Imagine a landscape where ancient olive trees, once symbols of resilience and abundance, now stand barren and fragile under an unforgiving sun. This is the grim reality facing Jordan’s olive farmers, who are witnessing their centuries-old harvest wither away under record-breaking heat. But here’s where it gets even more alarming: this isn’t just about trees—it’s about the livelihoods of 80,000 families and a $1.4 billion industry that’s been the backbone of Jordanian rural life for generations. And this is the part most people miss: Jordan’s near-total self-sufficiency in olive oil production, a source of national pride, is now teetering on the edge.
In the northern town of Irbid, 67-year-old Abu Khaled al-Zoubi trudges through his orchard, his footsteps stirring up dust from the parched earth. He pauses by a gnarled olive tree, its bark cracked and peeling from months of relentless heat. The branches, which should be heavy with ripening fruit, stretch skyward almost bare, save for a few shriveled olives clinging to withered stems. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this,’ he tells The Guardian, his voice heavy with concern. ‘We’ve lost more than half our crop before the harvest even began.’
Zoubi’s story is tragically common across Jordan’s olive-growing heartland. This year, the country is facing its weakest olive oil season in four decades, with production plummeting by up to 70% compared to last year. Typically, the harvest begins in late September, but this year it didn’t start until early November. Here’s the controversial part: while some blame climate change for the extreme weather, others argue that decades of unsustainable agricultural practices have left the land vulnerable. What do you think? Is this a natural disaster or a man-made crisis?
The crisis is particularly devastating in the northern regions of Irbid, Ajloun, Jerash, and Mafraq, where olive cultivation supports millions of trees and thousands of families. Normally, these regions produce around 30,000 tonnes of olive oil annually, but this year, output has collapsed to just 10% of that. Prices have skyrocketed, with 20-litre containers of olive oil now costing $190, up from $140, and 16kg tins reaching $197—a 40% increase. For a country where olive oil is not just a commodity but a cultural staple, this is nothing short of catastrophic.
‘This year, temperatures were 10-15°C above average, delaying the harvest and affecting nearly every agricultural sector,’ explains Mahmoud al-Auran, director of the Jordanian Farmers Union. The Jordanian meteorological department confirms the severity, noting a 13-day extreme heatwave in August—the longest on record. Adding insult to injury, the 2024-25 rainfall season was abysmal, with precipitation levels as low as 15% of seasonal averages in some areas. Northern and central regions received only 54% of normal rainfall, a disaster for rain-fed olive groves that rely on seasonal water rather than irrigation.
‘Olive trees here depend on rain, not chemical fertilizers,’ Auran points out. ‘Heat and drought deprive them of water, leading to smaller fruits and lower-quality oil.’ Despite farmers’ efforts to supplement with water and fertilizers, the prolonged heat has severely impacted fruit formation and oil composition. But here’s a thought-provoking question: Could genetically modified, drought-resistant olive varieties be part of the solution, or would that compromise the traditional essence of Jordanian olive oil?
The government has responded by allowing West Bank visitors to bring in five tins of olive oil and has pledged to open imports if prices continue to rise. But for many, this feels like a band-aid solution. ‘Olive oil is woven into the fabric of Jordanian life,’ says Amal al-Ghawanmeh, head of the al-Sendyan Land Association for Environmental Development. ‘When production decreases, every household suffers. Families are forced to import oil at higher prices, disrupting age-old traditions and meals.’
Small olive groves, which typically generate $5,000 in annual income, now face severe losses. Women, who make up the majority of the harvest workforce, are seeing their employment opportunities shrink dramatically. ‘Climatic extremes have created unprecedented declines in traditional cropping systems,’ Ghawanmeh adds. ‘Rainfall has been scarce and irregular, and when storms did come, they barely replenished our mineral-rich soils.’
Farmers are now calling for urgent measures: drought-resistant olive varieties, improved irrigation infrastructure, and climate-smart agricultural practices. For Zoubi, the stakes couldn’t be higher. ‘I fear the day will come when my grandchildren will have to abandon olive farming,’ he says. ‘Without real support, these trees may not survive… and neither will our way of life.’
So, what’s your take? Is this a wake-up call for global climate action, or a local issue that requires immediate, region-specific solutions? Let us know in the comments below. This article is published in collaboration with Egab (http://www.egab.co/).
