Sizzling Zanzibar
You know the Indian Ocean is the calmest of all Oceans. [Didn’t witness even a shouting match, talk less of physical brawl in my three days on the island] But, in addition to spices, Zanzibar also conjures up images of slaves and sultans in peoples minds, and is as elusive as the narrow streets that […]
You know the Indian Ocean is the calmest of all Oceans. [Didn’t witness even a shouting match, talk less of physical brawl in my three days on the island] But, in addition to spices, Zanzibar also conjures up images of slaves and sultans in peoples minds, and is as elusive as the narrow streets that twist and turn in stone town on Unguja Island. So, I can safely say, when you think Zanzibar, think 3S. Spices, Slaves and Sultans, or maybe the other way round will be more appropriate, Sultans, Slaves and Spices. I will get back to the islands a little later. For now, let us as usual, start from the beginning.
In my last piece, I gave a detailed account of how we got to Dar es Salaam, so I will not bore you here with a repeat. Now, there are two ways of getting to the islands. You either take a 15-20 minute flight in a small shaky aircraft or go by sea in a ferry. If you have a phobia for both, I advise you to choose the lesser of the two and just brave it. Either way, I assure you the visit will be worth your while. Surveying the crowd whilst waiting to catch the ferry, I noticed the palpable excitement on my co-travelers faces, despite the extreme humidity. Mine was also building like a raging volcano, as I counted down the minutes, which made me wonder if the island had something in store for me. Well, I eventually found out that it did, but the story is not for now. The size of the ferry, which has a first class compartment on the upper deck, gave me a big sigh of relief. I thought it was going to be one of those small unsteady ones [mai tangal tangal]. There isn’t much difference in the classes though, except for the number of seats. Equipped with air-conditioning and video entertainment, the ferry cost the equivalent of about N=10 000 for a first class round trip.
The receding coastline was a site to behold as we moved and slowly picked up speed. Within a short period, the sky had merged with the ocean. ‘That’s it’, I told myself, quickly shuffling my thoughts like a deck of cards, in order to store the ones that kept saying to me, ‘you know you can’t swim’, and that ‘these are pirate infested waters’, in a folder at the farthest corner of my brain. Having done that, I settled back into my seat and prayed. Though I had been in a ferry off the south and West African coast before, this was by far the farthest I had ventured out. Half way into the trip, we were served snacks in addition to plastic vomit containers, in case of sea sickness. Me and my friend waded through, but were surprised to see some yan kasa [locals], [oops, see what Jos has done to me?] using the containers. Chan, [after a long while] I caught my first sighting of the island, which happened to be a blur of white buildings sitting on patches of green far on the horizon. Out of the ferry, we were very warmly received by Abdul, our young, resourceful and charming guide, who beckoned on Juma [the driver] to come over after introductions, and we zoomed off to Serena inn, a modern cum traditionally decorated hotel on the fringe of the Indian Ocean.
As soon as they sighted Dr Iliyasu, they started shouting ‘igwe’. At that time, I thought they were referring to royalty in Nigerian films. It was much later I learnt the referral was to a Nigerian singers song. We checked in at a good concessionary rate courtesy Dr Yawale, who had been there before and went upstairs to drop our luggage. I showered and came down to meet Abdul and Dr Yawale waiting on a curved Dakali [cement bench, surrounded by huge trees that seemed to have been created along with the island,] opposite the hotel. The dakali brought back memories of when we used to have them in front of our houses at our loko [street], if you can call it that, at kofar Nasarawa, inside the city of Kano, one of the only three cities in this world, if you catch my drift. They used to provide good resting places for both occupants and visitors. Visitors now, both young and old have to stand erect [like soldiers] in front of peoples homes. Well, if you want to see them again, just fly to stone town in Zanzibar.
