First published by Mongabay

Photos by Aine Donnellan

Saadnayel. Located in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, a region that has been farmed for millennia, a small experimental farm known as Buzuruna Juzuruna (BuJu) is establishing an agroecological network across the country, as well as setting up an heirloom seed cooperative to promote resilience and sovereignty within communities, near and far.

“The biggest success is seeing our seeds growing tomatoes from Chile to Sri Lanka,” says Serge Harfouche, a co-founder of the project, pointing to the scalability of heirloom seed production.

Harfouche says the project draws inspiration from forests. BuJu has a decidedly decentralized operation, allowing free access to education and experimentation and, of course, seeds.

Somewhere Under the Rainbow

Buzuruna Juzuruna, which in Arabic means “Our Seeds, Our Roots,” probably does not look like what you would expect of a Lebanese farm. The first thing that stands out is a large yellow and red circus tent, which overshadows the few brown houses built of clay, with wooden facades made using locally grown poplars.

The farm of just 2 hectares does a lot with little space, growing more than 70 crop varieties, including 13 types of wheat, interspersed with flowers and aromatics, and fenced in by young trees. 

Below the mountainous horizon, a green plain stretches out, some 8 kilometers wide and 12 kilometers long. The earthy scent of soil lingers in the air, as the sun beams down on the farmers, dressed in reds, greens and blues, working the land that contains up to 7% organic matter.

“We have hundreds of microclimates, and we are the only country in the Middle East with high enough mountains to attract, and block, the Mediterranean winds. We have a lot of rain. And this, even with climate change, will not stop very soon,” Harfouche says, pointing to the incredible resource of this fertile land, which experts are researching intensively due to its potential in preparing for a warming world.

Harfouche, a librarian turned agroecology activist, has been involved since BuJu’s foundation in 2016. Today, he’s one of 22 core members — whose expertise includes agronomy, engineering and decades of hands-on farming — working horizontally to make BuJu run its course as the first organic seed farm in Lebanon, and only the second of its kind in the Middle East. 

Horizontal working refers to a system where all voices within the project should hold equal weight. Most of the staff live on or near the farm.

Seeds for Sovereignty

Although the valley has been an important agricultural region for millennia, much has changed in the past few hundred years.

“In the late 1800s, before globalization and international trade took over, farmers would adapt their agriculture to the climate. In Bekaa, they used to plant wheat and legumes, since they didn’t require much water,” says Yara Ward, project officer at Jibal, a Lebanese NGO working to promote social and environmental justice. “Today, farmers plant mainly vegetables, and modern forms of wheat, both of which require a lot of water.”

Ward, who has a background in sociology and anthropology, practices what she describes as “amateur permaculture farming,” which is part of what triggered her interest in agroecology. After her first crops planted with hybrid seeds didn’t produce any new ones, she understood the importance of heirloom varieties: they provide independence.

Since its foundation, BuJu has collected more than 300 heirloom seed varieties, which it preserves and shares with the community. It also shares seeds of knowledge with anyone willing to receive them.

The farm runs free classes, including courses on beekeeping, tree grafting, seed cultivation, soil management, composting, producing organic pesticides and fertilizers, as well as wheat and bread production. To extend its educational reach, BuJu has also published the book Towards Peasant Autonomy.

“It is one of the rare resources that exists in Arabic, because there are not a lot of agroecological resources available in this language,” says Harfouche, explaining that although ancestral farming was aligned with agroecological practices, the latter were never properly documented.

“That’s how we’re doing things differently today. We are adapting the practices of the old days, but adding scientific rigor … so it can be spread around fast, and people can have access to it,” says Harfouche, adding that Lebanon lost a lot of knowledge over the past two generations due to conflict, colonial legacies and political upheaval, leading to the adoption of today’s chemically dependent industrial farming practices.

The Destruction of Disregard

An investigation by Arab Reporters for Investigative Journalism found that 52% of tested vegetables in Lebanon contained pesticides that are banned, some at levels 18 times the maximum allowable limit. Some even included pesticides that have been banned elsewhere since 1984 due to their connection with Parkinson’s disease.

