Zanzibar Memories of the Hindu Navratri festival; garbas and treats. By Bhadra Vadgama

Zanzibar before 1964

As you will all remember, in Zanzibar during the Navratri festival, young girls used to come to Hindu homes in a group to sing these 'garbas' after school, and we used to give them 'ek ke be paisa' in return. The practice is so similar to Carol singing during Xmas and 'Treat or Trick' during Halloween in the West but the treats we gave these girls, in comparison, were so modest in our days.

 When these girls sang at our homes we used to give them 5 or 10 cents each. So one song to rhyme with the first letter of the currency says, for example:
 Tel [oil] purave [gives] tene [to her] teliyo [oily] dikro [son] aave re [will be born]. 
These girls will be carrying small earthen pots with holes in them and they'd light a diwa in them. 

They also mention the name of the son at whose home they are singing, so for example, in one song it says, ‘Jawaharbhai [my brother’s name] will bring a lotus flower and his wife Anupama will have the pleasure of enjoying its fragrance.'

With the help of my brother, I wrote these down before we all forget them for ever.

If any of you, or the friends you are in touch with, know any more of these, please do send them to me. 

નવરાત્રિના કેરોલ્સ

  

એક દડો, ભાઈ બીજો દડો, ત્રીજા તોરણ બાંધજો

આજના મારા  જવાહરભાઈ તમારી વહુને વારજો

તમારી વહુ છે લાડકાં ઝાંઝરિયાં ઘડાવજો

ઝાડ ઉપર ઝૂમખાં, ચોખલિયાળી ભાતરે

ભાત રે ભાત રે ભળકડાં વેલ છૂટતી જાય રે

વેલમાં બેઠો વાણિયો કાગળ લખતો જાય રે

કાગળમાં બે પૂતળી હસતી રમતી જાય રે

વાંકાશેરનો વાણિયો શેર કંકુ તોળે રે

આછી ટીલી ઝગેમગે, ટહુલે ટહુલે મોર રે

મોર વધાવ્યા મોતીડે ઈંઢોણી મેલી રડતી રે

રડતી હોય તો રડવા દેજે.

·          

તેલ પૂરાવે તેને તેલિયો દીકરો આવે રે

ઘી પૂરાવે તેને ઘેલો દીકરો આવે રે

પૈસો પૂરાવે તેને પાંચ દીકરા આવે રે

સેન્ટિયો પૂરાવે તેને સેડાળો દીકરો આવે રે

રૂપિયો પૂરાવે તેને રુપાળો દીકરો આવે રે.

·          

 ચાંદા ચાંદાની રાત ચાંદો કેદી ઊગશે રે

ચાંદો પાછલી પરોડ મોતીડાં વીણશે રે

જ્વાહરભાઈ ચાલ્યા દરબાર, ઘોડે બેસી આવશે રે

લાવશે કમળનાં ફૂલ, અનુપમા વહુ સૂંઘશે રે.

·          

મા એકના એકવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા બેના બાવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા ત્રણના ત્રેવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા ચારના ચોવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા પાંચના પચીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા છના છવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા સાતના સત્તાવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા આઠના અઠાવીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા નવના ઓગણત્રીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે

 મા દસે પૂરા ત્રીસ ગરબો ઘૂમે છે.

·          

ચકી તારા ખેતરમાં મેં ઝીંઝવો વાવ્યો

 ઝીંઝવે ચડી જોઉં રે કોઈ આદમી આવે

 હંસલો ઘોડો હાથમાં જવાહરભાઈ આવે

 હાલડહૂલડ બેટડો ધવડાવતી નાર  આવે

 આવને વીરા વાત કહું, કયા દેશથી આવ્યા?

 ઝીણી ભરડાવું લાપસી વીર વાડીએ જમજો

આદુમરીનાં આથણાં વીર વાડીએ જમજો.

ભદ્રા વડગામા અને નટુભાઈ કાપડિયા

Zanzibar’s Uniqueness: of music, weddings, cricket and times past. by Chirantan Shukla

I have followed people’s reminiscences about our beloved Zanzibar with much interest. It has prompted me, rather belatedly, to offer a few experiences of growing up in Zanzibar.

I became aware of Zanzibar’s uniqueness soon after our arrival in late 1953; when I was just 7 years of age. At the time, we were staying in Sokomogo Street. It was the holy month of Ramadhan and in the middle of the night, I was woken by singing and music coming from the street. The tunes sounded familiar. The accent was different but nevertheless melodious. I could not resist getting up and looking from the window. The group singing and playing the music was entirely Waswahili, but they were singing popular Hindi songs from hit Bollywood movies of the time.

We had arrived in Zanzibar from Kenya and this first hand cultural experience left its mark. Thereafter, I well remember non-Hindi Zanzibaris proclaiming with joy “lewo iko Awara” as they went about their daily
routines; and sure enough multi-ethnic audience would flock to the Empire Cinema to see their favourite Raj Kapoor and hear “Awara hoon”.


