After a buffet breakfast on the roof, we started out, led by Job, on a walking tour of Stone Town, the historic original settlement of Zanzibar, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and reflects the mix of cultures that developed this city from its very beginnings.  Job gives us a history lecture and then we walk, for far longer in fact than the 3 hours we expected.  But there is much to see.  There is considerable evidence of the historic African, Arab, Indian, and European presence here.  Owing primarily to its central location on trade routes and favorable sailing winds, it was the spice trading capital of the world as well as headquarters for the slave trade of East Africa, 200 years ago a thriving prosperous place. 

We learn you can tell from the ornate wooden doors of old mansions whether it was a spice merchant’s house (usually Indian, the doors are square and carved with various spice flowers and leaves) or a slaver’s house (usually Arab, with rounded arch on top, also ornately carved but with a chain carved all along the perimeter of the door—they were proud of their line of work).  On one we saw a crown at the top that denotes, at least in the owner’s opinion but apparently by informal community consensus, that he was a very, very important person.  We walk through narrow streets filled with a mix of people, but the majority seem to be Muslim with Indians a distant second.  The Muslim women’s garb here is much more colorful than we ever saw in Dubai.  We visit a Hindu temple, where they put fresh fruit in front of the gods in each of their individual shrines.  Job is very proud of the peaceful coexistence of various religions and cultures in this melting pot.  However, he hints that there is an element of extremism that has recently arisen, trying to drive a wedge into that peace.

The narrow streets are bustling, and filled with food and merchandise stalls.  Obama merchandise is everywhere; just as we saw in mainland Tanzania, these people are very proud of his heritage.  We visit an outdoor market, stop at a chicken market (where if none of the recently killed and plucked specimens hanging or lying around suit you, your alternative for dinner can be chosen from a noisy crate in the back and be the freshest of all), and then check out an indoor meat market.  The graphic nature of this bothers some of our group, who walk through with eyes straight ahead, not looking at the various stalls.  We found it fascinating, but had to be careful to avoid the blood and little meat and bone chips that came flying through the air when a “butcher” wielding a hatchet hit the chopping block just right as we passed.

The last focus of this walking tour was the old slave market, which is now an Anglican church but has elements of its shameful history preserved, such as underground holding cells, or cleansed, such as the high altar which is exactly where the market’s whipping tree originally stood.  The baptismal font is located in the exact place of an old well connected underground to the ocean where the slavers would slit the throats of young kids who were not deemed useful and throw them in, to be carried out to sea.  Pretty horrific stuff.  Slave trade here was abolished in 1873, largely at the instigation of Dr. David Livingston (yes that one), and this church was built the next year by a bishop who used the project to train former slaves in various crafts.

Exhausted by the heat in a walk that lasted five hours instead of three, we had a quick lunch in a local café that was recommended by Job, and then collapsed in our air-conditioned room to recover.  We then had our first (and hopefully last) shopping expedition in such hot and humid conditions.  Phyllis had not understood that swimming (snorkeling) was so prominent an activity on this trip, so neglected to bring a swimsuit.  After learning the next several days’ plans, it was clear a purchase was necessary, and so we returned to the shopping district we had seen earlier for Phyllis to try on a few swimsuits.  However traumatic buying a swimsuit always is for her, it is twice the pain when the selection is limited, the sizing is undecipherable, and you are hot and sweaty trying to pull the darn thing on.  Fortunately one of the hijab-attired clerks guessed correctly on the sizing, so Phyllis was able to stop at the third try.  And to think, she swore when she did this for the South Pacific trip two years ago that she would never ever do this again in her life…

In late afternoon.  Job took us all to the local fish BBQ, a nightly occurrence out on the waterfront plaza near our hotel, showed us the ropes in ordering from the multitude of vendors, and then left us to our own devices for dinner.  A couple of skewers of fish, plus a couple of pieces of naan bread, and our day was done.