Chasing Coffee in Ethiopia, Part Two: The Goat Sacrifice

Welcome back to our installment of features from Ashton Goggans of Sightglass Coffee, an independent roastery in San Francisco, about the company's ongoing sourcing trips around Africa. There's a lot of crazy shit that happens in order to get high-quality beans back into the States, so the next time you start bitching about your overpriced cup of java, check back in on this ongoing series to get an insider's perspective about what it takes to source some of the best coffee in the world.

The origin story of coffee goes something like this: roughly a millennia go, a goat herder in Ethiopia (what was then known as Abyssinia) woke up one morning to discover that his tribe had not returned from the prior night's grazing. He set out on foot to look for the animals, only to discover them crowded around a small green bush, rapidly feasting on its bright red berries. The goats frolicked, mounted each other, and danced around. Concerned, he gathered some of the berries and brought them to a nearby church, where a priest condemned the berries as evil. The priest threw them in a fire. The burning beans produced such a pleasant aroma that he quickly removed them from the ashes and—for some reason—ground them up, placed them in hot water, and drank it. He justified his indulging in the elixir, stating it helped him pray late into the night without becoming tired. And then you have coffee.

This ritual is still performed in Ethiopia today: roasting beans in a cast-iron pan over an open flame, pulverizing the roasted beans into a fine powder using a makeshift mortar and pestle, dissolving the powder in boiling water and drinking the thick, crude liquid. It has the consistency of motor fluid.

Coffee Arabica, the variety that accounts for about 75 percent of the world's coffee, can be traced back to this region of East Africa. The remarkable varieties of wild forest coffees—what one might anxiously refer to as "heirloom"—that grow in the mountains here, are some of the most sought after coffees on the planet, known for bright, vibrant flavors of jasmine and citrus, stone fruits, and delicate floral aromatics. In a world rife with homogenous industrial agriculture, the opportunity to visit a crop at its original source of discovery, where ancient varieties continue to grow wild is pretty special.

Every time we visit Ethiopia, producers perform the coffee ceremony for us. It's a sign of respect and gratitude for our coming all the way here to buy these wonderful little berries that grow in the mountains all around them, and which provide them with their livelihoods.

In October, the new US Ambassador to Ethiopia, Patricia Haslach, who previously worked as the United States' Iraq Transition Coordinator, spoke at the Ethiopian Coffee Exporters Conference.

"I have been informed about the goat who discovered coffee in Ethiopia," she said. She went on to quote someone named "Andrew Starbucks," and talked about how she hoped that not only Ethiopian goats but the entire international community could enjoy the "benefits and delight" of Ethiopian coffee.

Two days into our visit, we arrived at Kundi Gagi, a cooperative of coffee farmers outside Illubador. Dusk was quickly approaching. The drive to get there had taken much longer than we had expected thanks to our driver (who was slow and not cooperative.) When we pulled up, twenty of the Kundi Gagi's farmers were gathered at the top of a steep hill lined with raised African drying beds—tables made of wood and mesh where processed green coffee beans are laid to dry after wet-milling.

A young boy stood with them, holding a goat by a rope leash.

Rainy season had lasted late into the fall, and the washing stations were only just beginning to receive ripe coffee cherry from the surrounding forests. The drying beds were bare and empty, moving gently in the breeze. The early evening light was dying quickly as the sun fell below the mountains and blanketed the valley in shade.

Justin said that he knew something was up when he saw the little kid with the goat on the rope. The boy led the creature to the bottom of the hill. We followed. The producers gathered around us.

The cooperative's leader spoke a few words to us in Amharic. They were pleased to have Americans visiting their cooperative. They were thankful we had returned to buy more of their coffee. It was going to be a good harvest. The coffees would be "very good" he promised. They had worked very hard to pick the best coffees. It was a heartfelt pitch, from a ropy, stoic man holding a walking cane smooth from years of use, his clothes dusty and torn.

Our guide, a coffee sourcer for a Nigerian based coffee importer, who we'll call "May"—tall and striking, blonde hair to the base of her neck, Norwegian by birth, and tough like certain elementary school teachers—spoke to the group. Her tone was stern and direct.

We were very glad to be here at Kundi Gagi, she said. She explained that we had come from San Francisco and purchased their coffee for our roastery the year before. It was a tough year for coffee, she continued. Prices for Ethiopian coffee were very low. The way for Kundi Gagi to get good prices for their coffees was to focus on quality, to pay attention to details. Otherwise they would not get nearly what they had last year.

The men smiled nervously. Justin looked at me with a glance that read like, the girl handles business pretty well, doesn't she?

May finished. The man who had spoken to us smiled, and laid his walking cane down. He reached down, grabbed the goat, and flipped it on its back. The goat didn't resist. It went limp as he brought his machete to its throat and commenced what can only be described as sawing. The goat's throat opened good and wide. Blood soaked its coat and formed puddled in the wet damp grass. The entire cooperative seemed to be watching us with bemused smiles.

The animal remained still, silent. We stood watching. Jerad had his camera out. Justin was looking at me, smiling. The goat began to jerk and kick.

Nerves, Justin said. Just nerves. It's dead.