In later years, I found that a significant number of Hindi tunes were adopted for Swahili songs. Elements of Hindi music were also adopted for some taarab music. This could only happen in Zanzibar.

Indian weddings were held with proper pomp and ceremony in Zanzibar. The procession of the bridegroom was an essential element of the wedding. The procession was led by a band playing music. I only knew of one band; the “Salum's Band” named after the band leader Salum. The band’s dress, while performing, was khaki shorts and a khaki shirt. I believe Salum was of Arabic extraction and some of his musicians were Waswahilis. They exclusively played Hindi songs. What memories!

There was a tea/coffee house cum Arabic restaurant; opposite our house in Sokomogo, The radio in the restaurant was constantly tuned to radio Cairo and played popular Arabic songs of the time. I did not speak Arabic but fell in love with the music blaring out from the radio. I soon began to appreciate songs by
Arabic legends like Om Kultum, Abdul Halim Hafiz, Farid-el-Atrash etc. This appreciation of Arabic music stood me in good stead when during the course of my career; I worked in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Abu Dhabi, Qatar and Tunisia.

This early cultural exposure in Zanzibar allowed me to retain my appreciation of Arabic music and later I became an ardent fan of the great Fairuz. This was only possible because of growing up in Zanzibar.

I had a keen interest in sports and followed the national cricket and football teams. The make-up of Zanzibar cricket team illustrated the multi-ethnic cohesion of Zanzibaris. The cricketers (1950’s and early 60’s) who come to mind are Ahmed Himid, Mansour, Baker Tejani, Zaghlul, Harji Mawji, Rusi Madon, Abdulkadir, Gajendra Doshi, Gulam ("Golo") Mshamba, Jawad, Ahmed Bachoo, Mehdi etc. Juma Aley was closely involved with cricket and did play for Zanzibar. He was a better administrator than a cricketer.

In my view, Harji Mawji was perhaps the best Zanzibari cricketer. He was a genuine all rounder in
the mould of Gary Sobers. Actually, I have always considered Gary Sobers to be in Harji Mawji’s mould; as Harji came before Sobers. Harji was a prolific batsman, a very good medium pace bowler who also bowled spin and an excellent fielder. Harji was not adequately challenged in Zanzibar and could not achieve his potential. Ramanbhai Patel (then Captain of Kenya and a fine batsman) was so impressed with Harji, that he advised Harji to go to England and become a professional cricketer.

Harji and his family were of modest means and there was no prospect of him coming to England. Harji played football for Kikwajuni. He was the only Indian to play football for a first Division team. He was a very good volleyball player. Harji remained a Zanzibari to his end. Footballers who played for the national team in the 1950’s who come to mind are Issa, Sururu, Shaban etc.

I have fond memories of my years at King George VI Secondary School. In one respect, the class was a microcosm of Zanzibar. Names of my classmates illustrate this point; fellow students like Salim Himid, Abii Seif, Abdulla Ahmed, Moh’d Shangama, Salim Juma, Makame Usi, Moh’d Raza Sultan, Bipin Suchak,
Harkishan Bhagat, Abdul Latif, Irshad Dalal, Abitalib etc. In another sense, the ethnic distribution of the class did not reflect the percentage make-up of the Zanzibari population.

I have to conclude by noting that my mother Mrs Shukla was a teacher at the Government Girls Secondary School. Girls who were students at the school between 1954 and 1970, would have been taught by Mrs Shukla.

My mother tells me that when the late Abeid Karume was President; his then young sons, Amani and Ali, used to come to the Jani Building (behind Beit-el-Ajab) for private tuition with her. I am proud that my mother may have played a very small part in developing illustrious future leaders of Zanzibar.

Mrs Shukla is almost 90 years old and keeps remarkably well for her advanced years.

A Question of History

If you visit Zanzibar today as one of the thousands of tourists now pouring into this small island off the coast of East Africa, you will want to visit the sights. One of the top activities, as listed in the Bradt Travel Guide, is to see the places that record the history of slavery on the island. One of these localities is the Anglican Cathedral in Stone Town, the capital of the island. Zanzibar is a Muslim country, whereas the mainland of Tanzania is predominately Christian. Over 95 percent of the population of one million follow Islam and the 48 mosques in the town testify to its long standing influence.

Slavery was finally outlawed in 1873. When the slave market was closed, the Anglican Christian Mission was given the site by a local Hindu and Sultan Barghash donated the tower’s clock. There is more symbolism in that the altar is the reputed site of the slave whipping post and the wooden crucifix in the nave is made from the tree under which David Livingstone’s heart was buried in Zambia.

Nowadays there is a statue outside the Cathedral, a memorial to those thousands of slaves that were traded through Zanzibar. You will be asked, when you arrive, to pay three US dollars to a guide and he will explain the horrors of slavery. Tourism is providing many jobs for locals. The enthusiastic guide will take you to the building opposite the Cathedral, St Monica’s Guesthouse, and show you the cellars there. The latest Bradt Guidebook is most eloquent:

‘Its basement provides one of Zanzibar’s simplest, but arguably most moving and evocative, reminders of the dehumanising horrors of the slave trade … (they were) crammed five deep on the narrow stone slabs and shackled with chains which still lie there today.’