By then, the sun had almost gone down [laasar sakaliya], [oh, how rich my language is], so we strolled down to Forodhani gardens, one of the most popular spots on the island for both locals and visitors. Before I let you in on what we did or what took us there, let me give you a brief history of the place. Forodhani garden is situated along the waterfront in stone town overlooking the glittering Indian Ocean. It is said to be one of the last open spaces in the densely populated world heritage site of Zanzibar.
The place was once the location of the port and a landing point for the former Sultans. The area took the name Forodhani after the 1964 revolution that ended the sultanate dynasty. The area laid waste for long before the Aga khan foundation, in collaboration with the government of Zanzibar, decided not too long ago to restore it to its former glory. The space was cordoned for almost a year and half in order to upgrade and restore. The project gulped some 2.4 million dollars. The president of Zanzibar, His Excellency, Amani Karume and His Highness, the Aga Khan, officially opened the gardens on the 30th of July 2009, and we got to visit in November that same year while it was still fresh [yana danye]. How about that? The main attraction in the gardens is that everyday in the evening, just before Maghrib, stalls that sell sizzling hot suya, all kinds of seafood and snacks are erected right in the middle of it.
Whole families in their traditional attires and tourists would flock there to order, sit on dakalis to unwind and watch the world go by. That’s exactly what lured and took us there. We sampled, tasted, ordered, found a dakali, sat down, jisted with some relatively young people that I initially thought were jinni because of their deep knowledge of subjects brought up for conversation, and watched the world went by also. Back in my room, I went to sit on the balcony overlooking the ocean.
The gentleness with which the ocean hits shore gave a true reflection of the islander’s behavior [calmness]. This left me wondering if the manner in which Oceans hit shores does provide a reflection of the neighborhood’s behavior. I thought about the Atlantic Ocean and its ‘Hauragiya’, [sorry, I don’t have an appropriate English translation of this word], and deliberately filed away the thought. Late into the night, I moved back into the comfort of my bed, dropped the mosquito net [can’t re-call when I used them last] and slept soundly. The very act of dropping and sleeping inside that net made me feel years younger. Maybe that’s their reason for putting the nets, I thought, and maybe not. I woke up early in time for Fajr prayer and walked to a nearby mosque in a narrow alley just across the hotel.
Going out of the hotel that early, without the distraction of hotel staff and guests, gave me an opportunity to take a closer look at the Zanzibari door at the entrance. When you get there, please take a hard look at those Zanzibar doors, some of them adorned with decorative brass studs, carved symbols or quotations from the glorious Qur’an to offer protection for the owner and his family. Sai sun birgeka. In fact, I learnt it was their custom to order the carved decorated door-frame first before they start building, fix it and then build the house on to it; dates would then be carved on the lintel together with the owners monogram-an important indication of social status. Around 9am, we moved to the restaurant for breakfast.
Now, that was a whole new experience in doing breakfast for me. First of all, the restaurant is overlooking the glittering ocean, with huge widely open decorated wooden windows at sea level, giving you a breathtaking view of several dhows sailing out to sea. The staff are the friendliest and most hospitable I have met to date and to cap it all, the food was like out of this world. We sat back with our tamarind drinks savoring that view long after we finished eating. Our first port of call after that sumptuous breakfast was Beit-el ajab, [house of wonders].
It’s a walking distance from our hotel. Even if it were not, I would still have suggested [insisted would be more appropriate] to my friend that we walked it, for that breakfast to either settle in or come down. Bayt-el ajab, as the name connotes, is a three storey building with a wide open space at the centre and spacious balconies surrounding the rooms, which gives the building a perfect square shape. There are books on sale at the entrance that will give you a detailed history of the building and the Omani Sultans at the entrance. I will however, touch small on the Sultans because of space constrain. The first to rule was Seyyid Said who reigned from 1804-1856.
