I told a Portuguese taxi driver about Ethiopia’s billion trees, he couldn’t believe it
I’ve been in Portugal these past few weeks. Just a short visit, after months in Ethiopia, where I live most of the time. And it’s hot. Not just summer hot. Unnatural hot. Like the sky is pressing down on your skin, and the pavement burns your feet even through sandals.
The other day, I was in a taxi in Lisbon. The driver had the air conditioner off and the windows cracked, trying to let the breeze in. At some point, he said something that stuck with me:
“I wish this country started planting trees.”
That’s it. No politics, no rants. Just that simple, urgent wish.
I told him he was right. Then I told him about Ethiopia.
From Nazareth to Lisbon: two summers, two worlds
I live in Nazareth, or Adama, as it’s officially known. It’s a town in Ethiopia’s Oromia region, just southeast of Addis Ababa. I first went there 25 years ago, and I still remember how brutal the summers were back then.
The sun didn’t just shine, it scorched. The air shimmered with heat. You’d wake up sweating, even before 9 a.m. By noon, it was unbearable. Dry, dusty, sun-baked earth all around.
But today? Something has changed.
I now sleep with thick blankets in the colder months. In Amharic, we call them berdlips. In the mornings, there’s often a cool wind. The difference is real, not just in my imagination.
And it’s not just the weather. The landscape has changed. Trees are everywhere, planted along roads, around schools, near rivers, in parks. The shade they cast cools entire neighborhoods. The air feels fresher. The birds are louder.
This is what I told the taxi driver, and he looked at me like I was describing another planet.
A billion trees a year. No joke.
Since 2019, Ethiopia has been running a massive national campaign called the Green Legacy. It was launched by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, and every year, the country sets out to plant billions of trees.
This year alone, the government says it aims to plant 7.5 billion. And just days ago, they claimed 700 million were planted in a single day.
Can you imagine that?
Portugal has around 10 million people.
Ethiopia has 120 million.
And this campaign mobilizes millions of citizens—students, farmers, soldiers, civil servants—everyone with two hands and a shovel.
Now, I’m not saying every tree survives. And yes, some of the numbers may be inflated. But I’ve seen the difference with my own eyes. The point is not just the quantity, it’s the movement. It’s the culture of planting. The belief that trees can bring back rain, cool the air, hold the soil, and slow climate collapse.
And honestly?
It’s working.
Meanwhile, in Portugal, we’re watching the land dry up
Let me speak plainly.
Portugal is in trouble.
Not just this year, not just this heatwave, the trend is clear. Summers are getting hotter. Winters are getting drier. Fires are more frequent. The interior is emptying out as people crowd into the coast. And the forests we do have are often full of eucalyptus, a tree that drinks too much and burns like kerosene.
I’m not saying Portugal is a desert. We have beautiful mountains, rivers, and lush pockets. But we’re not acting like a country in crisis. We’re still mowing our lawns, paving our gardens, and watching Netflix while the forests burn in Monchique or Castelo Branco.
Why aren’t we planting trees like Ethiopia?
We have money. We have land. We have technology. What we’re missing is political will and a little imagination.
The science backs it. The soil wants it. So what’s stopping us?
Planting trees isn’t a magic bullet. But in Ethiopia, it’s part of a bigger story. Reforestation helps prevent floods and landslides. It restores water tables. It draws birds and bees. It improves soil fertility. And most importantly, it cools the land.
Nazareth is proof. And the taxi driver saw it right away.
“That’s why it’s getting hotter here. We’ve built too much. We’ve cut too much.”
Exactly.
Portugal’s countryside is full of abandoned farmland. Small villages where only the elderly remain. Land that’s no longer profitable to farm. Instead of letting it turn to dry scrub, why not reforest it?
Why not plant native trees, bring back oak and chestnut, shade the roads, create green corridors that slow fire and protect wildlife?
If Ethiopia can organize millions of people, surely Portugal can mobilize a few thousand. We’ve done it for lesser causes.
What if trees were our national mission?
Here’s what I imagine.
The Portuguese government creates a Green Shield Project, focused on planting trees across central Portugal, from Alentejo to the Douro. It hires local youth. Pays them. Trains them. Gives them bikes, tents, and saplings. In exchange, they work the land, reforest hillsides, guard against fire, and make it their job to protect the climate.
People would laugh at first. But wait five years. Ten years.
The air would be cooler. The ground would be greener. The water would come back.
That’s exactly what happened in Ethiopia.
My message to Europe: don’t wait for climate disasters
Every summer, we act surprised when the forests burn. When the rivers run low. When the news shows flames outside homes in Spain, Italy, Greece, or Portugal.
But this isn’t surprising anymore.
It’s predictable. It’s baked into the climate. And if we don’t act now, no air conditioning will save us. No “green transition” will mean anything if we let the land die.
I’ve lived in Africa long enough to know what heat really feels like. And I’ve lived there long enough to see how a country can fight it. With saplings. With bare hands. With hope.
In Ethiopia, the change is personal. And permanent.
When I visit friends in Nazareth now, I always tell them: you don’t know how lucky you are. You may not see the change day by day, but over 25 years, you feel it. I do.
When I came, the place was dry and bare. Now, it’s shaded and alive.
The schools have gardens. The hills have green belts. Even the roadsides bloom.
It’s not perfect, and there’s still a lot to do. But the seed has been planted—literally and culturally.
So when I sit in a taxi in Lisbon and hear a Portuguese man wish for trees, I don’t just nod politely.
I tell him the truth:
You can change the weather.
You just have to start planting.