A scene from Faya Dayi (Janus Films)

This rapturous, beguiling documentary offers a snapshot of modern-day Ethiopia through what has become the country’s dominant agricultural product—and it’s no longer coffee. It opens with a series of seemingly unrelated, but highly potent images—a young man running across a watery landscape, smoldering embers, smoke slowly curling in midair—accompanied by a voice-over referencing ancient myths. Eventually, these scenes give way to a group of men sitting outdoors, one of whom states that his family used to grow coffee on the land until they switched to an easier crop: a leafy, highly potent stimulant, khat.

From here, debut Mexican-Ethiopian director Jessica Beshir traces the journey that the plant takes from the fields to the marketplace, recording interactions at every stage along the way. Khat has become such a large industry that it’s likely the only source of work for an able-bodied person. Those who appear before the camera come from all walks of life and include a few recurring protagonists, most notably a sad-eyed teenager (Mohammed Arif), who yearns for better economic prospects even if that means leaving his homeland.

Such a journey, we learn, would be long and treacherous, with potential hazards that include starvation or kidnapping by those paid to bring him overseas. But what other options does someone like Mohammed have? The conditions for khat laborers in both the fields and cities are difficult. At one point, Beshir shoots inside an enormous warehouse space, where the floor is covered with piles of khat and workers spend all day and night tying it up in bundles. Close-ups emphasize the dexterity of the subjects’ hands, which move with great speed and precision, but also the wear and tear on their bodies.

These are some of the more conventional aspects of what is otherwise a highly unconventional documentary. Though intimating that khat can be addictive and lead to violent withdrawal pains, Beshir seems less interested in its pharmacologic effects than what it has done to the country. (The title ironically translates to “giving birth to health” in Oromo.) The film constantly cuts to women and religious leaders, all of whom have forlorn expressions, implying different kinds of broken or unfulfilled relationships due to either drug addiction or geographic separation.

What is equally intriguing is Beshir’s use of lengthy shots of subjects walking away from the camera—destinations unknown—as a kind of counterbalance. As we watch, we can feel a push-pull, the same as that experienced by the director’s fellow countrymen and women who are simultaneously moving toward an unknown future while being drawn back to the past by the memories of those left behind. The most searing moments, however, are those featuring individuals at the lowest end of the social order, who consume khat in order to soothe their misery. (One sequence is purposefully nightmarish.)

Among the most potent documentary experiences of last year, Faya Dayi boasts incredible monochromatic cinematography, which lends everything a surreal, dreamlike quality. Presumably, the effect is as if viewers were actually on khat. Yet the strength of the compositions throughout—credited to Beshir—deserves special recognition. Along with the excellent play with light and shadow that makes certain scenes appropriately noir-like, she always presents khat in sharp relief like the important protagonist that it is. Meanwhile, the sound design utilizes echoing dialogue, a recurring droning sound, and other audio effects that reel the viewer in and add to the film’s hypnotic effect.

Overall, Faya Dayi represents a fascinating cinematic journey that balances style and substance. It’s a two-hour trance worth falling into that, thankfully, lacks any nasty hangover.