After being woken by the rain, I noticed the sky in the direction of the beach was tinted pink, and so I thew on a dera and headed out. I wanted to catch a final sunrise on the East coast before I headed to Stone Town.
The tide was right in this morning, so I hitched up my skirt and stood in the shallows to try and capture my final dawn on Zanzibar.
There were fewer women on the beach collecting seaweed this morning, due to the tide, but they were joined by some joggers and tourists and a local man, with a double metal hoop, practicing gymnastics.
Fewer clouds on the horizon meant the sky was gold. I took some photos and then retreated up the beach, to the same spot I had sat with the Maasai in the moonlight, and sat to watch the sun as it made its entrance.
A man who I’d seen most mornings on the beach, and exchanged greetings with, approached me and asked why I hadn’t come to his shop yet (I knew he was an artist who sold his paintings but had missed the memo where I’d said I’d go). He wanted me to visit later in the day but I explained I was leaving, so may not have time. He told me if I came he would gift me a small painting – I have no idea why! He then left with a ‘Baadae!’ (later) and jogged back down the beach.
Scrolling through my videos of the dawn, I noticed the acrobat was in shot performing a flip; silhouetted against the sky. Thinking that was pretty cool, I added it to my WhatsApp stories.
Not long after this, he approached me. After exchanging Swahili greetings, he introduced himself as ‘Moonlight’, told me that he’d left his phone at home and asked if I could please take some videos of him. I agreed and, much like Indian Yoga dude, ended up being directed to film several clips from different positions.
I’d arranged to have a video call around this time with my friend Peter, who lives on the Kenyan coast and with whom I’d watched sunrise each morning of my time in Diani last year. As Moonlight and I were reviewing what I’d filmed, a notification dropped down saying he was ready so I told Moonlight I needed to take a call and he said we’d speak after.
Peter and I had our call, whilst Moonlight had a swim, and then he and I sat in the shade of some rocks.
We talked a little about my time in Zanzibar, how I’d learnt Swahili and, when I’d said Kenya, my time there. When I mentioned I’d volunteered in a Nairobi orphanage, he told me he was an orphan, born on the Tanzanian mainland, and had come to Zanzibar to try and find a better life for himself. As a child he’d been good at backflips and he’d found, as he grew older, that he was naturally good at gymnastics. He now performs gymnastics, as well as fire eating – and also provides acrobatics workshops for children.
Moonlight showed me his instagram account, proudly highlighting that he has also started a ‘chicken project’; apparently Zanzibar has a shortage of local eggs, so he had the idea to provide them. He already has 50 hens, as well as some pigeons. He told me that when he is stressed, maybe because he doesn’t have enough for food, he will sit with them and it makes him feel better.
We exchanged details so that I could send him the photos and parted ways, as, by this time, the sun was high in the sky and I had to get back for breakfast, and to pack.
By this time, all three Maasai had sent good morning texts that also told me they loved me and the local man who’d taught me Swahili, and who I’d given my contact for language exchange, randomly popped up all love-bomby saying he wants me to be his. It was a bit much for 8am!
Over breakfast, which featured Mahamri instead of chapati today, I wrote the previous day’s travel update and then headed to my room to pack. In a touch of pathetic fallacy, the sky darkened again and my last few hours were peppered with rain showers, matching my mood.
After packing, I headed back to the communal area where Abdul was sitting. He told me I’m not allowed to leave and that he refuses to say goodbye to me; I told him I wasn’t ready to go.
I was able to say goodbye to Julie, who was working in the co-working space, and she again reminded me that I have an open invite to stay with her in Sofia; it’s incredible how, in just a short space of time here, I’ve met so many people who I think of as friends.
Seeing as I’ve shared so openly here so far, I’ll share what I told her: when I did my end of year review for 2022, the overarching theme was loneliness, and yet, here, it’s been almost possible for me to be alone, even for a short time. Whilst I still crave some alone time, I can’t deny how nourishing all the company and attention I’ve received here has been.
Before leaving Jambiani I had to see the beach one last time, so I headed out. The sky was slate grey, heavy with rain, and the tide all the way out. This meant hardly anyone was on it. Just a local lady sheltering under a rock who wanted to sell me a henna tattoo, and a solitary Maasai – not one of mine – who, like most of the Maasai, was fascinated with my hair, asking if he could touch it and asking if I knew it was like that of a lion…a baby lion (!) He also tried to get me to sell to buy his wares but I told him there were three Maasai I’d be buying from before him; he said I should buy from all of them, so clearly he is one of those who sees Muzungu as all being very rich.
