Zanzibar... the Spice of Life

Some say that variety is the spice of life.

I would argue that vacation is the spice of life.

And a vacation in Zanzibar? That’s like an extra spicy, spice of life.

We spent the first week of 2008 on this exotic isle, one at the intersection of Arabic, Indian, and African cultures, where the influences of all 3 are strongly reflected in the language, people, and food. During its heyday in the 1800s, the island became one of the most important outposts along the spice route, trading in cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, and ginger.

The highlight of the first few days in Stone Town included the lively outdoor market that starts at sun-down with vendors lined along the waterfront, selling irresistible treats like fresh-squeezed sugar cane juice (made by pressing thick stalks of sugar cane through large cranks) and grilled seafood of every variety on huge outdoor spits. Vendors hawk clothes, jewelry, and spices in vibrant display. The atmosphere is colorful, aromatic, electric, and inviting. Everyone wants to be your friend, and everyone wants to sell you something.

After Stone Town, we spent some days on Kizimkazi Beach in the south, known for dolphins. One morning, aboard a simple fishing dhow with two fisherman who spoke Swahili and a few words of English, I rode out into the vast Indian Ocean, past the point where the water turns from a clear turquoise to an opaque sapphire, to ‘track’ dolphins. As soon as we came upon a family, I sort of wished I hadn’t gone… While they were lovely to see (arcing above the water just like you would imagine and chattering and chortling among themselves), as soon as we were close enough to see them, they would become spooked and swim off… and we would chase them. Something that was more predatory and less of the ‘swim with them and feel healed’ experience than I was envisioning…

Wanting to swap one white sands beach for another (such difficult decisions!), we moved to Nungwi Beach in the north. While Kizimkazi felt a bit sleepy and isolated, Nungwi felt more like a ‘party’ beach with plenty of young people and a healthy variety of restaurants and shops. I spent the remainder of the vacation wishing it wouldn’t end…

Race in Africa

One evening, while strolling along Nungwi Beach at dusk, a young Tanzanian man approached me. By this point, I had become fairly numb to all the local people who try to befriend you in an effort to sell you a tour package or some tchotchke painting or handicraft. And this gentleman was no different, I assumed.

"Eeeehhhh… Jambo” (= hi in Swahili) he says.
“Jambo,” I reply.
“My name is Adam,” he says as he extends his hand.
I shake it.
“What is your name?” he asks.
I answer, still shaking his hand. (Handshakes tend to last longer here.)
“Ok. So where you from?”
“The US.”
“Ohh.”

A long pause.

A furrowed brow.

He steps back in a lazy swagger, stretches his arms out as if measuring the width of a refrigerator, looks me up and down, and asks, totally incredulously,

“Then… Why you look so China?!?” (emphasis on the CHI-na)

Since he didn’t necessarily bowl me over with his salesmanship, I declined his offer to see his little shop where he apparently sells very nice art work that’s “almost free.”

So while he was no different than the tens of other entrepreneurs who approached me there, he did, however, give me a gem of a catchphrase that really encapsulates an African take on race, one that would suggest that race trumps nationality…

In most cases, the Africans I meet don’t find it a satisfactory response when I say “I’m from the US.” They see my face and think that that cannot be the whole story. So, I often feel obliged to answer their puzzled glances or their “but…”s with some explanation. Though this type of reaction is understandable (given most people’s limited exposure to the world beyond Africa) and completely inoffensive, I still rankle a little each time I have to explain myself. And it has given me pause to reflect on how refreshing it is to have grown up in a country where the population is so wonderfully diverse that someone like me is not an oddity but something totally ordinary.