Brooklyn’s second-generation Yemeni entrepreneurs hope to replay the role of the original specialty coffee supplier.

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Hakim Sulaimani clearly remembers where he was when he first heard that his hometown, the poorest country in the Middle East, invented one of the most popular beverages in the world Place.

He sits in the living room (also his bedroom) of his apartment in Brooklyn and watches children's shows on public television. When someone on the show said that the coffee came from Yemen, Hakim was stunned. He had never heard anyone outside the community talk about Yemen before, let alone something that made him proud. "I was hyped up," he recalled recently. "Super dizzy."

Hakim is 7 years old. He doesn't drink coffee, but he knows what it is. His father sold it glass after glass in his wine cellar, and Hakim noticed that it seemed to have a magical effect on people.

Twenty years later, he himself entered the coffee industry. Today, Hakim Sulaimani is the owner of Yafa Cafe in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. In addition to avocado toast sprinkled with za'atar and vegan blueberry muffins, he also sells coffee made with coffee beans grown on the flank of the terraces of Yemen's rugged Yafa'a mountains.

The store is across the street from the grocery store where his father works 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, but the specialty products served by the young Sulaimani with delicate glasses are very different from the ordinary Joe that his father still uses. Pour into those classic Greeks. Theme paper cup. On the one hand, a 12-ounce serving of Yafa coffee costs $7. When a customer asks why it is so expensive, Sulaimani is happy to explain. He said that the price reflects the cost of growing plants based on the natural methods used by Yemeni farmers for centuries, to fairly compensate these farmers for their labor, and to meet the challenge of importing beans from troubled countries. Civil war and make sure to obtain the documents needed to prove that their money is indeed used for all the above-mentioned purposes.

In addition, the coffee is very good. "The taste is complicated and a bit fashionable," Mr. Soleimani pointed out a few days ago, as he scooped 20 grams of his latest mixture into a ceramic pouring device. "Sometimes you can really taste the smell of mud and air."

Mr. Soleimani is one of the growing number of Yemeni entrepreneurs in Brooklyn who are trying to take a share of the huge profits generated by specialty coffee in recent years. In an overcrowded borough, they are happy to spend $24 on a 12-ounce bag of Kenyan Gatamboya with the crop year and altitude printed on the label. They saw the opportunity to earn a living while respecting their heritage and contributing to the development of Yemen. Contribute to the struggling economy.

At Qahwah House in Williamsburg, you can taste coffee grown on a Yemeni farm, which has been passed down to the owner’s family for eight generations. At Asal in Bay Ridge, you can order a cappuccino with a Yemeni honeycomb pattern engraved on the foam. At Diwan in Cobble Hill, you can enjoy an ancient mixed drink flavored with cardamom and ginger in a well-designed space, Erykah Badu’s new soul atmosphere is radiated from the speakers, and a $90 rare Yemeni honey jar is placed high on the shelf. superior.

Most of the owners are in their 20s or 30s, and all of their businesses have opened in the past few years. "After the war began, many young Yemeni American businessmen felt that they needed help illuminating Yemen," said Debbie Almontase, a well-known Yemeni activist and educator from Brooklyn. "The best and most useful way is through coffee, our contribution to civilization hundreds of years ago."

The coffee tree Coffea arabica first bloomed in the highlands of Ethiopia, but according to early European and Arab sources, by the 15th century, it had crossed the Mande Strait to Yemen, where Sufi monks transformed the plant’s red cherries into us today Know the drink. Traders spread ideas or "beans" throughout the Ottoman Empire and other regions, introducing them to Istanbul and Cairo, and then to Vienna, Venice and Paris.

Those bitter seeds made Yemen rich, but in the 18th century, Europeans began to smuggle them out of the country and shipped them to colonies such as Martinique and Java, where workers were forced to grow them on plantations with little or no pay. . Cheap coffee flooded the market, and the Yemeni coffee trade shrank. By 1800, Yemen accounted for only 6% of global products.

What hasn't withered is Yemen's entrepreneurial spirit. “One thing I like about my people is that they have determination,” said Ms. Almontase, who helped establish a trade organization called the American Business Association of Yemen in 2017. President Putin’s direct response to the suppression of Muslim immigrants. "They came to the United States and didn't know a word of English. They put themselves in a wine cellar. They were apprentices, learned to do business, saved money, and started their own business for the minimum wage."

She said, just like caffeine, "entrepreneurship is in our blood."

Jab Zanta and his cousin Wisam Alghuzi own Diwan on Atlantic Avenue, exactly the kind of person Ms. Almontaser said. He opened this cafe in March when he was 30 years old. This may be the worst entrepreneurial period of the 21st century. During the worst days of the pandemic, he spent hours on the phone, tracing importers, builders, plumbers, electricians, real estate managers, customs officers, and inspectors.

Some of his relatives told him that even if he survived the lockdown, the business would definitely fail-there was a fashionable cafe half a block away, and there was a Starbucks around the corner. But Mr. Zanta insisted on his plan. "I must keep going," he said. "I don't want to lose."

