Reconnecting Across Time and Borders: A Journey Back to Kaffa, Ethiopia

Fourteen years ago, I was a PhD student researching Ethiopian coffee tourism. My work took me to Kaffa, the birthplace of Arabica coffee, where I conducted fieldwork and immersed myself in the region’s rich coffee culture. During that time, I met an American Peace Corps volunteer, Chuck, and together we visited Ethiopia’s oldest coffee tree, hidden deep in the forests of Kaffa.

It was a magical time, and while we went our separate ways after that, the memory stayed with me. Recently, I stumbled upon a blog post he wrote about that very journey. Reading his reflections transported me back to that moment in Kaffa—our hike through lush forests, the conversations we shared, and the awe of standing before the Mother Coffee Tree.

I shared Chuck’s blog post on my site to reflect on this journey: A Journey Back in Time: Revisiting a 14-Year-Old Peace Corps Memory.

After sharing Chuck’s blog post on my own site, I felt a lingering sense of nostalgia. A few clicks later—because we live in an incredibly connected world—I found his email address and sent him a heartfelt message. I wasn’t sure if he would reply, but I couldn’t contain my excitement as I shared how much his blog had meant to me.

To my delight, Chuck replied with a long, warm email filled with memories—some of which I had completely forgotten. He recounted our shared adventures in Kaffa, including the Korean meal I prepared for him and his friend Laura after our long hike. His detailed recollection of those moments made my heart full.

Fourteen years later, Chuck’s life has taken him far from Kaffa. He now teaches English and journalism in Bucharest, Romania—a city I’ve never visited but now feel a connection to through him. He invited me to visit Bucharest, but I told him that I think we’re more likely to meet again someday in Kaffa. He shared that he still visits Ethiopia occasionally, taking colleagues and friends to see the Mother Coffee Tree and the region we both cherish.

Interestingly, Bucharest holds another unexpected connection for me. A dear friend of mine, Cristina, works at the National Library of Romania there. We first met years ago in Japan through a cultural exchange program organized by the Japan Foundation. Cristina and I were both studying Japanese—she on a six-month program and I on an eight-month one—and we often crossed paths in the same classes. You can read more about my experience with the Japan Foundation and its incredible exchange programs here: Exploring Japan’s Diverse International Exchange Programs.

Even after returning to our respective countries, Cristina and I stayed in touch. She would tell me about her work as a librarian, cataloging rare materials, and share little anecdotes about life in Bucharest. I remember her once mentioning how the stray dogs roaming the city scared her and how she sometimes felt uneasy around certain aspects of her country’s history.

When the pandemic struck, I lost contact with Cristina. Despite trying to reach her several times, I received no reply. I often wondered how she was doing but had no way to reconnect.

Now, with Chuck living in Bucharest, it felt like fate was giving me an opportunity. In my reply to his email, I asked if he could visit the National Library and see if Cristina was still working there. It felt like a small but meaningful way to try and reconnect with her, even indirectly.

This experience made me reflect deeply on the value of human relationships in today’s world. We live in a time where so much of our energy is spent chasing material success, often measuring our worth by likes, shares, and bank balances. But moments like these remind me of a different kind of wealth—the kind that comes from the people we meet, the memories we share, and the bonds we nurture across time and distance.

Chuck’s email, filled with warmth and kindness, reminded me that some of the most valuable things in life can’t be monetized. One of the photos he shared in his email was of Kaffa’s “natural bridge,” a rock formation shaped like a cave but entirely created by nature. This breathtaking landmark, untouched by human hands, stands as a testament to the beauty and resilience of the natural world.

Much like the natural bridge, the connections we build in life endure the passage of time. They remain steady, waiting for us to cross them again when the moment is right.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this experience, it’s this: Take the time to reconnect. Whether it’s a friend you haven’t spoken to in years, a mentor who once guided you, or someone who made a fleeting but meaningful impact on your life, reaching out can lead to moments of unexpected joy.

Perhaps there’s someone you’ve been thinking of lately. Send them a message. Share a memory. You never know how much it might mean to them—or to you.

Life isn’t just about the milestones we achieve or the money we make. It’s about the connections we create, the stories we share, and the love we leave behind.

What are your thoughts on reconnecting with old friends? Have you ever experienced something similar? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments below.