The 1964 Zanzibar Revolution - from my old scrapbook

The revolution in Zanzibar took place on 12 January 1964 and changed the country for ever. We were living there, I was 16 years old, and my father, Mervyn Smithyman OBE, was working for the newly independent country and its elected government as the Permanent Secretary to the Prime Minister, Mohd. Shamte.

My family collected the news clippings of the period, and we put them into a scrapbook. 

It is now 62 years since those violent days. Recently, I came across my old scrapbook and decided to post these pages online for those Zanzibaris and others who might be interested. After all, they record historic events. 1964 was a turning point in the history of the islands: many died, many lost everything and many left the country when possible.

There are many pages, so I will put them into a series of posts. The pages are not necessarily in the sequence of events. 

more to follow ... let me know if you find these of interest!

A Meditation on ABUNDANCE &  a visit to my Homeland. Zanzibar. 2019 (Part 1 of 2)

The House of Wonders or Beit al Ajaib

By Bhadra Vadgama

My last visit to Zanzibar was in July 1999. So it was over 20 years since I visited my place of birth. In the meantime, ‘in the year 2000, Zanzibar Stone Town was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List due to its globally important heritage and build environment.’ So I was expecting a better state of the town since my last visit.

It so happened that I was going there with my historian friend Rozina Visram. I always called her Rozy. She and I shared a desk at the Government Girls’ Secondary School in Zanzibar from 1953-1956. We both moved to Britain in 70s where she became a teacher and later author of some major works on the 400 years of the history of Asians in Britain. We both had taught at our old school in Zanzibar and also in Uganda and Kenya. In Britain, I had changed my career and my major occupational years were spent as the Librarian in charge of the London Borough of Wandsworth’s Multicultural Library.

My visit to Zanzibar coincided with a ten days meditation I was doing with some family members. The theme of the Meditation was ABUNDANCE. There was a recorded message every day to make me aware of abundance in all sorts of things around me as well as my inner self. So I was feeling quite uplifted and, as if to prove it to me that there was truth in these messages, I had new experiences of abundance every day.

First, we went to Daressalaam. There the beauty of tropical trees, flowers, the waters of the Indian Ocean, the beautiful sunrise and sunsets - all - were proof of the abundance in nature. The welcome from my brother, sister, and other extended family members was the abundance of love that I experienced from human beings. I also managed to go and listen to a visiting lecturer from India who talked about how misunderstanding occurs and how to avoid it. It was very enlightening. He even sent me the link of his talk once he got back to India.

My niece Leena took great care of me, showing me the newly developed parts of Daressalaam. With her and her husband Franco, and children Sonia & Alexandro, I enjoyed a drink in an open-air restaurant at Slipway and window shopping the wide range of interesting things on sale. We had pizzas while watching the sunset at the Yacht Club. When we were young, these were the domains of the local Europeans.

Again, because Leena has a wide range of female friends, she took me to one of her ultra-rich friends’ house for an all-female party. The apartment was on the top floor of a high-rise building. The view of Oyster Bay was phenomenal. Freshly made food was being served by a maid. Alcoholic drinks were on offer as well. The house was adorned with rare antiques, and although the hostess was Muslim, many were of Hindu and Buddhist background, mostly from India. Wherever I looked, there was an object of interest. The hostess was an artist, so she displayed her artwork for the guests to enjoy. In the end, she gave a talk to the guests about her success in life! I must say it was a unique experience.

View of the Beit al Ajaib from the Jafferji Hotel (170 Gizenga Street)

Then we went to Zanzibar for five nights and six days. We stayed at the Jafferji Hotel & Spa. This used to be the house in which I grew up. The landlords of the house had converted it into a hotel. It was a wonderful experience to actually spend 2 days in it. Sitting in the big hall - which used to be our dining room cum major activities room for a family of 11 siblings, and in which we had held memorable events like Bhagvat Saptah, classical music concerts by eminent singers from India, banquets for dignitaries like the Indian Navy officers, Indira Gandhi, Julius Nyerere and the Indian High Commissioner for India Apa Panth - the feeling of peace and tranquillity as if I had never left ‘home’ engulfed me. Old memories of childhood days came back with inner gratitude and bliss. However, it was unusual to have a free-standing bathtub in this room. I was told they would fill it up with perfumed water if I wished to have a soak!