Zanzibar became an independent sultanate from Oman four years after his second son, Majid, ascended the throne. It is said Majids reign was uneventful except for an unsuccessful attempt by his brother, Barghash, to seize the throne. Barghash, [whose name I find the most fascinating] with a moustache and statue that looks exactly like the name, went into exile in India thereafter, only to come back and ascend the throne in 1870. Talk about naci. [perseverance] Zanzibar became world famous during Barghashs eighteen year reign. He lived large in comparison to the other sultans and erected several new palaces. But, in fairness to him, he also initiated several projects, in addition to other amenities that improved the old stone town. I like Barghash.
He thought big. I like leaders who think big. Just consider the huge revenue that accrues to countries from tourists who visit historical monuments like the Taj, pyramids of Giza, House of wonders and Burj Khalifa in Dubai, to site a most recent example. He it was who built the house of wonders for ceremonial purposes only. It is not for nothing that this building is called the house of wonders.
It was the largest building ever seen in Zanzibar at that time. It was the first to have electricity in east Africa, so people used to go there and marvel. I hope our grand, grand children won’t have to do this at houses with generators in future. It had many carved doors inscribed in gilt with texts from the glorious Qur’an, marble pavements and silver decorations on the staircase. It was the first building to have an electric lift. Barghash used to wait until all guests were seated before descending on the lift, which always left them gaping with wonder, to his utmost delight, I assume. From the house of wonders, we crossed next door to the official palace of the sultans which in no way compares to Beit-el-ajab in terms of grandeur.
One thing that fascinated me in this palace is an old photo of a bridge that used to connect the adjoining building, part of which was bombarded from the sea by the British during what is referred to as the shortest war in history. It lasted 45 minutes. Locals call the bridge, which is constructed in palaces or houses so that women can pass unseen from one house to the other without having to walk on the streets, ‘wikio’.
We then walked back to Homicide Street to see Tipu Tips house. What kind of name is this for a street you may ask? It reminded me of a story about ‘mayu road’ in Kano. ‘Take me to mayu road’ the passenger stooped and told the taxi driver. The driver peeped and took one hard look at him and asked, ‘to wa zai dawo da motar? Meaning, who will return the car, if he was supposedly eaten by either the passenger or mayu on the street? I don’t think it’s because of homicide the street is named so though, where will a criminal escape to on a one square mile island? It must have been Tipu Tips escapades.
I assumed. Tipu tip was a well known wealthy and merciless slave trader [Wanda yayi kaurin suna]. We unfortunately couldn’t enter the house, [which I imagined would have secret doorways and passages] because there were families living inside. What I forgot to ask is wether the families are his direct descendants. Tipu tip became so notorious a slave trader that he was eventually exiled from stone town. But, can you believe he continued the trade from where he was exiled to by digging a 3 km long tunnel to the sea in order to move his slaves, or goods, as he considered them to be. We were already in front of the house when I first noticed the streets name. By then it would have been too late, were we to be attacked by a homicidal maniacal descendant, I thought to myself. From Homicide Street, we went to Murubihi palace ruins, along the way passing by the house of the famous British explorer, David Livingstone. It was again Sultan Barghash who built this palace for his harem, which had 99 concubines.
The palace which has Persian baths and artificial ponds for the use of the harem was accidentally burnt down in 1899, so only the pillars that supported the balconies, the baths and a few crumbling walls remain. The area is thickly planted with mango trees, and I read somewhere that people prefer avoiding the area at night because of some pepo spirits said to perch on the trees waiting to drop down onto unsuspecting victims and possess them by sitting on their heads. Can you believe that? Still, make sure you visit way before sunset when you are there.
From there, we proceeded to Mtoni palace where the first Sultan first settled with his one wife and 25 concubines. All his children were born from the concubines. The wife was wicked and unsmiling according to one of the princesses in her book. Imagine the princess, didn’t she know the woman was childless and had to contend with 25 child bearing concubines? The palace was gazetted as a historical museum in 1957. That same evening, we visited a village named kijichi which happens to be the highest point on the island. The name kijichi means Persian bath, and the village took its name from the baths built there for the sultan’s Persian wife. ‘On a visit to Persia, the Sultan [can’t remember which one, a total of eleven Sultans ruled Zan] became fascinated obviously not only with the baths, but their women, to the point of even taking a wife from there’, we were told by our guide. The wife didn’t join him in Zanzibar until after completion of the kijichi. Can you see how important these baths were to Persian women?
