by Abdulrazak Sheriff Fazal.
read the full account at: http://www.dewani.ca/af/
“Zanzibar was just out of this world. It was a godsend gift. Those who had experienced its superabundance and easy life shall vouch for it. The locals or indigenous Zanzibaris were God fearing and honest people. The rapport between members of various communities and the brotherliness that prevailed was distinctly exceptional.”….
I was born on the 18th of February, 1948 into a highly religious and orthodox family of Indian ancestry in that tiny island of Zanzibar off the eastern coast of Africa. My father was also born in Zanzibar in 1898 and so was my mother, in 1911. I therefore consider myself a pukka Jangbario (Zanzibari) though my command of the language Kiswahili is substandard unlike the other Khoja Ithnashris who had inhabited the island.
Zanzibar with its insular position was a prosperous place where the Omani settlers had imposed their Sultanate but owed allegiance to the British Colonial Government. The one sad aspect of Zanzibar had been its cruel slave trade that scarred an otherwise remarkable history. The once 'slave trade market' by the side of the Protestant church at Mkunazini and those isolated, scattered and ruined graves(makaburini) at several spots in the stone town bore testimony to the tragic past. Perhaps the Zanzibaris' notoriety for their fixation with mashetani (ghosts) could be ascribed to such spirits haunting around there.
The Portuguese had also earlier ruled the island as evidenced by their old fort. Zanzibar fascinated the Indians from Kutch and Kathiawad, and in particular the Khojas who emigrated in hundreds by dhows in the nineteenth century. At a later stage even the Aga Khan, H.H.Sultan Mohamed Shah, patronized the island and made it his headquarter for a brief period of time in the 1940s. My ancestors being Khojas had landed in Zanzibar from Jamnagar as Ismailis as far back as 1850s. Other initial settlers were the Hindu Bhatias who provided merchandise and financial acumen. …..
Zanzibar was extraordinarily different. Its narrow streets laid with stone houses adjacent to each other and almost clinging to the opposite ones, formed an unusual sight. The hustle and bustle in its streets and bazaars created buzz and livened the atmosphere. The tinkling bicycle bells sent aside passersby as cyclists made their way through those narrow lanes. The milkmen knocked the doors of the residents and delivered milk that had to be filled through a tap from the bulky churn placed on the back of their bicycles.
On the way people would be seen drinking kahawa (black coffee) which was habitual of the Zanzibaris. The Washihiri (Yemeni) kahawa sellers with their brass dele (cone shaped containers) went around juggling and rattling their small cups. They had peculiar and methodical way of pouring coffee into those cups. The Zanzibaris were pious and highly affectionate people, and their impeccable life style was an exemplar to the rest of the world.
There were several Asian communities in Zanzibar and they had their own places of worship. What was striking was the spectacle of their processions such as Ithnashris' julus, Ismailis' dhan dhan, Hindus' marriage or Goans' funeral procession. Also striking were Zanzibar's eateries and some of them still form part of my consistent reminiscence. Those masis' bajia, Abedi's mix, Adnan's mbatata (potato) and Maruki's halua (sweetmeat) tasted exceptionally good. Zanzibar was just one of its own, its vendors like Ali hawking "Adanda" to sell off his bajia, the Asian gubiti (candy) seller or Mamdu Bi(Mohamedhusain Virjee) selling malai(barafu or ice lolly) were special in their own way.
Zanzibar's fruits like doriani, shokishoki and matufa were unique and besides Zanzibar can be found in certain parts of South East Asia only. The crowded market at Darajani was the source of Zanzibar's abundant supply of fresh meat, vegetables and fruits including the exceptional mangoes, shomari and muyuni. The Suri(Yemenis) and Somali formed Zanzibar's seasonal traders and among the many items that they brought were the popular ubani maka(chewing gum), ghonda(dried fish) and kismayu ghee. The little Zanzibar was also famous for its cloves, copra, carved wooden doors embossed with metals, man drawn rickshaws and the popular picnic resorts of Chwaka, Oroa, Fumba, Jambiani, Beju, Paje, Mkokotoni and Mangapwani beaches.
In the evening people gathered at Forodhani or Jubilee garden by the sea side sitting here and there on the ground, benches or at its fountain which was in the middle. Many formed small circles and chatted or played cards. The group of boys and girls strolled along there and even glanced admiringly at each other. In one corner stood Habib Pira's 'fruit & ice cream' stall while in the centre vendors stretched themselves in a raw selling mohogo(cassava), mishikaki (roasted meat), mango chips(keri), nuts(jugu, jugu mave, daria, bisi) in paper cone, cut sugar cane(miwa or ganderi), chana bateta, different kinds of juice(machungua, mabungo, ukwaju, ndimu, anenasi, miwa), various coconut and tropical fruits(joya, kichwa nazi, mapera, kungu, kunazi, mbuyu, zambrao, fu, chavia, embe kizungu) and all sorts of eatables.
Children played ashore with sand at Forodhani Mchanga adjacent to the garden.
On Tuesday evenings the Police Band played its orchestral music at the Jubilee memorial and entertained the public. Forodhani commanded spectacular view of the monumental Beit al-Ajaib (House of Wonders), Sultan's Palace and Portuguese Fort.
