Migration March: Espírito Santo’s Global History of Conilon

The story of Conilon coffee in Espírito Santo cannot be told without tracing the intertwined histories of colonialism, forced migration, scientific exploration, and survival. It is a story that connects West and Central Africa, Europe, and Latin America — shaped by both violent upheaval and resilient adaptation.

Since the 15th century, European colonial powers — especially Portugal — fueled the transatlantic slave trade, supported by complex dynamics on the African continent itself. Some West and Central African elites participated in the capture and sale of people, while others were enslaved or destroyed in the process. Of the estimated 12.5 million Africans forcibly taken, about 10.7 million survived the brutal Middle Passage.

Brazil received 4.9 million enslaved Africans, more than any other country in the Americas. Initially forced to work on sugar plantations, many were later sent to labor in the coffee-growing regions of the Atlantic Forest, especially as Brazil emerged as the world’s largest coffee producer.

In the late 19th century, the political and botanical fate of coffee shifted. The Berlin Conference (1884–85) marked the partitioning of Africa by European empires. Just three years later, Brazil became the last country in the Americas to formally abolish slavery.

Around this same time, Coffee Leaf Rust devastated Arabica plantations across Asia, prompting French and Belgian botanists to search for resistant plants in the Congo Basin. Dozens of new species and varietals were soon described in European herbaria — among them, Robusta, Canephora, and Kouilou. However, these botanical labels often overlapped, and their genetic relationships remained poorly understood.

From 1900 to 1920, these newly “discovered” plants were shipped across the colonial world. They were propagated in Primary Selection Centers in Africa and Java, and later sent to Secondary Centers in India and Madagascar. These movements laid the foundation for what is now collectively referred to as Robusta — a term that hides a far more diverse origin story.

In 1912, J. de Sousa Monteiro, then governor of Espírito Santo, purchased so-called “Conillon” seedlings and seeds in Rio de Janeiro for planting in the state. While older records speculated that this material had come from Java, recent genetic research suggests a Central West African origin, specifically a pure Kouilou line. Given the frequent trade (and smuggling) between Angola and Brazil, it is plausible that the plants were brought directly from the African continent — continuing a long and often undocumented exchange between former Portuguese colonies.

In the 19th century, following waves of war, famine, and industrial displacement, Italian, German, and Pomeranian migrants arrived in Brazil. The government, eager to replace the enslaved workforce after abolition, promoted European settlement and agricultural development.

Many of these migrants moved inland, settling in remote, forested areas of Espírito Santo. They faced a harsh reality, loneliness and tough work on extensive terrain. The Tupi people, who had already suffered displacement and violence, reportedly referred to these blond newcomers as “Capixaba”, or “corn hair.” Over time, the term evolved to refer to all residents of Espírito Santo.

These settlers, isolated in mountainous terrain, began growing both Arabica and Conilon side by side — unknowingly shaping the region’s future identity as a coffee powerhouse.

By the 1960s, Conilon expanded rapidly across Espírito Santo due to its high yield, resistance to disease, and adaptability to mechanization. Demand for cheap coffee — especially for the instant market — drove its cultivation. But quality remained low, and Canephora was largely excluded from the specialty coffee revolution that centered Arabica.

At the same time, many of the descendants of migrant farmers continued to face rural poverty, cut off from the recognition and support systems afforded to other producers.

Yet, in recent years, this has begun to change. Espírito Santo is now home to a thriving Canephora sector, backed by a strong R&D ecosystem focused on improving both quality and productivity. The state plays a leading role in developing new varietals, fermentation techniques, and processing methods — bringing Canephora to the forefront of innovation.

By 2024/2025, Conilon from Espírito Santo will account for nearly a quarter of global Canephora production.

The history of Conilon Capixaba is anything but simple. It is a story of displacement and survival: from Congolese forests to Brazilian hillsides, from colonial botany to grassroots farming, from invisibility to global significance.

It carries within it the memory of the transatlantic slave trade, the scientific exploitation of colonized ecosystems, the forced migration of Europeans, and the displacement of Indigenous peoples. But it also carries something else: the resilience of communities who continue to shape coffee’s future — often in quiet defiance of the systems that once defined them.

Rather than hiding behind the generic label “Robusta”, Conilon deserves to be recognized for what it truly is: a living legacy of Canephora’s complex, painful, and powerful history.