Now that summer is coming in Europe and you want to sit on a terrace with a cold beer, perhaps it is also a good time to think about the place that alcohol occupies in other societies. Because that glass covered in small drops of condensation, that first drink after a hot day, that meeting with friends around a table, tell many more things than a simple preference for a drink. Also in Africa.
For a long time, part of the external view of the continent has oscillated between two incomplete images. On the one hand, that of societies where alcohol plays an important role in rural traditions and ancient ceremonies. On the other hand, that of certain problems associated with abuse. The reality, as almost always, is much more complex.
Africa does not have a single relationship with alcohol. It has many. And some data are surprising. When reviewing international alcohol consumption statistics, few expect to find several African countries among the world’s top spots. The usual image leads one to think of German breweries, Irish pubs or bars in Eastern Europe. However, the ranking of annual consumption of pure alcohol per person over 15 years of age prepared from data from the World Health Organization places several African countries in prominent positions.
Uganda appears as the African country with the highest consumption, with just over eleven liters of pure alcohol per adult per year, a figure that places it in eleventh place in the world ranking (well ahead of Spain, which occupies 35th place). Burkina Faso appears very close, another case that may surprise those who associate the Sahel only with Muslim societies and low consumption. Tanzania, Seychelles, Cameroon, Benin, Gabon, Botswana and South Africa also occupy high positions within the continent.
But behind those numbers there are many Africas. Because African alcohol was not born with the big breweries or the illuminated bars of the cities. Long before the arrival of labeled bottles, there were palm wine in West and Central Africa, sorghum and millet beers in the Sahel, fermented banana drinks in the Great Lakes region, and numerous artisanal local liquors. They were drinks linked to specific moments. They were shared at celebrations, weddings, funerals, family reunions or community ceremonies. In many societies, drinking was not so much an individual act as a collective practice. The drink circulated, just as the word circulated.
In Uganda, for example, the relationship with alcohol cannot be explained just by looking at the industrial bottles sold in the bars of Kampala. For generations, communities have made fermented banana and cereal drinks that are part of family celebrations and social gatherings. The , a traditional banana beer, or the , made from millet, remind us that drinking was a cultural practice long before the arrival of large commercial brands.
Burkina Faso appears very close, in 12th place in the world, a fact that may surprise those who associate the Sahel only with Muslim societies and low consumption. There, millet beer, known as , traditionally prepared by women, is still present in towns and cities. Around a pumpkin people talk, negotiate and celebrate community events. Drinking is also an economy: thousands of women earn income through its production and sale.
In Tanzania (14th place), consumption combines traditional drinks with an increasingly visible urban culture. The terraces of Dar es Salaam tell a story similar to that of many African capitals: young workers finishing the day, music, football on a screen and a cold bottle on the table.
But along with these fermented drinks there are others that are much stronger. In Uganda there is the , in Kenya the , in Ghana the , in Nigeria the , in the Ivory Coast the , in Benin and Togo the . Some are part of ancient local traditions; Others also show a more uncomfortable reality: access to strong and cheap alcohol in contexts of poverty.
And there appears another story. Africa has changed. And the way of drinking too. Perhaps the most important change in recent decades is not in how much people drink, but in where and why they drink. On any street in Abidjan, Nairobi, Kampala, Lagos or Dakar, beer has become one of the visible symbols of a new urban culture. At the end of the working day, thousands of young people fill terraces and small bars. There is music, mobile phones on the table, conversations about football, politics, business or relationships. The cold bottle becomes a sign of belonging to another world.
For many young people who come from small towns to big cities, the first beer paid for with their own salary marks an invisible border. It is much more than consuming alcohol. It is one of those small gestures that announce that they have entered another world. It’s a way of saying: I work, I earn my own money, I can decide what to do with my time. It is a small declaration of independence.
In societies where the extended family retains enormous weight and community obligations continue to mark daily life, these urban spaces offer something different: new relationships, greater freedom and an identity of their own. Beer accompanies that change.
It also changes who drinks. In many African societies, consuming alcohol in public was for generations a primarily male practice. Today, in many cities, young professional women occupy those same leisure spaces, although not always without tension with social norms that continue to judge the same gesture differently depending on who is holding the bottle.
The big beer companies know this. Africa, with a young population and rapidly growing cities, has become one of the most attractive markets for the global beer industry. Brands sponsor concerts, sports teams and cultural events. They sell not just a drink, but an image: modernity, success, friendship and fun.
But that luminous image has another side. Because along with the terraces of the urban middle classes there is another less visible consumption. In popular neighborhoods, towns and rural areas, millions of people turn to much cheaper drinks: homemade distillates, alcohol sold in small bags or informally manufactured mixtures available to those with very few resources. Each country has its names. The ingredients and methods change, but the logic is usually similar: get a strong drink at the lowest possible price. Some are part of ancient traditions. The problem appears when production is clandestinely industrialized, the concentration of alcohol increases or dangerous substances are added to reduce costs. Then a cultural practice can become a public health problem.
African governments face a complicated dilemma. Banning these drinks can destroy a source of income for thousands of small producers and push consumption even further underground. But ignoring the problem means accepting poisoning, diseases and an increasing burden on health systems that already work with few resources.
There is also the problem of the consumption pattern. A country can have a moderate average of liters of alcohol per inhabitant and yet suffer serious consequences if a portion of consumers concentrate large quantities in a short time. It doesn’t just matter how much you drink. It matters how you drink.
In some places, alcohol has become a growing concern because of its association with traffic accidents, domestic violence, work problems, and family financial difficulties. For those who live on very low incomes, spending a significant portion of their daily money on drinking can directly affect nutrition, children’s education, or home stability. As so often happens in Africa, the same reality contains many different stories.
The beer shared among friends at the end of the day speaks of an urban youth who wants to enjoy, socialize and build new ways of life. Palm wine recalls communities where drinking meant gathering and talking. Cheap liquors show the difficulties of those seeking to escape for a few hours from an existence that is too hard.
Alcohol can be celebration. It can be identity. It can be business. It can also be destruction.
Perhaps that is why a cold beer on an African terrace tells much more than a simple story of consumption. It speaks of cities that grow, young people looking for their space, traditions that change and societies that try to find a balance between enjoying life and protecting themselves from its excesses.
In the end, the glass is similar everywhere. What changes are the stories it contains.
