly clean room. To one end stood a German manufactured Probat double chambered micro roaster elegantly fashioned out of copper and steel that continued to radiate heat from the morning’s batch. Two beady eyes in the form of analogue temperature gauges perched on top gazed out over the proceedings that were about to take place. Heading up the investigation team, Coffee Quality Section Head and expert Licensed Grader (cupper), Ato Tilahun Mekonen, assumed the air of a seasoned detective looking for the…
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A Capuchin Retreat
The move from the hustle and bustle of the backpacker Piazza district to the peace and tranquility of the Friary was just the (self prescribed) ticket. After receiving an invitation to join the community for a few days, I set off on the bike in the pouring rain to find the compound 10kms outside Addis city centre. The short but eventful ride involved negotiating around huge mud filled craters big enough to swallow a bus whilst being followed by groups of excitable young children shouting a chorus of ‘Faranji!’ (foreigner). Arriving at the Friary – ecstatically drenched and splattered from head to toe in the ubiquitous reddish-brown mud of the…