There are a small number of days that will become memories to be treasured forever; today was one of them.
I once again woke in time for sunrise and headed to the beach, but it was a cloudy day and aside from some pretty rays emerging from the cloud, it wasn’t a good sunrise today – made even more frustrating by the fact my friend in Kenya and I have been exchanging dawn pics and his were epic!
After a little while, a man passed me and then sat nearby. He asked me if I would take a photo of him. I obliged. He then asked me to take a video of him doing yoga and began directing me. Once satisfied, he sat closer and began to strike up a conversation, initially commenting that I am a good person with a kind heart.
Not being a morning person, this wasn’t something I particularly wanted, but I’m trying to embrace all random moments so went with it.
He was an Indian man who travels regularly to Africa on business; he’d also arrived on New Year’s Eve, like me.
He informed me I was the first person he’d spoken to during that time, and that he was leaving later in the day. Speaking to me had made him happy for the first time on his trip, he confided. I can’t deny that tugged my heart strings a little, so when I tried to extract myself from the conversation by saying I was going for a walk, and he pleaded to come with me, I conceded.
Even before our walk he’d offered to host me in India so that all I’d need would be flights, and on the walk he told me more about Hindu culture – I drew the line at the wax-covered air pods he handed me to listen to music, though.
The conversation started to go south when he began quizzing me on whether I was single, telling me he was divorced from an arranged marriage and then that he was now thinking of cancelling leaving to spend some more time with me.
I tried to discourage him by saying I had plans with friends, so wouldn’t be able to spend time with him even if he stayed but he suggested joining us; I had to tell him I didn’t think they’d like that (which wasn’t a lie, as I didn’t think the Maasai would particularly enjoy his company; his English was very poor and he spoke no Swahili – and definitely no Maa).
By this point my mind was screaming ‘abort!’, so I told him I needed to go for breakfast but that it had been nice to meet him. I also wished him a pleasant trip.
Heading back to my accommodation, I began packing in readiness to move to a hotel right on the beach that was literally around the corner; it was actually the first place I’d booked but, in all honesty, even though I’d booked a sea view room, I didn’t want to leave my little co-working space.
The manager, Abdul, prepared another amazing breakfast and I got to catch up with the Bulgarian lady I’d had dinner with on my first night; she’s a wonderful human and also offered to host me in Sofia.
Abdul had told me no one was checking into my room that day so I could stay as long as I liked. The new hotel had told me check in was from 3:30pm, so I chilled in the outdoor co working spaces, having a fascinating conversation with the owner, Josh, who’s an American who’s been travelling full time for years and currently splits his time between Istanbul and Zanzibar. A journalist by trade, he gives me Big Tech founder vibes. He also very kindly brought me a fresh juice and we whiled away the afternoon in conversation.
When it came time for me to leave, I said I’d do two trips (I have a backpack and front pack but carrying both in the heat, even for a five minute walk, didn’t seem the smartest move). To my surprise both Josh and Abdul insisted that they carry my bags – they took one each and walked me all the way to reception.
As we parted ways they told me I’m welcome to hang out there any time, and not to hesitate to reach out if I need any local info; for sure Freshi residence will always have a special place in my heart.
The hotel staff were super friendly but I got taken to a pool view room and then had to wait for a sea view one to be made ready once I’d pointed out their mistake.
This did make me a little impatient, as my original Macarena Maasai had messaged to say he had come to Jambiani from Paje to see me and he’d walked the full six miles.
The new ‘sea view’ room was something of a misnomer, as you can only actually see the sea if you go out on the balcony and turn left. It also smells of urine, has no toiletries in the bathroom and bears very little resemblance to the website photos. I am typing this using data, as they haven’t yet given me a WiFi code, lying on a bed that somehow feels harder than the tiled floor beneath it. But because my friend had travelled far and I was late, I just dumped my bags and headed onto the beach.
