I’ve had conversations with a number of coffee farmers — particularly folks in South and Central America — about what they’re experiencing on their farms. The stories they tell are of seasons off kilter: of too much rain at the wrong time of the year, not enough when they need it; of coffee trees flowering and coffee cherries ripening in increasingly staggered spans — especially among farms at varying altitudes –  making harvest more challenging. But still, they are simple anecdotes, these stories farmers tell… and every year has such stories. They are not, themselves, a body of evidence of climate change.

The report released by Oxfam this month — Turning up the heat, Climate Change and Poverty in Uganda — now that’s evidence of the impact of climate change on coffee production. And the evidence does not bode well:

“The outlook is bleak. If the average global temperatures rise by two degrees or more, then most of Uganda is likely to cease to be suitable for coffee..this may happen in 40 years or perhaps as little as 30.”

Keep in mind that the figures that Oxfam cites are for coffee production in all of Uganda. It’s more than possible — it’s likely — that coffees from premiere origins within Uganda could succumb to the devastating effects of a changing climate in only just a few years as they lose those unique microclimates that contributed to their coffee’s character. Coffees like Bugisu, the bluesy, saturated cup from Mbale that I profiled here a short seven years ago:

In the cup this is a deep, dark mysterious liquor. It’s muscular, musky and oozes languidly on the tongue. Its deeper tones are bitter chocolate, its high notes ripe fruit… very ripe. It’s slightly wild, rich, fat and funky. Not the fuzzy stuff of a monsooned Malabar–it’s far too smooth for that–but still it’s earthy and intense. The Bugisu has got the body of a Java, and while its finish is long and syrupy, it is decidedly not sweet.

From an utterly selfish point of view, I don’t want to lose this coffee. But you don’t have to be self-serving to worry about the devastating impact of climate change on coffee, because it’s the very same impact that will be affecting the wider food supply. All the world’s food supply. Crops like coffee that thrive only in superbly balanced ecosystems and rarefied microclimes are likely harbingers of the greater threat of climate change. Where coffee fails, tea may follow. Where tea fails, rice may follow. Where rice fails, well… two thirds of the world’s population may follow.

Like canaries in the coal mine, specialty coffee — and the farming families who produce it — may prove among the first to succumb to the hazards of a warming world. And if that doesn’t worry you just a little bit, it damn well should.

Pondering my coffee cup, my thoughts inevitably turn to the land where the coffee was grown. And when that land is locked in a civil struggle I’m frequently curious and wary… Who grew this coffee? Which side are they on? Which side is right? (That’s rarely an easy answer.) And most importantly, are my coffee dollars part of the problem, or a potential solution?

Uganda — five years since last mentioned here — is still a nation struggling for rule of law, for the safety of its children, for its identity and place on the world stage. Landlocked, Uganda is besieged by threats from without and within, and has been largely abandoned by most all of the world powers and much of Africa, too. There is no oil in Uganda (or there hasn’t been… it seems there’s some reserves only just discovered.) And so unlike the Middle East, instead of being on the brink of war Uganda is for two decades now on the brink of a peace that is always just out of reach.

The coffee-growing lands of Uganda — butted up against Mount Elgon in the east — have been spared much of the struggle that’s come to define the nation’s north. In fact, it seems the only struggle of late that matters to the folks of MBale centers around competing soccer clubs. That’s a healthy sign. So too is the continued success of the Uganda Coffee Development Authority. In Uganda, success remains a relative term… but it appears that coffee farmers and processors are, in fact, the beneficiaries of coffee dollars.

My last taste of Ugandan coffee came from the Bugisu cooperative. It was a striking cup — heavy bodied and, well… inspiring:

In the cup this is a deep, dark mysterious liquor. It’s muscular, musky and oozes languidly on the tongue. Its deeper tones are bitter chocolate, its high notes ripe fruit… very ripe. It’s slightly wild, rich, fat and funky. Not the fuzzy stuff of a monsooned Malabar�it’s far too smooth for that�but still it’s earthy and intense. The Bugisu has got the body of a Java, and while its finish is long and syrupy, it is decidedly not sweet.

Today’s Bugisu is now organic. Whether or not that comes into play in its flavors, it is less funky, somewhat more refined, but still a heady, rich and rustic cup. This lot offers a bit more fruit — a musky, tropical melon note. It’s still gentle on the acidity, and very, very round in the cup, and its finish has characteristics of a refined black tea. And still, it’s so very unlike its Kenyan neighbor it’s hard to imagine it’s grown just the other side of the mountain… and still a world away.

Recommended.

Available (green) at Sweet Maria’s.

If Kenya is the elder statesman of East African coffees, Uganda is the uncle that nobody talks about. You know the guy… he got in some trouble a few years back, he’s got a history of hanging around with the wrong crowd… and if he ever got around to really coming clean, nobody’d be likely to believe it.

While Uganda rubs shoulders with big brother Kenya–in fact, it shares Mount Elgon, the origin of Bugisu–the coffee of Uganda shares little else with its neighbor. Produced mostly by small crop family farms, this coffee has flavors and dimensions that are uniquely its own.

Bugisu is a washed arabica [okay, so maybe it shares one trait with Kenya.] Even green, this bean has something to say, with a remarkably pungent and grassy aroma, simply loaded with hints of what’s to come. Once roasted it’s not a particularly fragrant coffee, and brewed it’s aromatic qualities nod more toward Centrals than other Africans. At first sip, though, everything changes….

In the cup this is a deep, dark mysterious liquor. It’s muscular, musky and oozes languidly on the tongue. Its deeper tones are bitter chocolate, its high notes ripe fruit… very ripe. It’s slightly wild, rich, fat and funky. Not the fuzzy stuff of a monsooned Malabar–it’s far too smooth for that–but still it’s earthy and intense. The Bugisu has got the body of a Java, and while its finish is long and syrupy, it is decidedly not sweet.

The roast: I’ve cupped Bugisu from City to Full City and beyond. I’ve settled on a melange of two roasts. The low notes are provided by beans roasted a bit into second crack. The brighter bits and languid mid-tones come from a roast just shy of second. Roast the darker of these two blended beans first, to provide you with the cues you’ll need to hit the cool switch the second time through.

Bugisu is a coffee that’s got the blues. It’s a soulful cup, just right for sipping when you’re in the mood for a little bit of trouble… but don’t want to stray to the wrong side of town.