Lest I forget, in between all those rounds, we stopped at a small resort with a restaurant affiliated to our hotel for a lunch that was expensive, time wasting and worst of all, came with very small or rather tiny portions that just left us hungrier. We got back to stone town just in time for Maghrib, after which we strolled over to Buni café, a restaurant/café under the building of the famous orphanage, for a much deserved dinner that mercifully came with appropriate portions and excellent coffee afterwards. Check the place out when you get there. Day 3 was reserved for shopping.
Immediately after that sea level—- we took a stroll in and around the alleyways, which our guide, Abdul, calls narrow streets of stone town. Our first stop was a shop that sells beautifully designed t-shirts of all sizes made from organic [not agric] cotton, called oneway. Fantastic shop. The subtle mix of African/Cuban music that filtered from the speakers, coupled with the friendliness of the staff made us tarry a little longer in the shop. It was with difficulty I made them part with one C.D. appropriately titled Congo to Cuba. We checked the numerous curio and antique shops that litter the labyrinth of narrow streets nearby and picked up some souvenirs and proceeded to the not so oyinboyish local market on Darajani Street to pick up some local spices and those caps that are so unique to Zanzibar and Oman.
On our way back to the hotel we stopped over at a local open air bukka to sample the local cuisine. Doctor (col) Iliyasu lost his phone there probably because the food was nice and probably not. I was really hungry, so wasn’t in a position to give accurate judgment. All permissible food would have been nice to me then. We took souvenir photos with Mukhtar, the proprietor thereafter and left. In the evening, we joined in the mad rush by tourists to witness the sun set over the Indian Ocean. What a magnificent view. I tell you, the difference between seeing it on post cards and live, is like that of up and down. Well, maybe it’s not that big, maybe I am exaggerating.
It looked to me also, like the sun tarried a little longer, or to put it better, knew there were visitors from afar, [in our measurement] and waited a little longer before fully setting that day. Remember, I said looked to me, I wasn’t sure. But, what I am sure of is that, we have several locations in this our vast country where one could watch the Sun set over the Ocean, river or lakes also. But the thing is, we are either too busy chasing—, or simply don’t want to market them. If you want to have an idea of what we regard as marketing tourism potentials, take a look around our roads and see the signs that give directions to either EFCC, Nepza, Nestra, Pencom, or the several other government agencies that are sometimes difficult to decode and don’t have anything to do with tourists, but all the same, tell you tourism is life.
Well, agreed, maybe a tourist can look for EFCC or Shagalinku, but what will he be looking for at, let’s say for example, Pencom? In Zan, they do market their tourism potentials very well. There is information in all available outlets. People travel from Europe and other far away lands just to witness that sun set over the Indian Ocean. They consider it a privilege, much in the same way some people consider salmon, for example, or dog meat, a delicacy. At night, Juma, our driver took us to Abduls house for a nice dinner that came in Swahili. It made me look at him not as a guide anymore, but a brother. The following day, by 7.30am, we were already seated by that sea level window doing breakfast, after which we came out and sat by the pool overlooking the ocean, mukayi zugum, [Sorry, this Hausa expression can only be explained, and not translated], wishfully thinking and wishing the moment would or could be frozen.
The little that I got to do has surprisingly filled me up with lots of images of this tiny one square mile island. Piece of advice, the best time for visiting the island though, to me, would be during the two biggest festivals of Eid. It is said that’s when festival grounds are set up with booths and stalls offering local foods, games and traditional dances and plays. See you there, insha Allah. By the way, in Zanzibar, its impossible to say something without someone adding, insha Allah. [God willing], so you might as well add it always to your statements when you are there, to save the people reminding you.