That made me reflect upon how, not once had any of ‘my’ Maasai ever tried to sell me anything, and mostly also wouldn’t let me pay anything towards food or drinks. I’d actually hoped to see at least one of them to buy something as a token of appreciation but, sadly, I didn’t – and mostly in the day they don’t have their phones (they all carry a ‘bush phone’ which is a small, old school, mobile which has a battery that will last for days in addition to a smart phone that will lose charge quickly).
The Maasai who was not my Maasai and I parted ways, speaking Maa (I’m quite proud of this) and I returned to Freshi to find Abdul had already left – he didn’t have to say goodbye to me, after all.
My taxi arrived and, once again, I had to fight back tears: I really didn’t want to leave. I don’t know why this place, and these connections, are affecting me so deeply but it really is a physical pain.
My taxi driver (Eddy) asked if I minded if he had music on, and I said absolutely; he then confessed he loves Michael Jackson and asked if I minded that choice. I said I prefer Diamond Platnumz and told him how the Maasai and I had been learning the routine to Chitaki, but MJ would work too. So we drove across the island to what must have been his ‘best of’ album. Somehow, this was a vibe!
He’d asked me to show him where I was staying and took the initiative to call my AirBnB host to get precise directions (people here don’t seem to use Google maps).
For most of the journey, we were passing school children, the girls wearing headscarves, houses, many partly-constructed, and countryside but at one point a queue of traffic had formed. Eddy told me that this was because the President of Zanzibar, who is a lady, was passing; he also pointed out the building (which was draped in the national colours of yellow, blue and green) to which she had gone. The President of Tanzania, who is male, is also from Zanzibar, incidentally.
Once in Stone Town, the roads became much narrower and busier; it reminded me a little of Mombasa. Eddy changed the music and I danced in my seat to Chitaki as he navigated to my accommodation. The rest of his playlist was identical to my friend Peter’s, which I listen to often, so I sang along until we came to a stop in a random narrow street (after passing through one which was literally the width of the taxi). The taxi driver said my place was up a street through which he could not pass. At this point I expected to navigate the rest myself but, nope, he put my backpack on and came with me!
The overarching theme of this trip is just how kind people in Zanzibar are; they genuinely want to help and most don’t expect anything in return.
Eddy and I reached a crossroads and he told me that is where the host would come and meet us. After standing for a while, I heard a voice from behind me and turned to find myself looking at a man whose face was so beautiful that my heart did that clichéd skipping a beat thing. He was tall, broad and, surprisingly, had an American accent. Unexpected.
We followed this man down another street, through an iron-studded door, and up two flights of stairs. There, we followed his example to remove our shoes (I did so very clumsily, as I was so overcome with a strong, visceral, response to the host that seldom happens to me but, when it happens, makes me the clumsiest human alive). We stepped into a high-ceilinged hallway adorned with works of art, and with rugs, scatter cushions and chairs, and then into my room, which, for an AirBnB, was very grand! I palmed Eddy his money and he left me alone with this man who was making my body do strange things.
He introduced himself as Ronny and asked if I was up for a tour of the place, to which I of course agreed. Ronny explained it had been set up as a space for artists and creatives to come and feel at home and that the artwork on the walls was rotated every month. In addition to the communal hallway with work spaces, there is an outdoor courtyard containing a long table and a living room area with tv, sofas and plenty of plug points. There’s also a kitchen and when I said I’d prefer water to drink, Ronny produced an engraved decanter with a wooden lid, a glass, and a small tray and proceeded to carry it to my room and put it down on a small table.
Before he left me to unpack, he said he’d give me the WiFi code. I selected the option in my WiFi settings and handed him my phone to input the password…but, instead of taking it, he cupped my hand in his and typed it in. He didn’t remove his hand whilst it was connecting, which seemed to take an eternity, and, for me, this was having a pretty profound physical impact. Eventually he removed his hand and left me standing there, relatively incapable of any meaningful thought.
I walked around in circles for a while before deciding to return the water decanter as an attempt to be able to try out my friend Lee’s eye contact suggestion (I’d appealed to my Facebook audience for help!).
I’d already forgotten his name by this point, but Ronny was sitting in front of the tv (watching some French Netflix movie with English subtitles) on his laptop. As he asked if I was settling in okay, a lady came through from the kitchen and extended her hand as we greeted each other. I went to shake it, but she was actually just trying to take the water bottle of me. She offered me another but I declined.
