Been There, Smelled That: The Aromatic Journey of an Ethiopian Coffee Ceremony
Been There, Smelled That explores the aromas of places around the world. Travel writer Maggie Downs investigates some of the world’s most potent smells, looks at how odor cultivates a connection to place, and presents how humans engage with smells, from scents that have endured generations to the latest innovations in aroma-making.
On my first full day in Addis Ababa, I head to the basement of the National Museum of Ethiopia, where I spend the morning with the fossilized remains of early hominids.
The attraction here is Lucy, a 3.2 million-year-old ancestor to humans. Her Ethiopian name is Dinkinesh, which means “you are marvelous” in Amharic, but she’s commonly known as “Lucy” because “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” played on a cassette tape while paleontologists excavated her bones from the dirt.
The museum has me thinking about ancestry and our shared humanity, even after I leave the building. And maybe that’s why I say yes when I meet a man on the street, and he invites me to his family’s house for a traditional Ethiopian coffee ceremony.
Thomas approaches just as I’m attempting to get my bearings in the bewildering capital city. The air is sooty, like inhaling fine silt, making my lungs ache with each breath. A cacophony surrounds me: the constant blare of honking traffic, the lively chatter of people, and the persistent calls of hawkers peddling phone cards on the bustling sidewalks. I know that in time, I’ll embrace the city’s chaos and energy, but for now, it’s overwhelming, and I need a moment to adjust.
Among the noise, the rich aroma of coffee weaves through the air, likely emanating from the numerous coffee shops dotting every corner, nestled between grand churches, bustling shopping centers, and sprawling government buildings. My eye lingers on a café across the street.
“If you want good coffee, I can help you,” Thomas says. And that’s all it takes. I’m grateful for his guidance.
We stroll to the home he shares with his family, the warm sun casting long shadows as Thomas tells me about his life as a college student in Ethiopia. Once we arrive, I’m warmly greeted by his mother and his sister, Mariam. We settle onto plush cushions in the living room, and I can feel the anticipation building.
When I look around the room, I realize I don’t know exactly where I am or how we got here, but this is entirely on brand. There’s a meme that says, “How to kidnap me,” and underneath is a photo of a sketchy-looking, unmarked van. A sign advertising FREE BOOKS points to the van. That’s me, if the sign said FREE COFFEE instead.
Mariam starts by kindling a fire in a small charcoal stove, the crackling embers adding warmth to the darkened room. She places green coffee beans on a flat pan, and soon, the rich, intoxicating aroma of roasting coffee envelops the space. The scent is so dense and potent that it feels like the air has transformed into coffee, each inhale steeped in an earthy fragrance.
Once perfectly roasted, the warm beans are poured into a mortar, and Mariam grinds them with a pestle. The rhythmic crunching sound resonates through the room, as the beans are meticulously transformed into a fine, fragrant powder.
Before continuing, she brings the pestle close to my nose, letting me immerse myself in the full, rich aroma of the freshly ground coffee.
In that moment, I’m reminded of a woman I once met who lost her sight as a young child and later regained it through life-changing surgery. She said her most astonishing revelation came when she saw a mug of coffee and discovered it was brown.
“The smell was a different color,” she told me.
As I breathe in the coffee smells in Thomas’ home, I try to imagine the coffee as another color, letting the rich aroma paint pictures in my mind. But my familiarity with coffee is too deep, and my imagination falters. To me, coffee is as brown as the earth it springs from, its scent forever intertwined with its rich, earthy hue.
Mariam pours the grounds into a traditional clay pot called a jebena, adding water before placing it atop the glowing coals to brew. The process is slow, almost excruciatingly so for someone like me, accustomed to the rapid pace of drive-thru windows and quick-service cafés.
After what feels like hours, the coffee is poured into small, handleless cups called sini. This is just the first of three rounds, with each subsequent round becoming progressively weaker while our conversations grow longer.
Thomas encourages me to sip slowly, savoring the complex flavors and aromas, and to let the entire experience percolate through my senses. The coffee ceremony is more than merely consuming a beverage—it’s a deeply social event, a time for connecting with others and sharing the moment.
Since then, I’ve journeyed to other places, sampling their unique beans and renowned brews. I’ve stayed on a sun-drenched coffee farm in Tanzania, wandered through a family-owned coffee business in the lush hills of Costa Rica, and found my way to the coziest little coffee shop in San Juan La Laguna, Guatemala.
While I’ve savored some truly exceptional coffee along the way, nothing compares to that moment when I cradled a tiny mug in my hands, sitting on the floor of a home that made space for me, drinking in the kind of connection I had been searching for.