The sights...
Intricately carved Zanzibar doors
Splashes of emerald green, royal blue
Weathered paint chipped away to reveal the aged wood beneath
Buildings that tell a story
Wandering the alleys takes you back to the days of spice merchants, sultans, and slavery
The rough grey stone broken by curved, rounded archways
Passing the doorway of a local mosque, politely peeking in
Shoes littering the entryway
Prayers and incense escaping to wash over you
Sequined, bejeweled, beautifully embellished robes of local women
The turquoise waves of the Indian ocean rising to meet the stone walls of the city
Giant vessels resting at port
A sharp contrast to the little wooden dhows, canvas sails bursting with wind, floating past.
The smells...
The tang of local spices, such an intricate part of this city's rich history
Becoming a part of the city's architecture, spicy smells that have seeped into the streets themselves
Into the wood, into the stone
Take a deep breath and you can almost taste it
Rich perfumes from spice carts that litter the streets
Mixed with the perfume of hidden incense, burning inside one of the city's holy buildings
Walking through the local market
The pungent, heavy fragrance of the day's fresh catch becomes almost too much to handle
Fishy odors that are suffocating
A breeze and the sweet, salty sea air fills your lungs
The tastes...
The fresh fruits are what I will always remember the most.
Feasts of the sweetest, juiciest varieties
Straight from the Garden of Eden
Passion fruits
Mangos
Melons
Bananas
Iced cold glasses of their fresh squeezed juices
Heavenly nectars that offer sweet relief to parched tongues
Exotic flavors that lace all of our meals
Rich in the spices of the trade that built this city
Spicy Ginger
Tangy Masala
Thick Curries
The sounds...
Sunsets and sunrises broken by Calls to Prayer...coming from all directions
Spilling from the loudspeakers of the mosques scattered throughout distant alleys
Joining as one, guiding those who gather for worship
The songs of little boys and girls creep out the windows of a small schoolroom
Tickling your ears as you pass
The shouts of street vendors selling their goods
A polite bell of a rusty bike
Issuing a quick warning before it comes careening through the narrow alley
Three nights of the most beautiful music
The festival aptly named Sauti Za Busara (Sounds of Wisdom)
Africa's best artists, pouring their soul onto the stage
Music that I don't just hear but feel.
Stonetown is one of those enchanting places that seems to come straight out of a dream. Getting lost in its narrow, winding alleys, I immediately fell in love with the city. It's a magical city. Yet, like the magic of all mystical things, the magic is lost if visited too often. This is why I've decided to leave Stonetown behind for the rest of my time here. To remain only with the memories of the city's affect on me...the way its streets fill me with awe and wonder. And then one day, when I am older and wiser and have lived the better part of my life...I want to return to the city again. To experience the city's magic one last time.