“It was really hard for apple farmers in Lebanon to sell their apples to any country other than Egypt. It’s the only country that would accept how chemically rich they were,” says Ward, adding it’s the systems that push farmers to use such chemicals that are to blame, rather than the farmers themselves, 

The top 1% of farmers in Lebanon own a quarter of the country’s agricultural land, while the 25% wealthiest in the country own 61% of the land. However, nearly 70% of the agricultural plots are smaller than 1 hectare, meaning there are plenty of small-scale farmers making do with little. For most of these farmers, agriculture is only a supplementary source of income.

Lebanon imports at least 80% of its wheat, along with many other food staples, despite falling within the Fertile Crescent, where ancient peoples first grew cereals. Additionally, several wild varieties of wheat, barley, legumes and fruit, which are crucial to sustaining biodiversity, can be found here. To Harfouche, safeguarding them requires patience.

“People live to around 90 years old, tops. But a tree lives for 500 years, so we need at least a generation or two just to make sure that it’s stable and thriving. Such a time frame is very different from the global, neoliberal approach to farming,” Harfouche says, explaining his thinking behind disseminating the knowledge they’re cultivating through films and books.

An Economy of Well-Being 

BuJu’s participants include farmers and gardeners, vulnerable families (an estimated 340,000 Syrian refugees live in the area) and children. In an effort to bond local and refugee children, the farm hosts a clown association, Bulaban Circus, for workshops and shows.

“Community-led organizations in Lebanon play a huge role, since the government isn’t very active,” Ward says, pointing to the added benefits of building a strong and healthy community, such as resilience, social ties and joint efforts.

One community member who has benefited from the seeds of BuJu — both physical and metaphorical —is 28-year-old Erica Accari. She runs a neighboring regenerative farm named Turba, the Arabic word for “soil,” and regularly collaborates with BuJu.

“They are so helpful, I don’t know what I would do without their community and guidance,” says Accari, who works Turba’s land on her own.

Creating a supportive, resilient community is part of BuJu’s vision for how to pursue agroecological practices. It also organizes bread festivals to create new links between consumers, producers and bakers, who can then continue their collaborations without BuJu’s involvement. 

Its aim is to create a thriving local, circular economy, without any “gray energy waste” in the form of middlemen claiming most of the profits. It is about replicating a healthy ecosystem, but adapted to a society.

“Usually, in Lebanon, bakers use industrial wheat to bake bread. Our proposition is to use the local, ancient varieties of wheat,” says Harfouche, citing their superior nutritional value, lower environmental impact, and a more circular robust local economy.

“The more I got into farming, the more I realized that this sector touches on … social, political, economic and environmental concerns,” says Ward, who recently wrote a report on the scalability of agroecological practices in Lebanon, which featured BuJu, among other initiatives.

“One of our biggest findings was the importance of focusing on training a few key farmers when trying to scale, rather than trying to educate 120 people at once,” she says, adding that these first farmers will then go on to share the knowledge with their communities. 

Outreach, Reaching Out 

According to Harfouche, the local community first perceived the group as clowns. But after Lebanon’s socioeconomic collapse in 2019, neighboring farmers came knocking, asking for help and advice. Many are no longer able to afford the chemical pesticides and fertilizers they’ve grown dependent on. They come here to learn about alternative methods for growing food.

“We have also managed to make great deals with farmers whose land lays abandoned. We get to borrow the land for free, in return for us cultivating it for them,” Harfouche says, adding that it’s a win-win all around. The farmer doesn’t have anything to lose, BuJu gets to test various pilot projects, the land gets regenerated, and if farmers are impressed by the result, it may spur them to adapt agroecological methods.

Through cultivating heirloom seeds and seeds of knowledge, BuJu is planting both physical and mental systems of diversity and resilience. Unlike the Oxford Dictionary’s definition of nature as everything but humans or what humans create, BuJu is putting itself in the ecosystem — not above it or outside it, but as just another piece of the puzzle, which is, in its eyes, an essential component of agroecology.