Countless websites and blogs echo this story and recount how people weep when they hear the stories of this basement.

However, it is not true, it is all a fabrication. The St Monica building was erected in 1905, more than 30 years after slavery was abolished. The cellars were used by the missionaries for dry storage of medicines in the tropical climate. But the story lives on in the streets of Zanzibar. Fundamentally, stories about slavery in Zanzibar are historically correct. David Livingstone’s vivid accounts of the effects of slave raids into Africa’s heartland alerted the British population to this ghastly trade. Long tentacles of traders worked their way as far as Malawi, Botswana and Zimbabwe in the need to find more victims. And nowadays British people like to feel good about the issue when they remember the work of people such as David Livingstone and Wilberforce.

Yet again, it is more complex than that. On one telling of history, Britain grew wealthy on the back of the slave trade. Cotton from India was made into cloth in the new industrial mills in the Midlands. British ships traded these goods into West Africa for slaves. The slaves were taken in dreadful circumstances across to the Caribbean where they worked the plantations of sugar cane. This is the infamous ‘Middle Passage’. The sugar was then traded back to Britain, to a country that was increasingly drinking tea and sugar. Millions died in this triangular trade. British ships were estimated to be responsible for shipping 2.5 million slaves out of the 6 million transported in the 18th century. The leaders and the population of Britain hardly reacted. Did they know? Did they care? Yet by the end of that century they stopped their trade in slaves. Their motives for doing so have been questioned.

So we come back to Zanzibar. Does it matter that there is a small untruth in the telling of the tale of slavery? Prof. Abdul Sheriff, an expert on the conservation of Stone Town, now a UNESCO World Heritage site, says that slavery has become a product to sell to the tourists. But it goes further than that. The question of slavery, and who was responsible for it, has riven the island for 50 years. It has split the population into racial lines and ultimately it became one of the reasons that over 10,000 people were massacred in 1964.

As democratic institutions were designed for Zanzibar in the late 1950s and the first years of the 1960s the political parties that arose were loosely divided on racial lines. Those of more African heritage felt more dispossessed of power and joined the ASP. Those with more of an Arab background tended to support the status quo, the Sultan and supported the ZNP coalition. However, it was an old socially inclusive Muslim state and most people were very mixed in their racial lineage. They were Zanzibaris.

The British encouraged parties to develop that represented different interest blocks so there was a choice in the democratic process. This caused the parties to try and differentiate themselves. So the ASP brought up the issue of slavery and the Arab involvement in the trade, over 80 years previously. Stories of terrible acts were spread around, rumours of what might follow if the ZNP won were started. One of the stories my father told me: ‘it was said that some Arab men were arguing about how a baby lay in the womb, head up or down. They could not decide, so they called up a pregnant slave and using their swords cut her open to see who was right’. A ghastly fantastical story.

And the hatred engendered would be visited on the innocent people who had nothing to do with slavery. Independence in December 1963 from British control was short-lived. In January 1964 a revolution resulted in the genocide of tens of thousands of Zanzibari Arab people, Arab looking people, small merchants, land holders or people that got in the way.

The successful revolutionaries organised themselves into the Revolutionary Council and proceeded to abolish democracy and created a dictatorship. The quality of life, for those citizens who chose to stay in Zanzibar, became appalling. A police state evolved, spies abounded and all land and property was nationalised. Over forty years later, times have changed and a multi-party system is working again. However, the issue of, what I might call, ‘Arab guilt’ continues to play its part. In order to acquire legitimacy, the Revolutionary Council has written into history the justification of the revolution. It has portrayed the revolution as a great liberalising event that gave the population a better life. The more the facts of this purported ‘better life’ that they delivered are criticised, the more they have to portray the time before the revolution as terrible and the influence of the Zanzibar Arabs as being of a ruthless and colonial nature.

So we come back to the slavery story. It carries behind it other meanings. The more the current powers show you how terrible slavery was and connect it to the old regime, the more it is apparent that it was right to get rid of (and kill) the Zanzibari Arab descendents in the 1960s. I think this crazy logic is repeated across the world. We seek to justify the acts of history in many ways. Only in rare instances do we, as a human race, try to make amends. And one of those occasions was the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa where victim and perpetrator faced one another and both wept for what had happened.

So, in Zanzibar, one day an account should be made of those innocent people who died in the genocide that swept across that beautiful tropical island. And the survivors, who fled to the mainland, to Oman, to any country that would give them sanctuary, still carry the sadness of their loss. No one has been called to account. No mass graves are recognised to give people proper ceremony. It is sadness that still haunts many Zanzibaris.

After all, remembering the cruelties of slavery is important, but using it to justify a revolution where thousands of innocents were massacred is another. We should be wary of how history can be manipulated to enhance power of current governments.

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:

http://www.lukehurley.co.nz/2010/02/02/zanzibar-1964-part1/.

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........