It’s on Mario’s mind though. Mario Rossi is a 5th generation coffee farmer who owns four plots, one of which is close to beautiful Lake Coatapeque. On the way to his farm we pull over on the side of the road to take in the incredible scene: a huge blue lake in the shell of a massive ancient volcano.
Coffee farms surround the steep slopes around the lake, apparently. It looks like forest to me -but I'm only seeing the shade canopy, the coffee trees are below it. The sun in El Salvador is pretty ferocious, and without the shade trees, the leaves will burn. Shade also slows down the maturation of the coffee beans, giving them better flavour and aroma.
But no one wants El Salvadoran coffee anymore – at least, not for a price that will cover the cost of its production. So the coffee farms are being deserted. The potential environmental and social problems predicted here are extreme. Coffee is the largest rural employer in El Salvador, providing seasonal jobs to many of its poorest citizens.
Mario points to some patches of brown on the shores, and explains how the land will die. When the coffee fincas are deserted, the campasinos who used to work them are left unemployed. One of the only ways they can make money is to cut down the trees and sell them for firewood. This is happening all over El Salvador.
Once the trees are gone, what is left of the undergrowth is cleared and corn, the staple food of the region, is planted. The soil might support a crop for a few years, but it leaves the land unprotected. Rains and winds carry the soil away and the precious volcanic topsoil, the prize of El Salvadoran coffee, ends up in the rivers. In this particular spot it ends up in the lake. All that will survive will be the dry, useless grass that grows where nothing else can. This grass already covers 65% of El Salvador.
“The sides of the hills will slowly slip into the pristine blue waters”, Mario explains, “and the lake will clog with silt and mud. Not only that, but the rivers will be damaged as well.” The rain that falls on the coffee fincas seeps slowly through the soil, eventually finding its way to the rivers, and then down to the sea. When the rains fall on bare land, it runs off in a day, taking soil with it and reducing the amount of fresh water in the country.
Later that day, Mario introduces me to the plantations manager. He explains that 2 years ago there would be 100 people going through the finca - cutting back the trees and clearing the weeds.
"Where are the people now", I ask him.
"All having a big holiday," he tells me. I know he’s joking, but he's not smiling.
"A holiday with enough to eat?" I ask.
"No," he says. "Not enough to eat."
The UN, with the support of the El Salvadoran government, currently has a food distribution programme in place, in an attempt to protect some 20 000 children from malnutrition and starvation.
In a nearby township I meet a woman; one of the few people who still got work picking coffee this year, on one of Mario’s other coffee farms. She is carrying a large bundle of wood on her head when she approaches. She explains that coffee is very important to all the peasants. She only works as a picker in the harvest season, but that is the best money she makes all year. Without the coffee harvest she could not pay her debts.
"What would you do without coffee?" I ask her. She gives me a quizzical look.
"I'll do more laundry. More cleaning. We will survive. We will find a way."
"Will other people want these other jobs, too?"
"Yes" she says. "There are not enough jobs for everybody. I don't know what I'd do. El Salvador is nothing without coffee."
An old man I meet has his escape plan worked out.
"I'll go to Belize,” he says with gusto. "There is work for US$10 a day there! Even if I have to cross the border illegally I'll go to Belize."
"Can you all go to Belize?" I ask, gesturing to the 100 other coffee pickers standing behind him, watching us as we talk.
"Sure,” he says, “why not? We have to go somewhere."
But will there be somewhere for them to come back to? Mario has his doubts. Sure the land will be there, but it will never produce coffee again. It might not produce anything again.
"People must know," he says. “You must tell them.”
Fortunately, some parts of the land are being protected from this disaster. The Cooperativa Las Lajas is not doing great business this year, but it is surviving. The main reason for this is a little piece of paper, shown to me with great pride by the chair of the collective. It has the all-important words 'Rainforest Alliance’ written on it.
Rainforest Alliance is one of the organisations in the world that cetifies sustainable coffees.
Rainforest Alliance primarily deals with protecting the forest cover of the coffee farms, but they also require a minimal amount of fertilizers and pesticides, and minimum coditions for workers.
Las Lajas can only sell 20% of their crop for a premium price. In Europe and North Amercia there are a few coffee drinkers who are concerned enough about the sustainalbility of their consumption that they will pay a few extra cents for it.
So the workers of the Las Lajas Co Op are not abandoning their land. They are also able to maintain a basic medical service, and they can support the school with a breakfast programme, which is the only good meal some kids get in a day.
If they could sell more of their coffee they could provide more services, and even get the few dozen kids in the area out of work and into a schoolroom, but that will have to wait until the demand increases.
