Extreme heat and drought has destroyed 70% of Jordan’s olive crop, endangering livelihoods of 80,000 families and a centuries-old tradition
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bu Khaled al-Zoubi, 67, walks slowly through his orchard in Irbid, northern Jordan, his footsteps kicking up dust from the parched earth beneath centuries-old olive trees. He stops at a gnarled trunk, its bark split and peeling from months of unrelenting heat.
He points out that the branches should be sagging under the weight of ripening fruit, but instead they stretch upward, nearly bare, with only a few shrivelled olives clinging to the withered stems.
Zoubi has tended these trees for almost two decades, learning their rhythms through seasons of abundance and scarcity. But nothing prepared him for this harvest.