The rain had continued throughout the day and so I told Ronny I would bring my laptop down until the showers had passed. I ensconced myself on the sofa next to his seat and actually began writing Part 1 of this update whilst hoping he would speak to me. He didn’t.
We sat in silence for some time, both with our eyes on our screens.
Eventually, I asked him if he thought the rain had finished for the day to break the silence. He said yes, but that I’d be unlikely to be able to catch the infamous sunset today (given how my luck with sunrise has been, this has become somewhat of a theme). We then talked about Stone Town, this AirBnB (he told me he is one of the partners who owns it and is about to open another). He’s not actually American: he’s from mainland Tanzania but took every opportunity to learn English – including reading voraciously and watching lots of American shows and movies. He asked about the business I am building and, once I’d explained, said he loves what I’m doing as he’s an introvert. For some reason, I responded to this by high fiving him
We then talked about my plans whilst here and he recommended I visit the night market. I may not have any game, but I decided to then ask what his plans were to see if he’d take the hint. He said that he’s an introvert, so he doesn’t have any and will just be staying home; I smiled and said there’s nothing wrong with that.
There was a pause and then he said he had a meeting at six but would be free from 7 if I would like to go together. I said I’d love that, and we agreed to meet at 7.
With around two hours to kill, I decided to go out and get a sense of Stone Town. I already knew it had maze-like streets, but wasn’t prepared for just how difficult they are to navigate; even with a good sense of direction, I was ‘lost’ within minutes. Whilst people here do greet you as they pass, I found it was less often, and less warmly, than the people at the coast; many were merely saying ‘welcome’ to invite me into their shop. It’s an interesting place, but so far I’m not vibing with it.
Walking through a small park, one, older, man greeted me with “Mambo” and after I responded, “Poa” he immediately said, “Nakupenda” (I love you) then kept shouting up the street after me that he likes what he sees – I think that has to be a new record
I navigated back to the AirBnB with the help of a single AirPod and Google maps – and even then took several wrong turns.
After showering and changing…and shaving… I sat in the communal courtyard to await my almost date.
Half an hour later, I was still waiting. I didn’t have his contact details (heck, I still couldn’t even remember his name), so I returned to my room to get my AirPods, so that I could use GoogleMaps to find the market.
As I was putting them on, he appeared in the doorway of my room, all apologetic. He said the people had arrived late and everything had been pushed back, so he’d need another 30 mins: would I be happy to wait, or did I want to leave. I said I’ll wait, as it’d give me an opportunity to charge my phone. He fist-bumped me and left.
An hour later, he hadn’t returned, so I decided his time was up and left.
Even with Google Maps, what should have taken, like, five minutes took fifteen. As I was trying to check my phone without it being obvious I had it out in the street, I noticed I’d received a WhatsApp from an unknown number – it was Ronny, apologising for keeping me waiting and asking if I’d left yet…
I’d told him I had, but had gotten lost, precisely at the moment where I spotted the market ahead of me.
Now, and this may be a controversial opinion, seeing as the night market is one of the main Stone Town recommendations, but I think it’s overhyped and overrated.
It’s a series of food stalls near the sea, most of which are selling the same things. The themes are: Shawarma; a table of fish/ meat kebabs, breads, cassava, plantain etc; ‘Zanzibar Pizza’ which comes in sweet or savoury options; fresh sugar cane, or bottles of water or soda, to drink.
The minute I stepped foot into the market area I had a man in a chef’s hat practically dragging me to his stall to talk me through what he was selling, plus all the surrounding men in chef’s hats urging me to come and look at theirs too. Even strongly saying, “Hapana asante” (no thanks), or “Hapana sasa” (not now… well, ish – I don’t know the word for ‘not’ in this context but they definitely understood). One, shifty looking, young guy with the Chinese shopping bags most sellers carry kept following me around everywhere I went and I couldn’t take a single step without being bombarded.
It was overwhelming.
I could feel sweat trickle down my back and my breathing quicken, so I broke away from the market where I could hear the notes of Chitaki coming from a hotel on the harbour. A little dancing on the spot, remembering the happy moments on the beach, calmed me and the gnawing hunger in my stomach drove me back in.
One of the chefs I passed earlier blocked my way and at least acknowledged how he could understand how it must feel to have everyone trying to sell at the same time. He explained that if they don’t, it’s likely the customer will go elsewhere and they need the business. I’d noticed the prices at the market were way higher than the coast and he acknowledged this without me mentioning it; saying locals only come as treat because of the prices and it’s because they are taxed highly on their stalls and also have to pay all the workers on each stall. I let him talk me through what he was selling and said if I decide I want to eat any of those foods I will come to him. He asked that, even if I didn’t buy from him, I at least came back to say goodbye…but also tried to sell me some tours the following day. When I said I prefer to interact with locals rather than go on tours he suggested we spend the say together, as he had the following day off.
