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There is a secret language of hooters, bells and horns that chatters through the narrow streets of Stone Town, warning pedestrians to make way for the bicycles and scooters weaving past.
We are walking on a Unesco World Heritage Site, literally the whole of Stone Town.
Like the décor at the exquisite new Hyatt on the beachfront, which was built, in part, in a nearly 200-year-old palace called Mambo Msiige, the architecture is unfamiliar. It’s a curious mix of Arab, Persian, Indian and European that somehow assumes a Swahili identity as forged by a brutal colonial history.
The brightest shukas, kangas, kitenges, kente and wax cloths fight for a shopper’s attention alongside paintings, fruit, spices, carved boxes, sandals and political-party flags heralding the pending election.
But we are not shopping today; we are heading to church.
Swimming with dolphins
The day before, we had set off on a very different mission. We left the spacious, marble-floored, air-conditioned, impeccably serviced Hyatt and drove to a nearby beach, passing communal farming strips, the odd jam-packed dala dala taxi and countless scooters.
Few scooter drivers wear helmets, but island life is like that. The speed limit is 40km/h, though most travel at 80km/h. Not that it matters – there are no traffic police.
“I like this more because out here I am free,” says Haroun, a crew member on our dhow, a traditional sailing vessel, about why he left his job as a bar tender at one of the many resorts on the islands to join the boats. He works for the masters of the one-day island adventure Safari Blue.
The archipelago of Zanzibar is a semiautonomous, mostly Muslim territory of Tanzania best known for its equatorial islands, ridiculously clean beaches and azure ocean. Only in Thailand have I swum in such beautiful seas on the same budget.
Jumping from the dhow and flippering lazily over the coral reef, one is soon caught up in another secret language of traffic as dozens of varieties of brightly coloured fish weave past.
It’s only when I hear people shouting that I realise that a pod of dolphins is passing among us. Epiphany.
Later we will lunch on an island, a feast of banana and tamarind curries, crayfish, maize cakes, prawns and endless exotic fruit – star fruit, yellow granadilla, red banana, baobab fruit, jackfruit, sugarcane...
On the way home, the sails of the dhows are unfurled and a race begins to see which of the mostly South African tour groups will make it back to land first.
That night, we eat on a balcony of a deli-style restaurant that feels ridiculously like dining out in Mahabalipuram on the southeast coast of India. Just a lot closer and cheaper to get to.
The whipping tree
“Zanzibar is Arabic for ‘land of blacks’,” explains our guide Rashid Rashid the next day.
The church we head to is the Mkunazini, or Christ Church Anglican cathedral.
It is built on the site of what was the heart of east Africa’s slave trade, one of the world’s last open slave markets, run by Arab traders. Various nations made lots of money from it, building economies on the blood of Africans.
All morning at the hotel, I have been reading history sites on my tablet with my heart in my throat.
While I knew plenty about the Atlantic slave trade, the full extent of the brutality of the Arab trade is only revealed to me in Zanzibar – the women sold into sexual slavery, the castration of the men, the children given away as special gifts to those buying many slaves at the market.
This is a kind of ground zero for black history and it’s a crucial part of a visit to Zanzibar.
Inside the church is a marble circle where a whipping tree once stood. Red marble surrounds it, symbolising blood.
If slaves cried out during whippings, they were considered weak and no one would buy them. They would be sent back into the horrific cells that were situated near where the church stands today. Most would die in there. There was no food or water, no toilet, just sea water washing through.
Two of the cells have been preserved, to teach history to tourists.
Inside, it’s the height that seizes one. You can’t stand, except in the gutter that was used as a toilet. Slaves were packed in here – the size of a large suburban bathroom – in their dozens and dozens.
“Don’t cry white tears ... don’t cry white tears...” I keep telling myself, because it’s a useless act that transfers the focus of the history we are learning.
I go outside and stand at a sculpture that cuts into the ground.
Statues of slaves, in original chains, stare grimly at the visitor. I breathe in the stench of history and acknowledge the acts of my ancestors.
Infinity and beyond
The vast dining room at the Hyatt gives way to an incredible deck for outdoor dining and lounging. It stretches into an infinity pool that overlooks the bay.
The cries and cheers of a beach football match draw my eye. Supply dhows are coming in to shore. Men swim with their children.
One of my favourite things about the Hyatt, I realise, is that it is built on a public beach. In a small way, it makes the hotel part of Stone Town and part of reality, however privileged.
*Blignaut was a guest of the Park Hyatt Zanzibar. For more information, visit zanzibar.park.hyatt.com
Blignaut was flown courtesy of Mango Airlines, which operates between Joburg and Zanzibar on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Return flights cost an average R7 000 per adult. Visit flymango.com
His tour was organised by The Holiday Factory, which offers brilliant travel packages to the Park Hyatt Zanzibar. Prices from R10 320 per person for a three-night stay, including flights, airport taxes and levies, return transfers and a truly scrumptious breakfast. Visit theholidayfactory.co.za
Safari Blue hosted Blignaut’s sea outing. The full day with lunch and all-day drinks costs about R875 per adult, depending on the dollar exchange rate. Children six to 14 cost about R470. Visit safariblue.net
All of Blignaut’s land transfers and the Stone Town tour were courtesy of Escapade Zanzibar. To view a variety of reliable and very friendly services, visit escapadezanzibar.com
