The ocean beautiful, covered in fine white sand, sea shades of light green to dark blues disappear behind the horizon.

A boy standing in his dugout canoes drudges the shallow waters with his wooden pole. Fishing boats sail by, shoring long enough to pass on the days catch. Boys flock to the boat, hauling out King fish, trout and barracuda, selling them to hotel kitchens.

Tourism brought electricity to Kendwa village in 1996, once a little known camping spot with the best beaches on the island, now shrubs have been cleared, palms replanted and resorts built.

The cheapest room in this resort village is our room, a rickety two story fort built upon wood stilts, dried palm leaves and wire mesh piece our banda together. Finally we are able to lie on the beach, book in hand and listen to the gentle surf lap the ancient boats. For four days, we do nothing more than watch the sky change colors over head and cool off in the buoyant salt water.

banda

boys in water

kwenda rocks

kwenda rocks 2

sunset

kwenda rocks 3

the boy relaxing

water play

Jay

the girl

man with fish

fish net

boy with pole

Line ups do not exists in Africa, line up to use the toilet, line up to buy a ticket, line up to exit the ferry, I’m sure the verb ‘line up’ has no place in the Swahili dictionary.  All at once everyone rushes to get off the boat, pushing and shoving, luggage and elbows flying, I fight to stay behind Jay and let all the years of polite schooling go to hell. Amidst the stench and sweat of the battle, the boat slowly empties, but just enough to let new passengers lay stake for their return journey.

Zanzibar, once the world’s most exotic spice trade island with its turbulent history of brutal takeovers, trade in slave, gold and ivory, remnants of large clove plantations, groves of pineapple, papaya and mango, thatched abodes- truly an ancient world.

Our mornings were spent with Mwana, a Muslim grandmother with a forgiving smile, as we learned Swahili through song and laughter. Tragedy struck on the 4th day when she lost her grandchild of only 40 days to heart failure. On an Island without access to proper health care, there are no x-rays or ultrasounds; the doctors suspected pneumonia at birth and shot her full of penicillin, no further tests done. A country full of mourning families as the staggering infant mortality rates stagnate.

Afternoons we wondered Stone Town, soaking up hours of history. We searched for the beautiful baobab tree and found the remains of the horrifying slave market across the way. Illegal since 1897, the relics include a dank underground cellar and neck chains, pictures illuminate the past with women and children tied to stakes, unable to move. The catholic church has built a cathedral above the old market, using the whipping post as a pulpit for weekly sermons. The student guide asked which religion we held, his response interesting, “Religion is a safe place, it pays for my school, you ask questions and therefore don’t believe, we are taught not to answer questions, we must have faith.”

The meat and fish markets trump Morocco, as men not only shuck the meat from the animal, but rest lazily on the cutting block next to their sale, often lying in the juices, bare feet exposed. The knives are rusted  and dull, often accompanied with a blow of a hammer to slice the pieces free. Odious, I kid you not.

Dr. David Livingstone’s last stop after his heart was buried in Tanzania is now a bar serving happy hour with free popcorn. Our favorite sunsets were at his place, best viewed with a cold Kilimanjaro and toes in the sand.

Every night local kids put on a gymnastics show, as a beached ferry, sans dock, filled with families. Vans weighted with cargo tried to whip across the sand into its strong hold. Night falls and the kids head home, the rising tide eventually lifted the night vessel out to sea, destination unknown. Immigration turns a blind eye.

Another day on Zanzibar.

ocean view

in school

kiswahili

classroom

sunset

The House of Wonders

plantation

beached vessel

beached vessel

boats

night vessel

boat

boat

boat

fish market

fm

fm

dried squid

ds

market

m

m

m

m

storm

window

Our apartment is excellent; a kitchen, a cat, and a balcony that, if you fell off at high tide, would land you in the ocean.

We found a liquor store in the hub city on an errand day. It requires a passport just to browse, but the wine is cheap and delicious and three bottles cost less than a tube of sunscreen.

Grounding both feet,  looking confident this is NOT our first time in town, we have places to be and ‘know’ where they are, having nothing in our pockets worth loosing- learning the tricks of the trade…

Jay grabs our packs from under the bus, I use my growing vocabulary of Arabic “La La, Shukran” (no, no thank you!) by now, they are bored and begin to taunt others; a short taxi drive to the medina gates.

The Medina- this word should elicit a stone wall fortress, centuries old, complete with ramparts,  battlements, rusting cannons, usually only 2-3 entrances and no cars allowed- living inside are thousands of people, bikes and hand pulled carts… twice as many abandoned, ailing cats.

Inside is a labyrinth, layers deep of winding alleyways, narrow streets; there is no grid system, rarely a street sign.. one learns to memorize minute details for orientation, not for the weak of heart… of course if you find yourself lost, you can pay the children 1 dirham to lead you to an entry gate, your riad or some point of interest…

As I type, the Muezzin is calling the time for prayer, men on the streets preform their absolution, using bottled water to wash their face, noses, ears hands and feet, then with a mat spread out, they bow down to prey… It is quite sacred to watch.

window

port

port

women at wall

medina

grains

to market

nuts

spices

shadow

us

fresh eel

crab

port

IMG_0111

IMG_0113

IMG_0115

IMG_0137

IMG_0139

IMG_0196

IMG_0198

IMG_0200

At times we are sleeping on floored mattresses, having cold showers every third day and skipping meals; however, our new oasis is far from squalor.

Being off season, we were approached immediately by Ahmead in his polyester running suit and asics shoes, he governs pensions for wealthy owners and offered his best apartment for an unbelievable fare. We couldn’t resist and we couldn’t leave.. We stayed basking in the amenities, 3 terraced pools and free wifi.

Jay contracted some work, I built Ahmead a website http://dahdouhahmed.wordpress.com

Go figure…