The World In a Cup: Lessons from Coffee Country

By Michelle Shaw

In my role as Content Strategist for One BIGG Island in Space, I’ve had the privilege of seeing firsthand what it takes to produce coffee in several different countries around the world. I’ve now visited multiple coffee farms in Mexico, Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Vietnam, The Philippines, Burundi, Sierra Leone, and Mozambique.

As I travel, I spend a lot of time observing.

And listening.

And learning.

The OBIIS Team in Gorongosa, Mozambique

When I return, people ask me a lot of questions about my travels:

Do you feel safe?

How do you pack in just a carry on?

Did you see any wild animals?

How was the food?

I’m happy to share with you about any and all of those topics. I have a few stories to tell!

Today though, I want to talk about a universal truth: People are the same. Everywhere.

From L-R: Michelle Fish, Fatianca Paulina Chico, and Michelle Shaw in Gorongosa, Mozambique

Sure . . . we might look different. Wear different clothing. Speak different languages.

And yet, we are all the same. We all want the same things.

We want food and housing security. Access to clean water.

We want to be heard. And seen. And loved.

We want connection. And fulfillment. And purpose.

We want something better for the next generation.

A primary school in one of the border communities surrounding the Gorongosa National Park in Mozambique.

Despite those commonalities, huge swaths of the world toil day in, and day out, all year long, in an attempt to meet basic needs.

Simultaneously, other parts of the world turn on faucets that run perfectly cold, or hot, whenever we want them to. The lights go on with the flick of a switch or the touch of a button. The grocery store down the street is stacked with healthy foods, and we can afford to buy them. We jump in our cars and drive whenever we need to. Sometimes we do it just for fun!

I didn’t ask to be born in this skin. To my loving parents. And be raised speaking this language, or with these cultural norms.

I’m not special, and I’m not significant.

Sure, I mean something to those who love me and care about me.

But in the scope of this world . . . of this life?

I am less than miniscule.

I think it’s important I know that.

Because . . . it helps my perspective.

It reminds me that I don’t need to fixate on accruing things nor gathering wealth.

While I am insignificant, I also know that each and every one of us can make a difference in this life.

Visiting a village in Burundi.

That may seem paradoxical. But think about it.

Right now there are more than 8 BILLION people on this planet.

On that scale? I am simply a speck of dust. We all are.

And guess what? That means Martin Luther King, Jr., Nelson Mandela., and Mahatma Gandhi were also just specks of dust.

The important question is then: What kind of difference do each of us want to make?

Right now, while so much is devolving around us, what do I want to do with this teeny-tiny life of mine?

Do I imagine I’m going to impact the world like one of the greats identified above?

Absolutely not.

And yet, I strive to be a source of light. A refuge for peace. An openhearted human who cares for the planet and all of humanity.

Someone who is willing to continue learning. And be of service to those around me. Someone who learns from mistakes and admits when she’s wrong.

With the OBIIS team at the Producer Roaster Forum in El Salvador.\

These are just some of the things we were thinking about and talking about while at the Producer Roaster Forum (PRF) in El Salvador earlier this year. The conversations haven’t left me. Everything we see and experience when we have our boots on the ground provides a powerful lens into the complexities of life.

Things are extra challenging in the world of coffee right now. Price fluctuations. Climate instability and crisis. A system that rarely takes care of those who grow the very coffee we continue to enjoy.

These challenges transcend coffee.

The challenges we all face right now?

They’re huge. And they’re real. And they’re incredibly complex.

Coffee is like the rest of life:

It can be delicious.

It can be sweet.

It can be bitter.

It can earn you a profit.

It can bankrupt you.

There are those who come out ahead.

And those who fall further and further behind.

I know who works the hardest in coffee. The farmers and the pickers.

I also know I wouldn’t last a day in either of those jobs.

Everybody who does this work is tough.

And hardworking.

And oh-so-skilled.

No matter where I go, it’s is abundantly clear: we are all humans who want the same things. There really is no separation. Our borders are arbitrary.

Climate crisis scoffs at the lines we’ve drawn.

And maybe that’s the lesson: the world is vast, but our humanity is shared.

The borders we draw can’t protect us from crisis any more than they can prevent connection. What happens to one community eventually impacts us all.

Coffee shows this every day. In its sweetness and bitterness. In the hope it carries and the inequity it reveals. In the hands that grow it and the hands that hold the final cup.

And in that exchange lies a small but meaningful opportunity. Every cup is a chance to honor the people behind it. A chance to choose with awareness. A chance to let something as ordinary as a cup of morning joe reflect the kind of world we want to support.

Change isn’t always grand, or sweeping, or challenging.

Sometimes it begins quietly—one sip at a time.