Even after a few days here I can see that the words of the old woman are true: El Salvador may well be nothing without coffee.It’s on Mario’s mind though. Mario Rossi is a 5th generation coffee farmer who owns four plots, one of which is close to beautiful Lake Coatapeque. On the way to his farm we pull over on the side of the road to take in the incredible scene: a huge blue lake in the shell of a massive ancient volcano.
Coffee farms surround the steep slopes around the lake, apparently. It looks like forest to me -but I'm only seeing the shade canopy, the coffee trees are below it. The sun in El Salvador is pretty ferocious, and without the shade trees, the leaves will burn. Shade also slows down the maturation of the coffee beans, giving them better flavour and aroma.
But no one wants El Salvadoran coffee anymore – at least, not for a price that will cover the cost of its production. So the coffee farms are being deserted. The potential environmental and social problems predicted here are extreme. Coffee is the largest rural employer in El Salvador, providing seasonal jobs to many of its poorest citizens.
Mario points to some patches of brown on the shores, and explains how the land will die. When the coffee fincas are deserted, the campasinos who used to work them are left unemployed. One of the only ways they can make money is to cut down the trees and sell them for firewood. This is happening all over El Salvador.
Once the trees are gone, what is left of the undergrowth is cleared and corn, the staple food of the region, is planted. The soil might support a crop for a few years, but it leaves the land unprotected. Rains and winds carry the soil away and the precious volcanic topsoil, the prize of El Salvadoran coffee, ends up in the rivers. In this particular spot it ends up in the lake. All that will survive will be the dry, useless grass that grows where nothing else can. This grass already covers 65% of El Salvador.
“The sides of the hills will slowly slip into the pristine blue waters”, Mario explains, “and the lake will clog with silt and mud. Not only that, but the rivers will be damaged as well.” The rain that falls on the coffee fincas seeps slowly through the soil, eventually finding its way to the rivers, and then down to the sea. When the rains fall on bare land, it runs off in a day, taking soil with it and reducing the amount of fresh water in the country.
Later that day, Mario introduces me to the plantations manager. He explains that 2 years ago there would be 100 people going through the finca - cutting back the trees and clearing the weeds.
"Where are the people now", I ask him.
"All having a big holiday," he tells me. I know he’s joking, but he's not smiling.
"A holiday with enough to eat?" I ask.
"No," he says. "Not enough to eat."
The UN, with the support of the El Salvadoran government, currently has a food distribution programme in place, in an attempt to protect some 20 000 children from malnutrition and starvation.
In a nearby township I meet a woman; one of the few people who still got work picking coffee this year, on one of Mario’s other coffee farms. She is carrying a large bundle of wood on her head when she approaches. She explains that coffee is very important to all the peasants. She only works as a picker in the harvest season, but that is the best money she makes all year. Without the coffee harvest she could not pay her debts.
"What would you do without coffee?" I ask her. She gives me a quizzical look.
"I'll do more laundry. More cleaning. We will survive. We will find a way."
"Will other people want these other jobs, too?"
"Yes" she says. "There are not enough jobs for everybody. I don't know what I'd do. El Salvador is nothing without coffee."
An old man I meet has his escape plan worked out.
"I'll go to Belize,” he says with gusto. "There is work for US$10 a day there! Even if I have to cross the border illegally I'll go to Belize."
"Can you all go to Belize?" I ask, gesturing to the 100 other coffee pickers standing behind him, watching us as we talk.
"Sure,” he says, “why not? We have to go somewhere."
But will there be somewhere for them to come back to? Mario has his doubts. Sure the land will be there, but it will never produce coffee again. It might not produce anything again.
"People must know," he says. “You must tell them.”
Fortunately, some parts of the land are being protected from this disaster. The Cooperativa Las Lajas is not doing great business this year, but it is surviving. The main reason for this is a little piece of paper, shown to me with great pride by the chair of the collective. It has the all-important words 'Rainforest Alliance’ written on it.
Rainforest Alliance is one of the organisations in the world that cetifies sustainable coffees.
Rainforest Alliance primarily deals with protecting the forest cover of the coffee farms, but they also require a minimal amount of fertilizers and pesticides, and minimum coditions for workers.
Las Lajas can only sell 20% of their crop for a premium price. In Europe and North Amercia there are a few coffee drinkers who are concerned enough about the sustainalbility of their consumption that they will pay a few extra cents for it.
So the workers of the Las Lajas Co Op are not abandoning their land. They are also able to maintain a basic medical service, and they can support the school with a breakfast programme, which is the only good meal some kids get in a day.
If they could sell more of their coffee they could provide more services, and even get the few dozen kids in the area out of work and into a schoolroom, but that will have to wait until the demand increases.
Even after a few days here I can see that the words of the old woman are true: El Salvador may well be nothing without coffee.