A beach boy sauntered down the beach carrying a wood-jacketed book (the Quran? The Bible? A voodoo spell book?), stopped by me and said “Hi, can I ask you a question? What do you think of black people?” Perhaps he was provoking an argument, or just wanted to make small talk. He kept talking and slurred so I barely understood half of what he said. His eyes spun in his sockets as he explained to me that he had a Norwegian girlfriend and encouraged me to be friendly to every person I met. And every half a minute I had no choice but to do the African male handshake of bumping knuckles with him.

Zanzibar has a dark underbelly, like most tourist paradises. I have heard stories of drugs and drug-related crimes here, too. Most locals (and possibly tourists) choose to go for heroin. Or maybe it is heroin that is best available. Since I get up early I have never stayed up very late, but I hear people get drugged and in trouble at large parties such as the Kendwa full moon party.

The beach boys hawking snorkeling trips and coconuts hawk pretty much anything if you ask the right individual. Including drugs. Yet, unlike many other (Muslim) tourist destinations, there are no signs at the airport warning for zero tolerance with regard to narcotics. I have also understood that here it is most often not the user but the peddler who gets into trouble. And the drug lords can bribe their way out of most trouble.

But none of this is visible in daylight. Although I have rarely been out past 11 pm, I have always felt safe walking in the dark, too. However, as noted above, there are strange people on the beach here. A beach boy stuck to me like a leech a few days earlier. He thought it was his prerogative to demand conversation, and I was rude for preferring to write undisturbed. Another beach boy had alcohol on his breath at 11 am and wanted to sell a coconut for 10,000 TSH, whereas I know 1,000 is a good price and anything above 3,000 is a rip-off.

Last night I ran into a few guys smoking pot outside of the restaurant I wanted to dine at. They yelled after me, saying they wanted my company afterwards and that they would wait. They actually did wait – and as they never asked me what I thought of their wish I slipped out through the back door.

The islanders here have their own friendly way of living, different from mainland. Perhaps crime is lower, too? I do not know of the facts. And in case one should forget in the dazzling sunlight on the white beach sand, Zanzibar is not Paradise but a real place, with real people. Where ever there is light there will be shadows.(Nungwi, Zanzibar, Tanzania; August 2017)

Went to Stone Town to fix my broken iPhone. The driver’s car broke too so we got it fixed at a mechanic in the scorching sun. Then this guy called Abdullah unscrewed the dozen miniature screws of my iPhone 6 display, inserted an authentic-looking but Hong Kong copy touch screen display, added a tempered glass cover, and charged a whopping 70 euros in Tanzanian shillings, cash: a wallet-thick wad of money I first extracted out of an ATM.

Then the driver took me to a spice farm for lunch where a guy climbed up a coconut tree to serenade for me, another guy decorated me with hand-woven jewelry and a crown, and a third guy made me eat a lot of fruit.

No, this was not a weird dream but a real day on Zanzibar.

(Zanzibar, Tanzania; August 2017)

In Paje there is a seaweed plantation, just like on Nusa Lembongan off Bali. Here the seaweed is grown on ropes tied to poles and left dry with the receding tide, twice a day.

The seaweed plantations on Zanzibar is managed by the women of the village, who also fish with nets from the shore. Swahili women are an interesting combination of strength, pride, and demureness. They mostly walk with a slow swing, in no hurry, almost as if they were deep in thought. When they smile at a man they look down, as if they harbor a secret. I sometimes hear them laugh, but their behavior around men certainly is very soft, submissive, and demure. And yet I am convinced that if anyone tries to cross a Swahili woman they will most likely not survive to tell the tale.

Yesterday I went to Jaqueline’s for another massage. She told me about her two kids and their lives in Kenya with their aunt. Jaqueline is here on Zanzibar all alone, for work. She is proud of herself, and made a point of how she no longer has a husband and gets no help from her family besides lodging for her children; that she makes everything else work by herself. Jaqueline is a woman even I would not dare to cross.

(Zanzibar, Tanzania; August 2017)

Imagine an empty stretch of beach. The palm trees curve over the fine pale sand, like in those travel bureau brochures. Turquoise water gently froths the edge of the beach sand. Clouds crawl across the blue sky, rolling as if in slow motion. Not a soul in sight.

This scenery is very rare on Zanzibar. Either you will see a fishing boat, or a colorful flag of a hotel or kitesurfing center. And in 99 cases out of 100 you will see at least a handful people walking on the beach. Zanzibar is like Bali: so beautiful its existence is threatened by tourists loving it to death.

Everything must have been so different here when the traders and Europeans first began to settle: pristine, empty, white beaches and a few fishing boats, some mud brick huts, and reed huts. Local people probably wore very little clothing, and in general received everything they needed from nature. Today, what we tourists call a “beautiful sight” might be a wooden restaurant deck on stilts, stretching over the same beach, white-chalked hotel walls, and Swahili women in colorful long sarongs and headscarves.

While in Nungwi one can look over the water to Tumbatu island, which is part of the Zanzibar island group. Tumbatu is said to have only one road, used for walking or biking. There is no power except for a recent installation of solar panels.  My guidebook and online sites say voodoo practice is deeper ingrained Tumbatu than on Zanzibar, as are reservations against visitors. There is said to be no love of (or for) tourists. Very few stay overnight, and most snorkeling guests are visited by a boat from Tumbatu, demanding money for swimming on their shore. At the same time, the people of Tumbatu want very little to do with the tourist business on their soil.

Zanzibar has some 600,000 inhabitants and Pemba island some 400,000. The Tanzanian government’s vision is to reach 500,000 annual visitors to the Zanzibar isles by 2020. Today, with some 350,000 annual visitors, the roads do not seem crowded, but I am certain the locals already feel squeezed, maneuvering their pushbikes, buses, and ox-carts among hotel SUVs and minivans. At the same time, the number of locals seems to be growing, too: there are two universities on Zanzibar and a surprising number of schools. I watched a school end its morning shift in Stone Town, and an incredible number of students tumbled out of the building. I did not try to count. In the afternoon, a second batch of students will enter the school for the afternoon shift, learning exactly the same things as the morning students did.

Zanzibari families are large: a farmer family might easily have 6-8 children, maybe more. With today’s healthcare and education systems, child mortality must be decreasing. In 20-30 years Zanzibar will not be recognizable, thanks to its growing inhabitant and visitor numbers. The rate-limiting factor is employment: people leave the islands if they cannot be employed. But I am convinced that as the population grows and tourism industry expands (most beaches are still far less developed than Nungwi or Paje), there will be more work.

I am glad I came now and not 30 years later. And I am sad if the lushness, the peacefulness, and the feel of paradise will have disappeared by then.(Paje, Zanzibar, Tanzania; August 2017)

The rains are soon here. It is August and we get a few drops every day, but the clouds look more menacing than what they are. Thank goodness the tiny Swedish (?) boat made it back in time.(Paje, Zanzibar, Tanzania; August 2017)