Our suite was named ‘Jafferji’ after the owner; another, which was our girls’ bedroom was called ‘Mercury’ after Freddie Mercury; we were lucky to see it as it was vacant then. On the wall were photos of Freddie. Part of the building was turned into a honeymoon suite and named 'Kamasutra'.

Although called a Jafferji Hotel & Spa, the hotel had no spa. I was told that one of the shops, which was once a printing press, was going to be converted into a spa and therapy suite.

The other shop, which was rented by a cobbler - a Surati mochi (mochi - cobbler or shoemaker), was now converted into the reception area of the hotel.

The owners have built an extra floor above what used to be our kitchen. Together with our old terrace, the whole floor has been converted into a kitchen and dining room area, retaining the kind of wooden carved parapet, the same as we had in other parts of the house. From here we got a beautiful view of the harbour and the surrounding buildings, including the Roman Catholic Church, Beit-el-Ajaib, a couple of mosques, and the Hindu Temple, reflecting the multi-religious community in which I grew up. It was nostalgic to recognise some familiar buildings, like Jani House, the Bohra School, and the terraces of our old neighbours.

Oh, I forgot to mention that some other guests were quite interested to hear that I grew up in that house. When we got into conversation with them, one young Dutch couple showed us their suite, which used to be my parent’s bedroom with an adjacent room that contained a bathroom. What an experience!

Must visit the site to see inside the rooms by clicking on SUITES. Our Jafferji suite and Kamasutra suites are superior suites. My parents’ room is Princess Salme Suite; our girls’ bedroom is Mercury Suite. You will be amazed to see the transformation of our old house.

 http://jafferjihouse.net

The hotel also ran cooking classes for tourists, and once again, I couldn’t stop being a teacher and ended up instructing a young British man on how to roll a chapati!

Stone Town Street Scene

Walking around the town brought different kinds of memories. 

We visited our old school on the seafront. It was in a pathetic state and was for sale. We went to Seyyida Matuka School, the new school for girls where both Rozy and I had taught. We visited the Funguni Spit, behind Sultana Cinema, the area where Rozy lived. The creek has been reclaimed now. From there, we walked to the shop where my father had his automobile business., which had now turned into a tourist agency. Abundance hadn’t deserted me yet, and we were treated with fresh coconut water by the Kutchhi-speaking owner. We passed by the house where I was born. I remembered various people, friends and families as we walked by their homes and shops. Buildings in Stone Town seemed to be in much better condition than what I had seen 20 years ago. We visited the Catholic Church but couldn’t go inside as it was locked.

It was strangely pleasant to see the shops once owned by Indians now with local African owners. However, I missed the variety of goods that used to be sold in the Indian shops when I was a child, as most shops now sell the same kind of artifacts and handicrafts that attract tourists. Only three shops I came across were run by Indians. One was owned by a Bohora lady, selling books and postcards and one sold shoes - both in Shangani. One in Sokomohogo had sweets, cigarettes, and biscuits on sale. I was told there were more shops owned by Indians as you walk towards the Market area. Regretfully, we didn’t get the opportunity to visit that part of the town. (to be continued)

The light died, the fan stopped, I fell for Zanzibar. by Zehr Peera

Memories of Zanzibar by Zehra Peera 2002

From  http://www.dewani.ca/af/guestbook/ of Abdulrazak Sheriff Fazal

I enjoyed going through your Memoirs. It brought back a lot of pleasant memories, in particular those of Vaddi Bhajar(Hurumzi). It was indeed a lively street and probably nicknamed “Vaddi Bhajar” by the Kutchi-speaking settlers. The rows of houses facing each other, within earshot, shops on ground level and dwellings above shops, created an atmosphere that made the early migrants feel as if they were at a home away from home.