The stalker was still following me and when I again asked him to leave he announced he likes me and wants me. So I just walked away from him, telling him to leave me alone.
This was the theme of the market: I actually lost count of the number of men who wanted me to walk with them, or for them to walk with me, to meet them the next day, to go home with them, or them with me. I’m no stranger to men approaching me in the street but this was on a whole other level. One guy, who had finished his shift, and after I’d said no to all his suggestions, refused to step out of my path until I’d given him a hug ‘goodbye’.
I managed to find a spot to check my phone and Ronny had messaged asking where I was. I told him I’d managed to find the market but couldn’t walk two steps alone and he responded with, ‘Haha I see. I’ll be done shortly. Might as well join you. Finishing up the last art on the wall.’
I decided to up my game a little, so here’s how the convo went down:
Me: Yes! Please come save me. The men are eating me alive!
Ronny: Sorry about that. Welcome to Zanzibar.
Me: Haha. It has been a theme of my time here.
Ronny: Must be hard. On my way there now.
I’d bought some sugar cane juice mixed with lemon and ginger, which was delicious, but by this point my stomach felt like it was eating itself (I hadn’t eaten since breakfast). So I returned to the man I’d been talking to and took his recommendation of a shark kebab. He gave me a 2000tzs discount and motioned me to sit opposite the stall to eat – withholding the change until I did.
The man who had been following me came and sat to my right, bothering me the whole time I was eating and then the chef, who had changed into normal clothes, came and sat to my right to suggest places we could go together that night or the next day. The neighbouring stall was playing Afrobeats, so when he suggested going somewhere with music I pointed out we had it right here. He told me he’d wanted to go to a music place to ‘see me dance’. I called him out on being creepy and said I’ll dance anywhere.
Follower guy chipped in that he loves to dance.
Right on cue, the neighbouring stall played ‘Chitaki’, so I said to my stalker “Come on then, let’s do this”. He looked very taken aback and said he didn’t know the moves. I told him no problem, I’ll teach him. So we did the routine and all the stall holders were cheering me… I’m probably now in a video somewhere online!
Having failed to enamour me, my stalker then tried to sell me his wares. I was saved by the arrival of Ronny, and we walked away together.
Now, and for me this was the interesting part, when I saw Ronny this time my attraction for him had already fizzled. I’m not sure at this moment I even know why but it’d gone from a roaring inferno to a tiny flame.
In his company, however, no one spoke to, or bothered us. Not one person.
He led me to two other men, one of whom was from the UK and turned out to be the AirBnB owner (Ronny’s actually the manager, so he had been a tad liberal with the truth). We all got food (this time I ordered a banana and Nutella Zanzibar pizza. Or, rather, Ronny did. In Swahili.
We decided to eat as we walked but as I took my first bite into it my senses were assaulted as I tasted onion (the fillings are on the inside and it was dark, so I’d had no prior warning). I’m allergic to onion. Luckily I hadn’t properly bitten into it, so was just exposed to the teeniest trace but my sinuses were already blocking and my face felt uncomfortably tight (I still have a bad taste in my mouth, writing this the following morning).
I don’t know how the mix up happened but even though the stall holder corrected his mistake the damage was done. He also cooked all the pizzas on the same grill, so no doubt there was onion residue on my sweet pizza; thank goodness it’s onion, not garlic, that’s more prevalent here. All that food roulette at the coast, and it was Stone Town that contaminated me.
The four of us walked back to the AirBnb, myself and the owner, who has also lived in Nairobi, conversing the whole way (Ronny and I had talked a little in the market whilst waiting for our food, but not much). During this conversation I actually managed to refer to Ronny as Eddy, which was awkward, and then the two other men bid us good night and Ronny gestured for me to step over the threshold of the door ahead of him.
He again got me a decanter of water and carried it into my room, set it down on the table and moved to the doorway where he lingered. On our way upstairs he’d asked if I had more work to do today and I’d said no. He told me he was going to take a shower and then head to bed. I wasn’t really feeling wanting more to happen by this point, but it seems my prediction was right.
There was an awkward moment in my doorway because he just lingered inside for some time. He then slowly raised one palm and held it aloft. I thought he was going to high five me but he just kinda held his palm against mine, then bid me goodnight and left.