"Africa: Paradise "
I've been to paradise. No one who has seen Zanzibar's East Coast can claim otherwise.
The Shehe Bungalows are a collection of plaster huts and green courtyards located right on the Jambiani coast. Shehe had just three additional guests during our stay there. Our bungalow looked out over a courtyard and onto the water. Along the sand were a collection of handmade tables, woven, itchy hammocks, and uncomfortable, primitive bamboo chairs. An open-air dining room and kitchen were just a short walk down the beach where our hosts served Fanta, Coca-Cola, African beer, and a daily menu of fish or vegetable dishes with fruit. We had no sheets, no towels, no hot water, no fridge, no air conditioning, no phone, no town, no crowds, no motors, no noise, no worries.
No problem.
The villages on the East Coast are small, poor, and isolated. Children walk the beach in search of shellfish and seaweed. Women walk with them, dressed in colorful long robes, their hair in veils. No one wore shoes, only a few wore sandals. And, honestly, shoes seemed unnecessary most of the time.
Men sail to the distant reef in hand carved dhows, traditional African sailing boats, typically outrigger style, with a central hull dug from a tree, and sails made of any available fabric, usually sewn canvas flour bags. The dhows sat awkward in the sand at times of low tide.
Vendors sill come calling in Jambiani. But here they have little to sell. A few trinkets, fresh fruit, dhow rides out to the reef. But I didn't mind. I even let them paint me with a henna tattoo that wrapped around my left arm, just below my shoulder.
Because of the reefs that extend for miles off the coast of Zanzibar, the tides are rather large. During low tide, the beach is exposed for nearly a hundred yards, exposing the white sand and tidal pools. Further out, the water remains shallow, first ankle deep, then knee deep. It remains that way for a quarter mile. Perhaps further. These amazing and pristine tidal flats seemed endless. Other than the occasional starfish, the water is clear and pure. In the distance, you can see the small waves breaking white on the reef.
Wading out into the tidal flats felt purifying. Cleansing. Holy.
Baptismal.
Immersing myself in Zanzibar's warm water was like immersing myself into the endless and encompassing beauty of nature. I felt naked. I felt connected. Staring into the distance where the sea met the sky, white became green, green became blue, blue became green and green became white. I bathed in this splendid concoction of clarity and color, of salt and sand, of sea and sky.
The sand was white as powdered sugar and soft as crushed silk. Palm trees and bungalows lined the shore, and the air was warm but cool in the breeze. Meredith and I spent hours walking up and down that beach. We walked at sunset and hunted for the countless seashells that decorate the sand after every tidal shift, and I felt the same thrill I had as a child when performing the very same task for the first time more than two decades earlier.
The shells we found were magnificent. The complex and always beautiful patterns, colors, and textures seemed to embody the environment in which they were created. It's still a wonder to study those shells in the sunlight. Their translucent ridges, spirals and folds expose smooth white surfaces and pastel ruffles that become strangely feminine and sensual.
On my second day in Jambiani, I sailed offshore in a dhow for a morning of snorkeling on the reef. My guides were two young men, both of whom could have found jobs as models in the United States, given the opportunity.
The dhow was narrow, perhaps four feet across and twelve feet long. It smelled vaguely of the fish oil used to cure and protect the wood from the sea. The sail was made of old canvas bags and caught the wind effectively enough to push us slowly across the tidal flats. The dhow cut a narrow line through the calm, retreating ocean as the dark clouds above lashed at my face and soaked my skin with a cold tropical rain.
I spent the next hour snorkeling in the reef, exploring the otherworldly life waving and pulsating and sliding silently in the green-blue water. I saw puffer fish, a meter long yellow and black sea snake, and lots of plant-like waving things I couldn't identify. Another Discovery Channel moment in Africa.
My eyes and sinuses and lips soon ached from the pressure of the ill-fitting mask. It wasn't long before I climbed back onto the boat, and we were sailing back toward shore. More morning rain attacked my face as I sat atop the primitive vessel. On our return, the clouds soon passed, and with their passing went our wind. My two guides began to propel our small boat with two long wooden poles, pushing the dhow through the shallows. It seemed back breaking work, digging the long poles into the sand and forcing the boat forward against the receding tide.
As I lay across the hull and looked out at the coast, the clouds, and the water, my guides created a powerful image against this tropical backdrop. They stood, lean and muscular, bare feet curled over hull of the dhow, dramatic and beautiful, against the cloudy azure sky and calm clear water. Part of me wished I had brought my camera to accurately capture a picture of just where I found myself on this nearly perfect moment on a nearly perfect morning in a nearly perfect place.
But at the same time, I'm glad I didn't have my camera, and all I had to do was to sit there in order to absorb the experience, and simultaneously, to be absorbed by it.
Beauty is abundant in Zanzibar. It's everywhere, from the panorama to the minutiae. It saturates. It permeates. It penetrates.
It's overwhelming.
It's paradise.