At the other end of stone town was the spacious Mnazi Moja ground where Zanzibar's sports loving public participated in various outdoor games. Mnazi Moja had three cricket pitches with a patchy pavilion, a couple of volleyball courts and a vast football field. A little further on the right of Mnazi Moja stretched the Coopers ground where the English had their club. They played golf, tennis and cricket. In its centre was the structure of its circular shaped pub where the colonialists relaxed and entertained themselves with alcoholic drinks.
The Sultan in his traditional joho(aba or robe) and kilemba (turban) went around in his vermilion coloured Austin Princess driven by chauffeur in red kizibao(short overcoat) and waved at passersby and acknowledged their salaam(salutation). At times even from his palace balcony he waved at the onlookers. The British Resident rode in his black limousine. The askari(police) in khaki coat, pair of half trousers and red tarboosh cap patrolled and kept guard over the island.
There was absolute harmony and peace. Even petty theft was a rare occurrence while the terminology 'corruption' was unheard of and did not figure at all.
At dusk the loud siren (hon) would traditionally go off and the fluttering red flag in the backyard of the Sultan's palace descended from its mast. The azan (call for prayers) from the mosques and the church and temple bells sounded from each and every corner. The public servant with his long wooden rod went from one street to another lighting street lamps.
Zanzibar by night though dim was inviolable and had its serenity, sanctity and also liveliness.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Dr. Donagh Hurley - Zanzibar Memoirs 1964
This is an excerpt from a series of eye witness accounts written by Dr Donagh Hurley who was working as a surgeon at the Karimjee Jivanjee Hospital in Zanzibar in the 1960s. This Hospital was opened in 1955 by Sultan Seyyid Khalifa bin Harub. Dr Hurley lived in Zanzibar with his family including his son Luke (now a musician living in New Zealand). More chapters of this memoir are available at:
Dr Hurley, who was also an artist, passed away in 1976. Luke is planning to publish these memoirs.
Most of the full excerpt relates his experiences of the 1964 Revolution from his position in the hospital. This is the introduction.
Zanzibar 1964
Zanzibar, seen first from far out at sea is a long, low shore. It appears insubstantial and almost indistinguishable from streamers of distant cloud which intensify the remote vastness of the Indian Ocean.
As the steamer approaches, the shore becomes gradually more substantial and long beaches become visible backed by screens of palms. The palms are dense but, at intervals, unrolled as it were by the steady progress of the steamer, there are partial clearings giving sight of crumbling Arab villas, thick walls, sightless windows, an air of disuse and decay.
From time to time as the shore unrolls, groups of outrigger canoes can be seen dancing on their reflections like long-legged flies. These lead the eye to discover clusters of huts, the dwellings of fishermen, partly hidden by the dense purple shadows thrown by the palms upon the beach. The roofs are of thatch, dried palm fronds called makuti.
The shore has a listening, waiting quality and is forbidding and mysterious. It seems imbued with a living personality; it seems to watch, it seems to repel rather than invite. The imagination conjures up unseen watchers, silent, aware, hostile. It is like going back in time to an earlier state of the planet or even to another planet.
The harbour is dotted by small coral islands, miniature replicas of Zanzibar herself, and the waterfront presents a limpid white facade of slender buildings and, tall among them, the rambling, massive palace of the Sultan and the filigree clock-tower of Beit al-Ajaib, the ‘House of Wonders’.
Working Sounds – Morning In Zanzibar
I remember most clearly the mornings or the evenings. Each dawn I awoke to the cry of the muzzein chanting his Arabic prayers, a mournful and weird sound, the cry of a soul lost forever in the depths of an abyss. The whine of the wind in desolate places, the lost and desolate predicament of the human being trapped on an inexorably inimical planet, a cry of loss, a despairing wail of loneliness.
A gardener from the nearby park, taking flowers to the Sultan’s palace, pushed his handcart along the road. His cart sounded as though one of the wheels were square. It made a curious grinding rattle, punctuated by a rhythmic knock, pause, knock, pause, knock which became louder and louder and then approached, deafeningly amplified as he reached the confines of the street and passed beneath the bedroom window. Then the knock, pause, knock, pause, knock diminished into a distant featureless rumble and faded away.
This was the first working sound of the day. The second was a faint rumbling, coming from afar which rapidly increased in volume and became identifiable as the beat of galloping hoofs and the clanking of milk cans. It was a donkey cart drawn by the liveliest donkey possible, beating sparks out of the road, the cans swaying violently and the driver, hunched and indolent, carried along, lost in a dream of his own. This din would also be suddenly amplified as the equipage entered the street and for a lime it sounded like a locomotive and drowned all other sounds.
A group of cyclists came next, workers on their way to Mazzizini, their laughter making their balance precarious as they listened with appreciation to one of their number, always the same one, imitating the falsetto pidgin Swahili instructions of his employer who must have talked a lot of nonsense, judging from the hilarity.
Individual sounds became lost soon after and merged into an increasing volume as more and more people and vehicles began to take up the tasks of the day........
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