Once reunited with original Macarena Maasai, I led him to the part of the beach where my dinner companions from the previous night would be, so I could introduce them all. He’d actually already been acquainted with one, but they didn’t know each other well.
After some chat, it was time for the School of Macarena to open. One of the Massai insisted we head to the far end of the beach, where there weren’t so many people. There was just one lady sunbathing.
I began to teach the Maasai the moves and the lady was watching, so we invited her to join – and she did.
Once they felt ready for me to video them, I also asked her if she could play the song on her phone, as mine won’t let me video and play music at the same time. She did and I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.
The Maasai then got a crash course in kizomba and semba, we had a sing along to Sauti Sol and then they taught me the viral TikTok dance challenge (that had somehow escaped me): Diamond Platnumz’s ‘Chitaki’.
We were joined by a random local man, who had moves but he was also making my gut uneasy, so I was relieved when he finally moved on.
We sang, and danced, until well after the moon had risen and almost everyone else had left the beach.
They then suggested we have dinner in the same place as last night, so we made our way along the moonlit beach and into the village.
Unfortunately, the Maasai restaurant was out of food by the time we arrived, so we went to a local’s restaurant instead. This had a similar structure to the Maasai one, albeit bigger, and also had glass cabinets facing the street where people could buy Chapati and other foods.
This was another restaurant with no menu or signage; we took our seats on a large table where some local men were eating big bowls of a stew containing what I would guess was goat meat. One had a side of chapati and both had a plate of quartered limes and a plate of chillies to use as their condiments.
The Maasai ordered for me, so again I had no idea what I was about to eat and could feel the adrenaline spike that came with the anticipation of food roulette. My allergies are tricky enough at the best of times.
Again, we went outside to wash our hands beneath a tapped container; this time there was also soap. I noticed the Maasai also wash their faces, so I did the same.
They’d bought bananas for dessert tonight and these were washed too.
Back at the table, we were served with big plates heaped with pilau rice, one big chunk of beef and Kachumbari, plus a spoon; I definitely got lucky this trip, as the rice was spiced with Cardamom and other flavours but no alliums, and I had mainly tomato and only two slivers of onion that I could avoid. I even sprinkled on some chilli!
We shared a big bottle of water and the bananas were cut into small chunks; everything was delicious and ridiculously filling.
When it came to pay I asked the Maasai how much and they told me 5000tzs (around £1.40) was okay, but there was then a very uncomfortable moment.
The waiter started having a very serious conversation with the Maasai; I couldn’t understand what was being said but I could infer from the body language that they were in disagreement. One of the Maasai then told me that the waiter was trying to increase the price of my meal because I am white and white people are all rich (aka Muzungu tax).
I asked if I should give more money and he told me no, it was sorted and now there was no problem.
I can’t deny that the whole situation made me feel a little uncomfortable, but the fact the Maasai handled it for me – however they did – and the fact that the same thing didn’t happen in the Maasai restaurant warmed my heart.
Incidentally, I wasn’t just the only white person in this restaurant; I was the only female too!
The Maasai then ordered us all tall, chilled, glass bottles of soda (Coke and Sprite) so that we could spend more time together. Two of them are already on TikTok, so we’re on a mission to make them go viral there and I suggested some tweaks so they could use any audience they build to sell their wares online.
As we sat, chatted, laughed and watched TikTok videos the world passed by outside – children ran after a truck, people came to collect takeaway, or merely walked past – and soon we were the only diners left.
We headed back to the beach, and they walked me right to my new abode before asking for a beach photo shoot beneath an almost full moon.
We danced some more (they now have the Macarena nailed, and they taught me some Maasai dance movements), sang some more and talked of how we will all remember this day forever.
As midnight approached, and we had to say our goodbyes, they each invented a type of handshake. My favourite was ‘giraffe’ as it was like a kiss on the forehead, a hug and kind of a dancer double cheek kiss but with shoulder hugs.
Today, I think I fell a little in love with Zanzibar.
And I can’t believe I only have three more nights in Jambiani.