The shops in the street catered for most daily needs, such as grains, spices, and herbal medicines. Most of the goods were imported from India. Chocolates and biscuits imported from Britain were also available in our shop on the street. Our shop carried the signboard advertising Cadbury’s Chocolate over the door. In 1988 Issa, my husband, visited Zanzibar. He was shown a book in the planning department about Zanzibar streets, prepared by a team of Swedes working in Zanzibar. The book had a picture of the Cadbury’s Chocolate signboard over our front door. The Swedish architect who showed the book to Issa said that the signboard was a feature of such curiosity that it deserved to be included in the book.

Name-tags were common in Zanzibar as you mentioned in your Memoirs – some no very complimentary though! Mostly they indicated businesses. In Vaddi Bhajar we had Jafu Msumari who sold nails and cement, and we had Saleh Madawa who sold herbal medicines. As children we were often sent to Chacha Saleh’s shop to buy herbal medicine. No sooner we named the ailment to him, e.g. constipation, he stretched his hand out and drew the right box from the shelf at the side or back without turning his head. He knew precisely the position of the box on the shelf, and its contents. He wrapped the right amount of herbs in the paper and handed it to us.

Our shop was a meeting place with Marhum Bha Taki on his chair (left on baraza day and night) presiding over the group until late at night. We had regular daily visitors from your end of the town as well as the other, Soko Mohogo. The grand chair was on the baraza for a long time after the family’s departure. In 1997 though, when I visited Zanzibar, after nearly 25 years, both the chair and the Cadbury’s signboard had disappeared.

The Wednesday evening Majlis for men, and distribution of fateha to children on Thursday evening were weekly family features. Besides men, a couple of elderly women also came to Majlis regularly and we all sat in the room across from the Men’s area, with curtains drawn across the door, listening to recitations. As to Thursday’s fateha, I remember standing at our shop door chanting “ Wa toto fateha” and hearing the response “ Kina nani” from afar. I replied “Kina Ali Khaku”.

You must have been in the group of children returning from Forodhani and knew what to expect. Besides the Wednesday Majlis at my house, one evening every year Vaddi Bhajar would be closed to the traffic for celebration of Hazrat Abbas’ birthday. It was like “Khushiali Ya Bankro” at Junni Masjid. On one occasion Laila (your sister Zainab’s sister-in-law) and I, together with some other children from the street, took part in reciting Kasida. I was reminded of this occasion when I was talking to Laila recently.

Issa remembers attending a function once and being given a “ladu”. These ladus were made by Laila’s aunt, Mami Tahakro, who lived in the vicinity. The barazas in Zanzibar served multiple purposes. The elderly on their long walks used to sit on them for resting and the hawkers like Ali Bajia (another name-tag) put their wares on the barazas to serve their customers.

As children we used barazas to play a game called “ crocodile chase”. The street was the ocean and the barazas were the shores where we would be safe from the crocodile’s jaws. Also, to avoid being run down by fast-moving hamali carts delivering goods from the wharf to the shops, we jumped onto the baraza when we saw one coming.

The street separating the rows of houses on either side were so narrow that we could hear and see what went on inside the households around us. Neighbours standing at their windows gossiped across the street space. We threw packets of eatables to our friends through their windows. We also sat at the windows to listen to new songs from the Indian films being played in the neighbourhood, to memorise the lyrics.

Growing up as children in Vaddi Bhajar, life was never dull. During Ramadhan, as the dusk approached, someone from my household and someone from your grandparent’s house would stand at the windows. Laila would be at her window from which she could see the minaret at Nai Masjid. When she saw the Muazzin reaching the top, Laila would come over to the window overlooking our house and cry, “Haya”, at which we rushed to the dinner table.

We had good connection with Parsees. We were friendly with quite a few Parsee families because we attended the same school as their children, Saint Joseph’s Convent School. Dara Mistry’s family lived in the neighbourhood and as children we spent a good deal of time with them. According to Issa, I speak Gudjerati as Parsees did, which was somewhat peculiar.

