Rwanda
by Paw Gissel
"What began as a coffee trip became something broader. I expected to think mostly about flavour and sourcing.
Instead, I kept returning to distance. To how far a cherry travels from hillside to washing station. To how many hands are involved before it becomes something we might call simple."
"On a map, Rwanda looks small. On the ground, it doesn’t feel that way at all. The hills constantly interrupt your sense of direction. You rarely see far ahead — only the next rise or descent. Driving becomes a rhythm of climbing, turning, slowing down. The landscape reveals itself gradually, never all at once."
"At home, coffee feels finished. Roasted. Brewed and served.
At origin, it’s still in process. Cherries arrive in baskets. Water moves through washing channels. Coffee lies drying on raised beds under open sky.
You stand close enough to hear the water. You watch cherries being sorted by hand. The rhythm is steady and it asks for patience."
"Rwanda’s history is always present, even when it isn’t directly spoken about. It doesn’t show itself in dramatic ways. It’s quieter than that.
You sense it in conversations about rebuilding. In the way cooperatives are organised. In the attention given to shared spaces. There’s a visible structure, and a sense that things are being carefully held together."
