Christmas in Zanzibar

December 30, 2007

Reading out the destination name on my ferry ticket, “Zanzibar” already cast a spell on me. What will I expect from this Christmas vacation to a mysterious island in the middle of the Indian Ocean?

A month before Christmas, Sacha and I were sitting in the courtyard of our house in the village, reading the Lonely Planet, the Rough Guide to Tanzania and Footprints to Tanzania, trying to figure out where we would go for our Christmas days off. Sacha came to a strong and decisive conclusion that we have to relax on a beach this Christmas. Of this idea, I had no opposition. Where best to go for the white fine beaches than an island? The island of Zanzibar.

Zanzibar, formerly its own entity has joined Tanganyika (the present Tanzania mainland) in 1964 to form the Republic of Tanzania. Tanzania got its name as a combination of Tanganyika and Zanzibar. Zanzibar is governed under the Republic but also has its own president and cabinet. Prior to democracy, Zanzibar was governed by a line of rich sultans who thrived on the island’s various trade activities. The intensive spice trade in the early times rendered Zanzibar an exotic name of Spice Island. Among the trade of goods, the island was infamous for having one of the largest slave markets in East Africa until the market, Africa’s last was closed down in 1873 through the efforts of missionary David Livingstone in lobbying against slavery.

The long history of the island has left marks which formed what is today, a land of richness in culture and people. The island, mainly Stone Town, the central commerce area was influenced by Arabic, African, and Indian cultures, lasted through times of Portuguese power, British protectorate and socialism. The streets, once booming with Arabic, Indian and African merchants are now the narrow alleyways where children played soccer. The magnificent palaces that housed 1,000 royal family members and their servants in its glorious days are now no more than museums under construction and forgotten ruins. Nevertheless, history has only made this now peaceful island more worthy of its fame.

We spent two days in the infamous Stone Town. True to its name, a town with stone buildings, each linked to the next with alleyways as puzzling as a labyrinth and only wide enough for passing pedestrians and motorcycles. The Arabic style houses with their special Zanzibari doors gave the town a mystic and romantic air.

It was a couple of days before Christmas this year and coinciding with one of the last Islamic holidays. Due to Arabic influence, Zanzibar is roughly 90 percent Muslim. The one-day celebration turned into a four-day party for the whole island. Strolling along the harbor of Stone Town in the Forodhani Gardens (famous for its 20 or so foodstands and 50 cooks firing up each night - my favorite dish was the Zanzibari pizza), the festive air filled the night. Almost everyone stopped work and traveled to Stone Town to celebrate. As we sat with local Zanzibari young people, we greeted them, “happy holidays” and they would joyfully reply, “Merry Christmas” to us. It felt so easy and comfortable. We had different religions and customs, but we enjoyed ourselves as people. It is one of the few places I have traveled where religion is not the tension source that separates people. I am a Christian and proud of it, yet the next Muslim is as happy for me and not shaking his head in disapproval. Thank God for this grace that I have received from a friend, a fellow human being, a brother or a sister. How many times we forget this, that under the different skin colors, the different customs, the different religions, the different ethnicity, we are all the same, people blessed with life. Imagine how places like Canada or USA or Rwanda and Kenya would be like if we all realized this fact? I wonder.

Zanzibar is known as one of the hot spots for expats in the Christmas season. One of the main reasons is for its pristine beaches. World-class beaches surrounded the island situated in the Indian Ocean. If you picked any beach on the island, it would probably get a 5-star rating for the fine white sand, the lack of tourists (compared to places like Cuba, Mexico, Dominican), the captivating clear, blue and ethereal green waters. What I liked best was the lack of intensive development.

As we headed to Bwejuu, a beach on the east coast, we rode in an open-air daladala (mini bus) with 10-20 chairs, metal sheets and wood panels all tied up on the rooftop. Once in awhile, the bus would stop to pick up more passengers or luggage that had fallen off. On the bus, also headed for the beach, I recognized a friend, but couldn’t pinpoint from where. When we saw each other, we immediately knew that we were classmates at McGill University. Erica was her name. She had come to Tanzania also as a CIDA intern. Throughout the trip, we had met many CIDA interns from Tanzania, from Kenya on their holidays. It’s a small world and being Canadian connected us.

As we arrived at the beach resort, “Mustafa’s Nest”, a rasta-run chill place about 1 minute walk to the beach, we were met up with bad management. The budget get-away had lost our booking, but in reality had mixed up every client’s bookings. Sacha and I ended up with a staff room that night. Mustafa’s Nest is a cozy place with lounge chairs, terraces, a nice restaurant, garden and a hilarious, yet absent-minded team of staff. We met and connected with the guests, making great friends throughout our few days there. After swimming in the beautiful green ocean and seeing the moonrise, we headed back to Mustafa’s for dinner. Dinner at Mustafa’s was delicious and fair-priced, but it just took 3 hours to cook. So, we started ordering lunch after breakfast and dinner after lunch. Either way, we still ate at 8 or 9 at night. One night, Christmas eve, the lock to our room was jammed. One staff, Mzee (his name is Mzee – meaning “old man”, it is respectable to be called an old man in this culture) came running with a jack to pry open the door. After half an hour, he succeeded to pry, kick (Sacha helped kick too with her Hapkido kick), and back-bump the door open. After informing the staff that we were “no way” staying in a room with the door open all night, we got a free upgrade to a 3 beds massive bungalow for one night. We consider it God’s Christmas gift for us.

In the morning, the village women would walk for a kilometer out towards the ocean when the tide is out. They would faithfully harvest seaweed as a way of livelihood and income for their family while their children played with the water and sand. The ocean creatures, the small crustaceans would fill the shallow water holes and the crabs would parade the beaches. It was full of life. The cows would stroll down the beach to find pasture. Apart from some salesmen and masseuses (they gave massages, did henna and braided hair), the beach was ours and the villagers welcomed us. It was beautiful.

On Christmas morn, Sacha and I prayed and gave thanks for a different Christmas experience. A Christmas without family around, without attending a Christmas service, without the same Christmas feasts, without lights and shopping malls blasting Christmas music, without any of our familiar Christmas specials and traditions. But it was a good Christmas, one that we know each day is a celebration of the life, death and resurrection of Christ. It was a relaxing Christmas on the beach, but the same God by my side in my walk with Him. This Christmas, I rested and thought how great God is, in creating the ocean, the sunrise, the moon, the beach, the tides and most of all, people.