In your memoirs you describe Washiri coffee sellers. Their style of pouring coffee in tiny cups and stopping in time to avoid overfilling the cup was a skillful performance. So was the juggling of cups to announce their arrival. A coffee seller had certain streets for his territory by common consent with others to avoid competition. On his rounds, he would stop at the shops and pour coffee for the shopkeeper and whoever else was present in the shop.

A shop was a venue for trading gossip and rumours. The coffee seller was also a purveyor of news, rumours and gossip which he picked up on his rounds. To this day, Issa brews coffee which he calls Kahawa ya Unguja every morning and drinks it from one of the tiny cups brought from Zanaibar. I even have a doll replica of the coffee seller in his traditional costume carrying his dele.

Occasionally I make Haloowa Ya Manga which I learnt to make from Ukera Kassamali Peera on one of my visits to California. Dinesh Pandya's letter took me back to my student days in Arya Samaj.as well as my teaching days at Bait ul Raas. I remember his father panpati shop under Arya Samaj. Harish Pandya was my student at the Teachers' College Zanzibar. 

I have written a couple of articles on Zanzibar too. One article was prompted by an article I had read in the local paper which opened with the words "The light died, the fan stopped, I fell for Zanzibar.

A Story to be Told: John Baptiste da Silva - 1937-2013

By A. Tapper & F. McKenna - from EA Circle

The wind was blowing and the movie screen was shaking on a hotel rooftop high above the remains of Stone Town, ancient capital of the Zanzibar archipelago. Yet John da Silva, then 75, was undeterred. He wanted to tell his story. Many followers and friends will remember how the frail man with spectacles made up his way on the steep staircase of Emerson Spice hotel to give entertaining power point lectures about the elaborate and often painful history of Zanzibar, every fortnight or so. The audience of eager listeners was growing every week - tourists, expatriates and locals alike.

John da Silva passed away on March 20, 2013 at the age of 76, with his family by his side, leaving many wondering: Who, now, will pick up where the renowned historian left and continue to tell the story?

Da Silva, who died of heart complications, some related to diabetes, had been ill for some time and leaves behind his devoted daughters Donna, Valerie and Cecilia, his adored nieces Bernadine, Presilda, Lucas, Lorna, Francesca, Lorraine, Ulrica, Roselee and Ramona, and three brothers Santana, Abel and Cajetan. His wife Carmen, who he had met and married in Zanzibar, died in 1993 and his late brother Rudolph had passed away recently.

Not least, he leaves an island, which is in mourning today for a man universally loved, admired and cherished for his gentle, generous and gregarious soul, his sharp wit, intellectual brilliance and tenacious dedication to the integrity of Zanzibar and its people. All its people. Those from every community he so lovingly sought to be preserved in their intertwined intricacies of their diverse histories.

The historian, artist and family father was Zanzibar's living memory. And he had indeed a story to tell. Of artistically carved doors of Indian, Persian and Arab origin, of Sultans' times and merchandise, of Zanzibar's development over the centuries under the gentle trade winds of the monsoon. Audiences were spellbound when he talked about "The doors of Zanzibar", "The history of Cosmopolitan Commerce" or "The history of Zanzibar thorough old photos" as some of his lectures were titled. In his later years, when the end of the Cold War in Africa and the world finally enabled him to speak more freely, Da Silva was using his private archives of photos, drawings, street maps, shop signs and files to bring to life chapters of the rich history of Zanzibar, the spice islands off the coast of Tanzania. He presented facts and photos, which might have otherwise been lost forever.

As the main historian of Zanzibar he had witnessed it all: Born in Portuguese Goa on the 24th January, 1937, as the son of Goan immigrants, his family moved to Zanzibar in 1947. His father, a renowned tailor, had been the dressmaker of the island's ninth sultan, Seyyid Sir Khalifa II bin Harub Al-Said. The Omanis had ruled Zanzibar for two centuries before it became independent. As history has it, John's father also designed and stitched a dress for Princess Margret from England during her state visit to Zanzibar in 1954. Often, little John was to make the deliveries of the royal gowns to his father's clients.