When his uncle opened a restaurant serving authentic Yemeni cuisine in Brooklyn three years ago, people told him that he too would fail. Today, Yemen Cafe is an institution in Brooklyn. It offers haneeth, a plate of slow-roasted lamb and fahsah, a meat and vegetable stew, in a bubbling clay pot. Despite its name, it does not serve coffee. In the past, customers had to be content with tea. Now they can go to Diwan next door, where Mr. Zanta and his cousin roast coffee in the unique style of their ancestral village, and pair it with the honey drizzle pastries baked at home by Mr. Zanta’s aunt.

Mr. Zanta, who was born in Yemen, admired what his uncle’s generation had built in Brooklyn, but he always wanted more. In addition to cafes, he also runs a printing company that designs and produces signs for wine cellars throughout the city, as well as a series of popular T-shirts with "New York" and "Brooklyn" written in Arabic. He also recorded a rap record, got involved in filmmaking, and wrote a manuscript for a novel that reads like a treatment of a thug film about the exploitation of a Yemeni American entrepreneur who smuggled duty-free cigarettes to New York. . (Part of the story is based on his teenage experiences; which parts he would rather not say.)

From the age of 8, he has been busy making money. His parents couldn't afford Nike, so he drew the sneakers he wanted and sold them to his classmates for a few dollars until he raised enough cash to buy actual kicks. He said that he had fond memories of his childhood, but when he was 10 years old, a shadow overwhelmed his life. That year, everything changed in the Arab and Muslim communities of the city.

After September 11, 2001, Yemeni Americans throughout the city found themselves threatened. One night, someone threw a brick from the window of Hakim Sulaimani's house; another time, a woman on the train tore off his sister's headscarf and slapped her. His parents reinforced the front door of their apartment with a metal frame and hung the American flag outside. He said that they removed the "al" from the last name so that it didn't sound so "horrible".

Then, in 2017, Mr. Trump announced that citizens of Yemen and six other Muslim countries were barred from entering the United States. Prior to this, Yemeni Americans tended to keep a low profile. As Ms. Almontaser said, “They just finish their work in the wine cellar, go home to reunite with their families, and send the money back to Yemen, nothing more.”

Things changed on Thursday, February 2, 2017, when more than 1,000 Yemeni New Yorkers participated in a one-day strike organized by Ms. Almontaser. Throughout the city, hundreds of Yemeni wine cellars, restaurants and newsstands have closed. The fathers of Mr. Zanta, Mr. Soleimani and Mr. Soleimani are among the thousands who gathered outside the Brooklyn borough to protest the Muslim ban. Mr. Zanta recalled that looking around, people waved Yemeni and American flags and thought: "Yo, what else can we do in this city besides operating a wine cellar."

A year later, a non-fiction bestseller by Dave Eggers pointed out what this might be. "Mocha Monk" tells the story of San Francisco janitor Mokhtar Alkhanshali, who returned to Yemen sadly to pursue his dream of reviving the coffee trade. When the U.S.-backed Saudi army dropped bombs on the country, Mr. Alhan Shali escaped in a 20-foot-long boat with two briefcases stuffed with the fragrant treasures of his hometown. Blue Bottle, a coffee supplier based in Oakland, California, later worked with him to sell 6-ounce bags of coffee at a price of $65 per bag — nearly $150 a pound.

This is an amazing story, but there are also complications. After the book was published, several Yemeni-American investors sued Mr. Alkhashali in federal court, claiming that he removed them from the business after taking their money. Despite this, his story spread throughout the United States and affected the imagination of entrepreneurs like Zanta. Zanta later hung a framed print of Mr. Al Khan Shali on Diwan’s wall. (A judge dismissed the lawsuit against Mr. Alkhashali in 2019 and wrote that the case was not within the jurisdiction of the court.)

Both Mr. Zanta and Mr. Soleimani hope that one day Americans will associate their country with suffering and violence, rather than with coffee and equally important hospitality. Although the United States does not always extend a warm welcome to the people of Yemen, hospitality has always been the backbone of Yemen’s identity. "My grandfather's generation can't eat enough," Mr. Alghuzi said.

Once, when Mr. Zanta was in Yemen, a homeless woman knocked on his grandfather’s door and asked for help. Mr. Zanta watched his grandfather take her to the living room, fed her food and bread, and served her coffee. "In New York City," Mr. Zanta pointed out with a smile, "you do nothing."

Mr. Zanta and his cousin named Diwan after a room that can be found in every household in Yemen. Although it is unclear whether their gambling will succeed in the long run, people from different backgrounds have begun to make their homes there.

One day last month, a group of regulars sat on a Yemeni-style sofa that surrounds the front of the store. Danny Meyer is a white saxophone player from Colorado. He just performed at the Atlantic Antic event sponsored by Diwan, a popular autumn street market in the Middle East on Atlantic Avenue. "The only problem with this place is that I will never be able to complete any work," said Mr. Meyer, who and his Japanese wife are watching a video of Mr. Alguz's wedding. "I always talk to the staff for an hour."

A few minutes later, Frankie Light, a black YouTuber known for ordering Chinese food in fluent Mandarin, walked in. Mr. Wright has been working hard to learn the Yemeni dialect of Arabic and went to Diwan to practice. "It's really hard," he said, and then he ordered a pot of "qahwa"-the ancient Arabic root of the English word "coffee".