The brief rise and sudden fall of the short-lived Zimbabwean coffee industry is a particularly poignant tale because it all took place well after 1980. It was not the case that a previously prosperous Rhodesian coffee industry was run aground by ZANU-PF — because there had never been much of a Rhodesian coffee industry. In 90 years of colonialism it had simply never taken off. The veld of southern Rhodesia is largely unsuitable for this type of crop. The only area amenable for growing coffee is a thin strip of mountain along the border with Mozambique, mostly in the Honde valley in Chipinge district. There were some attempts to cultivate coffee there in the 1960s, but under sanctions, Rhodesia’s main trade efforts focused on smuggling out mineral ore and tobacco, their historic bulk exports, and smuggling in oil and weapons, not on trying to break into new boutique markets like coffee. And the border area with Zimbabwe in particular became a very “hot” war zone in the 1970s. Rhodesians tended in any case to prefer drinking tea.
Throughout the 20th century, coffee cultivation had been creeping slowly southward through Africa. From Ethiopia, the birthplace of coffee, it spread to Kenya and Tanzania, and had reached Northern Rhodesia, later Zambia, by the 1950s. All of these countries, together with Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi, are all major exporters of coffee today. Even Madagascar produces some, although it’s not as easy to find among online retailers. African coffee is renowned for its chocolate and blueberry notes. For those of you who don’t understand what “notes” means: they don’t put chocolate flavoring or blueberry extract or anything like that into the coffee. The coffee itself naturally has a complex flavor profile that people who like it describe as reminding them of things like blueberry, etc.
In the 1980s, Zimbabwean farmers rediscovered the far-eastern strip of their country where coffee might be grown. With no help from the government, they now bought land in this region and made the necessary investments to grow and process coffee for export. In doing so, they also provided tens of thousands of jobs for locals in an area that, like most of the rest of Zimbabwe, is poor. Ray Mwareya and Nyasha Bhobo writing for the Specialty Coffee Association in 2021, quote “Jaison Songwe, 59, a veteran coffee agronomist” who estimates that in the 1990s “Planting, milling, and export of the crop directly supported up to 20,000 livelihoods, mostly Black laborers, though farms remained overwhelmingly in the hands of white families.”
Zimbabwean coffee hit international markets precisely as gourmet coffee drinking was gaining popularity in the West. This was the era when Starbucks was bringing up the level of what was considered acceptable coffee in America. Hipster cafes and homebrew gourmets quickly took up the challenge to prove they could do better. Zimbabwe beans were the new kid on the block and attracted attention from connoisseurs. Thompson Owen of sweetmarias.com reminisces about the potential of this now-vanished African coffee origin:
Zimbabwe coffee was often overshadowed by other East African origins, namely the bright and powerful coffees of Kenya. Yet they are quite different in terms of flavor profile and balance. Zimbabwe was always a balanced “drinking coffee” with body, chocolate and moderate acidity. Some of the intrinsic cup flavors bordered on wild (or even unclean). Whether it is from the terroir or the cultivars used, Zimbabwe coffees sometimes have an earthy chocolate or slight leathery flavors that (in moderation) are pleasant, but in excess are less than ideal. Some of this is due to the mix of Catimor cultivars grown along with older types. But an ideal Zimbabwe can have excellent acidity accenting complex roasty notes, almost savory in character. These result in a nice balanced cup, and while it may not be flashy, it’s a good drinking coffee.
By 1988, Zimbabwe was exporting 15,000 tons of coffee a year. This was not enough to put it in the top 10 producers in Africa, but it was one bright and growing spot in an otherwise unimpressive Zimbabwean economy that did not seem to be making good on the promises of its newly gained independence, more representative government, improved foreign trade opportunities, and the end of a long and costly war.
But alas, this was to prove the peak of coffee production for Zimbabwe. The 1990s was the decade of Robert Mugabe’s draft constitution and the Movement for Democratic Change that arose in opposition to it. The ZANU-PF government had never placed much value in having a robust tax base. They preferred reliance on foreign aid, whose distribution they could control. Anyone not dependent on the government was a threat. This definitely included coffee growers and their employees, whose money came from selling their produce to other countries for cash. ZANU-PF blamed these people for voting for and funding the movement against them. And to the extent that more widespread prosperity ever was in the cards for Zimbabwe, it only would only have increased the government’s problems and put their case for foreign aid in jeopardy.