In 1964, when Zanzibar became part of Tanzania after a bloody revolution where many were killed and fled the country, da Silva stayed on initially working for the local registrar. In 1958 he started work in accounting, but his interest in art soon led him to work on the restoration of of the paintings and murals in the Catholic Cathedral of St Joseph. Built by the French about 1898, the Cathedral's Romanesque style is a replica of the basilica of Notre Dame de La Garde Marseilles.

Although Da Silva's early paintings featured Zanzibar portraits, the work on the Cathedral stimulated his interest in the architecture of Stone Town. Concerned that there was no documentation of these diverse architectural styles influenced by cultures of the Omani Arabs, Indians, Persians and European colonials, he soon focused his art on the buildings of Stone Town.

Da Silva captured these facades in pen and ink and watercolour as well as with his camera. He leaves a collection of over 300 photos, and in many instances, the only known record of the carved wooden doors, windows, iron lattice work decorating the balconies, alleys, streets, historical and architectural important buildings of Stone Town.

Over the years he saw the decay of the main island's historic city centre, a unique collection of 2000 or so elaborate palaces, temples, merchant houses built entirely from coral stone, most of them stemming from the height of Zanzibar's development in the mid-19th century.

"In 1880, this was one of the richest trade towns in the world after New York, Paris and London; we had a garage for Rolls Royce cars here but only a one-mile-stretch of road", da Silva used to amuse his listeners in his typical dry humour.

Following the revolution in Zanzibar it was not allowed to photograph Stone Town - yet, although it endangered his freedom, da Silva did. As an historian he felt a personal obligation to document the fate of the islands, which had seen 11 dynasties of Omani rulers in three centuries, before it became a British protectorate in 1890, and where last Sultan, Barghash, had built "The House of Wonders", Africa's first property with electricity and an elevator south of the Sahara.

John da Silva was intimately connected to the history of the island. Not only in talking but also in doing. He personally re-painted some of the frescoes of St. Joseph Cathedral, the centre of Catholic faith on the predominantly Muslim island, and he took part, although not voluntarily, in the building of the so-called German Flats, a present of residential buildings by former East German Democratic Republic to Zanzibar.

His walking tours became legendary amongst visitors to the island, often undertaken in his later life with the help of a walking stick in searing tropical heat during periods of ill health. Walking with Da Silva, Stone Town became a living museum. He pointed out the details that distinguished the Arab (Swahili) doors from the Indian (Zanzibar has the largest number of carved doors in East Africa): the simplicity of the Arab mosques as compared to the ornate Indian mosques and four Hindu temples: Gothic, Italian and English window styles all in the same building; history learned from change of ownership of buildings as new rulers came to power.

In 1991 the united Republic of Tanzania approved a proposal by Da Silva to dedicate a series of postage stamps to the rich architectural heritage of Stone Town. A unique collection of four stamps was issued featuring his pen and watercolour drawings of the National Museum, The High Court building, the Balnarna Mosque and a Balcony.

Not last with da Silva's documentation and scholarly assistance Stone Town was declared a UNESCO world heritage site in 2000. Experts fear, however, that 80 per cent of the building stock is already beyond repair. The House of Wonders was turned into a Museum in 2002, and is currently under repair after parts of the backside of the historic monument collapsed late last year. John da Silva was furious about this, as he always was when neglect overran conservation.

He was an ardent defender of historical sites appreciating their immeasurable value against all odds. A conservationist of high moral standard, he always pleaded in favour of protecting the cultural sites of Zanzibar in all their variety - but also stressed that he did not want Stone Town to become a museum nor a collection of boutique hotels. Meaningful restoration to him meant authentic, multi-purpose reuse of old structures. The preservation and restoration had to be done without creating a sterile, new environment affordable only to the wealthy and the tourists.

John da Silva loved the island, which was his home and the island loved him. He was one of Zanzibar's true and rare cosmopolitans. He has lived to tell his story.

Da Silva's funeral mass took place Thursday 21st March at St Joseph's Cathedral, Stone Town  and was followed by his interment at Mwanakwerekwe Cemetery.