The next day, we were treated to the scenery of traditional houses passing by as we drove through the Sidama Region. We were on our way to observe two washing stations that were operated by or had a partnership with Moplaco.

I’d gotten fairly used to life at an altitude of over 2,000 meters but running still left me out of breath. Even on the road, it was hard to tell where passersby were coming from or going to. I’d felt the same way while visiting certain places in Central America. Whenever it happened, I’d try to accustom myself to the feeling, but I noticed that it always seemed to limit my range of activity. It was a little frustrating because it felt like as long as my legs were up to it, I should be able to go anywhere I wanted.

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The first washing station we visited was called “Homasho.” For several years, Moplaco has been working with them as an operating partner. Moplaco has exerted a great amount of influence on Ethiopian coffee as a whole, and their policy of efficiently using both in-house and partnership operations to cover a wide range of coffee beans provides much food for thought to anyone involved in company management. Heleanna and her colleagues seem to be fully aware of how much they are supporting the country as they endeavor to create a coffee production cycle that is beneficial to both producers and nature. It makes me wonder if the taste of their products is really the only way they can convey their conviction, passion, and the sum of all their efforts to consumers.

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The second washing station we visited was called “Kokosa,” operated in-house by Moplaco. Upon arrival, many women greeted us with a song and dance. Heleanna told us that they were performing traditional songs of the region. They sang us one song after the next, clapping their hands and pounding the earth as their clear voices carried over the horizon. Although I didn’t know any of the words, somehow, I clearly understood the feelings each song was trying to convey.

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A few days later when Heleanna asked us, “What was your best memory of the trip?” I told her that this scene had impacted me the most. It was almost like a spiritual experience that I can’t describe in words. The memory was unconsciously engraved into my mind. Even after returning to Japan, sometimes I still get sudden flashbacks of those melodies.

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After observing various processes being carried out at the washing stations, we were given a coffee ceremony at the back building. The table was covered with potatoes and passion fruit, as well as a buttery substance that was smeared across a jar. We also enjoyed some of Ethiopia’s traditional alcohol made with honey. When drinking coffee in a production area, there’s so much more to experience than just the taste of the product. I’ve felt this way multiple times now. While drinking my cup of coffee surrounded by the environment that nurtured it, I couldn’t help but feel extremely grateful.

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It started to rain, so we had to quickly leave the mountain. While it was adorable to see the many children who innocently chased after the car as we drove away, passing by a young woman who emphasized her breasts to us in hopes of being “bought” was a jarring experience. It made me realize that as overseas visitors, we weren’t just seen as “coffee buyers,” but our presence had various meanings to the local people. They were living just to survive.

As the rain lifted, I was lost in thought as I gazed out at the pastoral landscape of grazing cows.

I had the opportunity to plant trees at Wete Ambela. Later in the day, I made my way to Heleanna’s farm where I got to observe farmers at work.

As I watched the natural drying process (known as sun drying here), the sorting of the anaerobic fermentation process, and the handpicking of the coffee in African beds, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief and relaxation. The process was no different from what I had seen in Central America, but the surrounding beauty of the workers in their traditional attire added a special touch to the experience.

Heleanna graciously shared her knowledge and allowed me to take pictures of the peaceful scene. I don’t intend to talk at length about gender and whatnot, but it’s not hard to imagine how many hardships she has had to overcome to get to where she is today. Her long silver hair and the wrinkles etched on her face speak to her journey as a woman in the coffee industry, which she entered after a successful career in Europe following the death of her father when she was about 35 years old.

She embodies the idea of coexistence with nature, which has been passed down through generations of indigenous people in Ethiopia, and expresses this through her coffee exports. Her perspective on the importance of preserving this idea for the future of Ethiopia is especially powerful given her experiences outside of the country.

She has been screaming this beautiful idea through coffee, an idea that’s being eroded with economic growth.

When I asked Heleanna about her thoughts on global warming and what consumers in importing countries could do to help, she replied with a firm tone, “Not by just posting pictures of workers in ethnic costumes on social media.”

“Look around,” she continued, gesturing towards a large, beautiful tree and the river behind it. “It’s your duty to educate consumers on what makes a good cup of coffee.”

Her words echoed those of a Honduran coffee farmer I had spoken to in the past. 

