Serena Inn, Zanzibar, 27th June 1999
We booked a Spice Tour with the renowned Mr. Mitu.
His representative arrives to pick us up promptly at nine o’clock. Waiting outside was no shiny mini bus, but a routine Zanzibar dala dala (a converted truck with the back open and seats down the sides facing each other). This, Mr. Mitu explains somewhat disingenuously later, provides much better all-round air conditioning and is generally more suited to the roads.
We bump and rattle on hard seats and through Stonetown to Mr. Mitu’s booth where two Belgian and five Dutch backpackers join us. He welcomes us, sits us down on benches and lectures us the fruits and spices of Zanzibar: when a grapefruit is a pomelo (the latter is bigger, pear shaped and thicker skinned); why they cannot grow grapes, strawberries, and cherries (humidity); strong clove tea as a cure for diarrhea; and herbal cures for yellow fever (lemon juice and raw honey). He describes the five climate and vegetation regions of Zanzibar and the impact of climate change, which is gradually pushing the rainy season later into June.
Mr. Mitu does not now do many of the tours himself, he is training up four ‘boys’ to follow in his style and maintain his standards. This may be due to age in part, but also to his success – he is known worldwide and last year on a peak season day he had 100 people wanting to do the tour. With his boys he was able to break this down into groups of 25.
Our guide is one of those trained by Mr. M and has been with Mitu Spice Tours for 14 years. Small and neat, he treats the business seriously, with a dry humour and a good, though not too ready, smile. Strangely, we never ask his name and he never tells us, but he was happy to talk about his life. He has been married four years and has a two-year-old child – he says he can afford only one. He doesn’t say how he and his wife met, but before they could marry both sets of parents had to meet and agree that they were happy with the arrangement. Part of the bride price was a gift of 50 kangas and jewelry for his wife. He carries a photograph of them both, which he shows proudly round the dala dala. He is wearing dark suit (today he is in his work clothes of smart jeans and a cheerful patterned shirt), a ‘very expensive’ item and he boasts gently that he has two – they are worn only on Sundays, feast days and at special events. As we pass through the village of Kibweni he gestures across the road and says he is building a house there – he is now living with his wife’s parents, but loyally offers no clue as to how that is working out.
He he confides that does not support the government and fears that the approaching election will bring trouble. During the last one he, his father and brothers were put in goal for two weeks, for doing no more than supporting the opposition.