A Zip through Zanzibar

Zanzibar sits apart in many ways, and not just geographically as a small island situated off the east coast of Tanzania. Its allure lies in white sandy beaches, the azure Indian Ocean, and year round tropical weather. Our visit to the island was primarily for relaxation, having climbed Mount Kilimanjaro the week before. I’m hoping for sun soaked beaches and palm trees. 

My wife, Jess, and I flew into Stone Town, the older part of Zanzibar city, and the capital of the island. Officially, Zanzibar is a semi-autonomous part of Tanzania, giving it strange quirks that make it unique. It has its own national flag, a president, and a national football team, but fundamentally has been a part of Tanzania since 1964. Understanding who actually runs the show here is complicated, and certainly won’t be possible in a week long visit. 

(The old fort, Ngome Kongwe, Stone Town, Zanzibar)

For our trip we’ve decided to stay about half way up the island on the eastern side at the small seafront village of Uroa. As we drive along the busy streets of Stone Town from the airport our taxi driver says they are known as the ‘Hakuna Matata people’, or the ‘no worries people’ for those who haven’t watched the Lion King. I can’t help feeling it’s like saying you’re cool, and therefore by definition not being cool, but I decide to roll with it for now and see how things go. 

As we drive along it’s obvious this is a lush island, banana trees, palms and rainforest plants grow everywhere. Fences are intermingled with weeds and vines. The island feels tropical and untended. I watch a group of children using a plastic bottle as a football on a scorched earth pitch as we navigate through light traffic. I notice that, out of the main town, many of the buildings along the roadside look half finished, the dreams of many businesses left dashed by some kind of economic ruin or budgeting error. Relatively modern Moorish style buildings, clearly intended for tourism, sit as abandoned concrete skeletons as a testament to former ambitions.

We weave across the island from west to east and finally arrive at our accommodation at the seashore. The town of Uroa itself is little more than a few buildings along the roadside, with hotel entrances dotted along on the eastern edge towards the ocean. Interestingly, and unlike more northern parts of the island, there is no permanent beach here. The hotel is protected by a six foot wall that holds back the ocean at high tide. On the hotel side it’s only a few feet tall so it doesn’t really impede the sea view. The hotel (Samaki Lodge) grounds are well tended, with bougainvillea growing over most surfaces, providing a pink and purple hue to the entire landscape. 

(Bougainvillea and beaches, Uroa, Zanzibar)

At low tide the sea recedes to show a complex lattice of blue, green and beige as locals head out onto the temporarily exposed sandy areas to farm for seaweed. Old women use hammers to force wooden stakes into the sandy ground to create a network of string to encourage the seaweed growth. They sit together in small groups sorting their harvests. Men in Masai clothing lean on walking sticks and chat in the midday sun. It’s a relaxing scene as we sit watching whilst enjoying a Mojito cocktail. 

(Masai men putting the world to rights, Uroa, Zanzibar)

In the mornings you’re treated to perhaps one of the most pointless uses of fossil fuels you’re ever likely to find. After high tide the seaweed fragments wash up onto the beach in front of the hotel, but knowing this is unattractive to the tourists, a large digger ploughs along the beach to gather it into a pile. It’s dumped on a stretch of beach adjacent to the hotel. Unsurprisingly, this event occurs predictably on repeat, over and over again. 

(A digger clears seaweed from the hotel front, again)

After a couple of days of not doing a huge amount we decide to go diving and snorkelling in the north of the island. Online if you type in ‘diving in Zanzibar’ you’re greeted by a series of images of large animals such as whale sharks and rays. The reality, at least in my experience, is quite different. I have also read a few blog comments on other sites that seem to confirm this. There are apparently some small sharks, but on my dives I only saw some small fish and some half decent coral. They’re nice dives and it’s fun to be out for the day, but they’re certainly not spectacular. Jess describes it as her worst ever snorkelling experience, but she did get kicked in the face a few times. I think if you came here just for the diving and snorkelling, you’d be disappointed. 

(A fisherman carries his catch of octopus to the fish market)

The next morning we decide to wander along the beach and see where it takes us. As we stroll in the sun, kite surfers hurtle along the shoreline, fishermen return on outrigger canoes called ngalawa, whilst women wander along carrying baskets on their heads. The fishermen sit cross legged as they tenderise octopus meat aggressively with wooden sticks, beating it hard into the sand. After a couple of kilometres, we stop and drink beer looking out over the ocean as two dogs laze around under our table. The gentle breeze and turquoise shades of the Indian Ocean makes it a thoroughly relaxing stop. That evening locals squash sugarcane using a mangle, serving it up to the waiting tourists whilst a local band sing and dance by the pool. 

(A woman carries seafood in front of outrigger canoes)

After six days, our time on the island is almost at an end, but before we leave we spend the day visiting a spice farm and Stone Town itself. The spice farm is relatively small and surprisingly wild looking. Our guide plays a game of ‘guess the spice’. To be fair, it’s quite hard to tell what plant is what, we get a few right but not many. Who knew that cardamon grew as small seeds near the ground on an otherwise tall plant? We stroll around, learning about the plants and their medicinal and culinary values. At the end of the tour a man climbs a tree using nothing but a piece of old cloth and his feet to harvest a coconut. When we get the coconut and drink its milk a tip is obviously expected, but I’m not entirely sure I want to continue to pay him to risk his life for tourists using a stretch of old rope. Of course we do tip him, but as we leave, our taxi driver tells us he fell and broke both his legs five years before. I’m left not really sure how to feel about the whole event. 

We then move on to Stone Town ahead of our flight out. A hub of major commerce for centuries, it’s rich in history, but not all of it positive, with the island’s inhabitants profiting from slavery for centuries, right up until 1897. The buildings of the town are an eclectic mix of Arabic, Swahili, Indian and British. The doors are ornately carved and give an indication of the former owners ethnicity and stature. Some have interlinked chains carved into their arches, said to prevent the entry of evil spirits. The town itself is nice to walk around and there’s plenty to see, including Freddie Mercurys place of birth, the slavery museum and the old fort. Wandering the backstreets is also fun. It’s easy to get lost whilst admiring the old buildings. 

Our trip to the island has been brief, but also relaxing and culturally interesting. But the island does have its issues. It’s densely populated in the main towns and is not the cleanest in certain areas. The best beaches are really only in the north, and the diving and snorkelling is limited. If I was asked if I would rather go to Mauritius, the Seychelles or the Maldives, I would probably say yes. Zanzibar, at least in my experience, doesn’t have the same luxurious and secluded feel, but when it comes to history, it’s abundant, fascinating, yet somber. 

(One of the many complexly designed doors in Stone Town, note the protective chain patterns on the left hand side)