The specialty coffee wave has connected producers and consumers, and prompted many coffee professionals to visit the origins of coffee, as exemplified by this trip. But on the other hand, the essence of the coffee often goes untold, with only the quality taste and eye-catching and beautiful visuals being exported.

Heleanna has dedicated her life to telling the story of coffee production and connecting with people. 

I feel like my visit to her farm will serve as a watershed moment for me.

Mornings can be chilly in Ethiopia. I stepped out of my sleeping bag and took a walk in the crisp atmosphere, which heightened my senses to the beautifully-hued landscape and rich sounds around me.

Later, I joined the producers from Wete Ambela again and went to their dry mill. The African terraced beds, built on a gentle slope over a vast area, looked just like the iconic images of coffee farms in Africa. Although the farm was inactive due to the end of the harvest season, we were given thorough explanations as we explored the site.

What struck me was something Elias said, “I feel happy when the people in the surrounding community are able to produce coffee with joy.” Our happiness is shaped by others, and creating happiness for those around us is probably the true meaning of happiness. Elias’ words gave us a glimpse into what happiness truly means.

Later, I had the chance to plant coffee seedlings.

I have been traveling to coffee-producing countries for years and have participated in harvesting and processing, but planting seedlings was a new experience for me. As I planted heirloom seedlings into the Ethiopian soil with my own hands, I felt an intense urge to come back to this place again.

Moplaco’s director, Heleanna, came out to greet us as soon as we arrived. She’s one of the most well-known Ethiopian producers in Japan, so it felt good to finally be able to meet her in person.

Similar to that afternoon, another tea ceremony was performed in a sprawling grassy space, and we were also treated to a traditional dance from some local dancers. Watching the performance, I felt like I was witnessing people whose lives were connected to nature through dance. Halfway through, we were asked to join in with them, and we all danced around the bonfire. Funnily, I didn’t feel embarrassed at all. Actually, I was happy that we could all come together and share the experience.

Heleanna spoke with us as we enjoyed a plethora of traditional foods and alcoholic beverages.

She has a deep love for nature that became even more apparent as she told us about the changes she was seeing in Ethiopia. Specifically, the decline of the long-heralded Yirgacheffe coffee and the emergence of new production areas. With each word she spoke, I could tell that she was worried about the future of Ethiopian coffee. And what’s more, I got the impression that it wasn’t a “people issue,” but a problem with the system itself.

Everyone is looking for a game changer these days. People want to create a brand-new future, not an extension of the past.

Or, maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe the system needed to be updated. A reprogramming that takes us back to the group-focused societies our ancestors first cultivated thousands of years ago.

We should remember that our lives can only be lived thanks to other people, and foster appreciation and respect for others in the group. As I gazed into the burning bonfire while listening to Heleanna talk, I understood she was trying to sound a warning bell for the people of today who are accustomed to modern conveniences and misunderstand that they can survive on their own.

For the next few hours after checking out of the hotel, we drove along red dirt roads weaving through several large and small towns along the way. One thing that surprised me was the incredible perception that the people we passed by seem to have. As soon as they noticed there were non-locals in the car, they would lock eyes with us, and the instant we passed by, they’d raise their eyebrows slightly in a sign of recognition. I was used to the practice of raising one’s chin as a greeting in South America, so it was interesting to see the differences between the two regions.

While still reveling in this discovery and other small things I’d noticed along the way, we finally arrived at Wete Ambela, the coffee farm run by Mekuria Mergia and his family. Disembarking from the car, I marveled at the coffee trees fluttering in the breeze before my eyes. I’d seen many types of industrially produced Coffea before, but this was my first encounter with the “Heirloom” variety, an ancestral coffee species endemic to Ethiopia that has never undergone genetic modification. Realizing that I was face-to-face with a variety of coffee that probably had a history longer than mankind’s was almost enough to bring me to my knees in awe.

Most of the coffee cherries had already been harvested by the time we visited the farm, but as we walked around the premises, I noticed a straggler or two remaining. Not wanting to miss out on the opportunity, I popped one into my mouth and savored the natural juices as they burst out from the thin flesh. Truth be told, I couldn’t tell if the flavor was that different from the ones I’d tried before in South America. There was a familiarity, but it wasn’t quite identical either. Still, discovering that a coffee cherry grown on such dry-looking land contained so much juice, led me to believe there was probably a large quantity of water stored deep inside the soil below.