The destruction of the Zimbabwean coffee industry is but a small detail in the farm takeovers of the early 2000s. Mobs of the unemployed from the cities were given a free hand to attack and violently destroy white-owned farms. The attackers were depicted in the media as “war veterans” who sought compensation for their sacrifice in the Bush War of the 1970s. As Duncan Clarke points out, most of them could not possibly have been old enough to have fought in that war.
Neither attackers nor government officials were likely to realize profits from coffee farming. As in most cases of “land reform” in Zimbabwe, properties were stripped for short-term gains and mostly abandoned. But in the short term, the government was able destroy their enemies, deflect the anger of the restless urban masses, and make some quick cash.
Mwareya and Bhobo describe the state of the industry in Zimbabwe twenty years after the takeovers:
The spree to grab coffee farms was calamitous; Zimbabwe’s coffee production tumbled to a record low. Farmers were gobbled out of their lifetime’s work, fields were abandoned, invasive weeds took over, coffee mills rusted as shells, and international buyers shunned the country’s coffee. The “land invaders” didn’t have the coffee-growing skills of the white plantation owners, and coffee production—and quality—plummeted. Roots were left in waterlogged soil, lacking nourishment and pruning.
While the anger was directed against whites, blacks who had been profitably engaged in the coffee business were not spared. In the words of the afore-mentioned Thompson Owen who likely knows and cares more about coffee than any man alive, his knowledge, integrity, and love for coffee overcome his predilection for political correctness:
The land went to those connected to Mugabe, with some ministers landing 3-5 huge agriculture estates for themselves. With a crop like coffee, that takes 5 year from seed to full harvest, with intensive, planned investment, this was especially devastating. Everybody lost, in particular the farm workers and small-scale out-grower farmers who saw their coffee lands burned and looted along with the estates.
By the early 2000s, Zimbabwe’s coffee production was down to 500 tons a year, a drop of 96.67%. While it has almost certainly rebounded somewhat since then, it has yet to return to the offerings of international retail sellers. As of 2023, Nespresso, a division of Nestlé, has made new investments with Zimbabwean coffee growers.
Thousands of white farmers fled the county during the takeovers, leading to widespread famine, but helping to keep Robert Mugabe in power unchallenged until 2017. When he was finally deposed, age 93, many of these farmers returned, a testament to their connection to the land. The new president, Emmerson Mnangagwa, welcomed them back under two conditions:
They were in the country under his personal protection, which could be revoked if they ever opposed him.
While in theory he supported their right to compensation for their lost property, they should not attempt to seek such compensation in Zimbabwe.
Mwareya and Bhobo describe the plight of Chris Mulroney, a returnee white Zimbabwean coffee farmer who was evicted from his plot in 2004. Perhaps because he did not have the money to buy back his farm, or perhaps because he did not believe his property rights would be secure for very long, he sought to return to coffee farming by using his expertise to run a farm now owned by a black politician:
In a political balancing act, Chris is helping a Black Zimbabwe senior politician to manage his machinery, workers, and harvest at a five hectare coffee farm. With his New Zealand experience and farming contacts, Chris has agreed to run the farm for the senior politician for 30% of the profits. “I’m a coffee miller, dryer, and farmer at heart. Any half-chance to be back on the land is thrilling.”
This situation is similar to the fate of Jewish business owners in Europe in the 1930s under such “Aryanization” programs as depicted in the film The Shop on Main Street, or in Arab countries in the 1940s as depicted in memoirs like Flight from Babylon by Heskel Haddad and Black Sky by Avraham Arbib. When it became illegal or unsafe for a Jew to continue to own a business, he would bring in a non-Jewish partner whose contribution to the partnership consisted of being the legal owner.
Yet the protection this type of arrangement was expected to provide seldom lasted long. The success of the minority is offensive to the majority. If the farm does well and his 30% cut turns out to be worth more than expected, Mr. Mulroney might find himself a target of resentment, especially if his benefactor Mnangagwa passes on or is deposed.
Peter Godwin’s first book, Mukiwa: A White Boy in Africa, was quite critical of Rhodesia. He later learned that his father’s last name was not originally Godwin but Goldfarb. His second book, When a Crocodile Eats the Sun, was more sympathetic towards Rhodesia. In it he writes:
A white in Africa is like a Jew everywhere — on sufferance, watching warily, waiting for the next swell of hostility.