After returning from our walk through the fields, we were invited to eat lunch with the family. On our way there, I noticed the buildings leading to the kitchen were paved with a lemongrass-like plant. It’s a sight that can only be experienced in Ethiopia, a country where nature worship remains, as this plant growth is supposed to resemble a forest for the purpose of summoning good spirits.

After observing a traditional coffee ceremony, we were treated to a variety of Ethiopian foods. The spread included injera, the spongy bread that’s gained quite a bit of fame online, kocho made with bananas, and stewed beef offal. Throughout the lunch, I found myself experiencing a plethora of new flavors and textures. I didn’t dislike the meal, but it might take some time before I could consider the dishes to be something my tastebuds craved.

As I listened to Mekuria and Elias’s stories, I couldn’t help but feel that managing the coffee shop was somehow intrinsically linked to the local community. Through their existence and deeds, the community could be enriched and keep growing. And on the flipside, positive influences stemming from the enrichment of the community would be returned to them.

They seemed to be envisioning a future where both parties could continue to grow and thrive together.

Stepping off the connecting flight to Awassa Airport, I was greeted by a beautiful, but barren, landscape. It was exactly what I had pictured, which made me feel relieved.

We hopped in the car and headed to the hotel, passing by a kid riding a donkey, clouds of dust, and locals who shyly waved and smiled as our eyes met. It was all starting to feel real – I was finally in Ethiopia! I couldn’t help but feel a burst of excitement, something I hadn’t felt in a while after traveling through Central and South America became all too familiar.

At the hotel, I joined the rest of the group in chatting about our individual trip goals. I heard everyone’s personal theme for this trip and took some time to think about my own.

Turns out, we all had a similar theme in mind – to explore what we can find in the birthplace of coffee. Basically, we’re all trying to figure out what makes us coffee pros. And I’m no exception, it’s a classic theme for people in our line of work.

We’re only just getting started in Ethiopia and each of us is here for a reason. I can’t wait to take in all the sights and sounds this place has to offer.

With a backpack packed to the brim on my back, I waltzed into Narita Airport, ready to take off. Then things took an unexpected turn: I tested positive for Covid-19 in a pre-flight PCR test. Uh-oh.

This is how, just four hours before the flight, my visit to Kenya, the roots of my coffee journey, came to an abrupt end.

But thankfully, TYPICA gave me a spot in the next round of TYPICA Lab, this time with a team headed to Ethiopia. What would have been a trip back to the roots of my coffee journey turned into something bigger, something that will take me to the roots of coffee itself.

The word “kariomon” in my shop’s name “KARIOMONS COFFEE” comes from the Majang people, an Ethiopian hunter tribe. 

They venture out on hunts and gather branches from wild coffee trees to make tea. They roast the leaves, dry them in the shade, and enjoy the drink with their tight-knit community. This tradition is called “kariomon.”

I was drawn to the  indescribable charm of this tradition and knew it was the perfect name for my shop. Ethiopia may be the birthplace of coffee, but in a way, it’s also the birthplace of KARIOMONS COFFEE.

Ethiopia is as sacred to me as Kenya is. It holds a special place in my heart and my coffee journey.

I will be traveling with great members. This trip will surely change me.

I am beyond grateful to TYPICA for providing me with this opportunity, and I am also thankful to the welcoming exporters and supportive friends and family who are cheering me on as I prepare to leave Japan, for a second time.

I visited Nicaragua and El Salvador in Central America, and met coffee farmers in person for the first time in my life.

I’ve visited them every year since, and now we are like friends or family. Visiting them feels more like visiting my own hometown.

In my earlier post, I mentioned how I fell in love with this world after drinking a Kenyan coffee. But I’d never stepped foot in Kenya, Tanzania, or the continent of Africa, even after all these years of traveling to coffee origins. Africa is like a holy site for me. You could say that I’d been unconsciously keeping a certain distance from the continent.

By now, I’ve gotten used to packing for origin trips. And yet, with my departure coming up tomorrow, I am unusually slow. I guess I am nervous, imagining what it will be like to finally visit a place I’ve never seen.

I’m at a loss where to start, looking at things scattered around the floor, scratching my head.

In any case, the trip starts tomorrow.

I can’t help but feel excited and nervous at once, now that the new journey of beginnings is about to start.

I want to enjoy the trip with the other roasters with whom I’m blessed to travel.