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Like many towns and cities in the world, Stonetown is an odd mix - even clash - between two things. London has been uncomfortably juxtaposing rich and poor since Tudor times; New York forces together millions of over-excited tourists with people attempting to go about their daily business; Paris simultaneously presents sophistication and seediness. These are of course huge generalisations, and arguably applicable to any town or city in the world. The overwhelming disparity that I felt in Stonetown, however, was between the fact that despite its historical significance, places of interest, and sheer uniqueness, it is a thoroughly neglected place.
I don’t mean that is empty of tourists, or people; in fact it is swarming with locals and foreigners alike. You can barely move down some of the narrow streets for groups of bewildered tourists being herded out of the way of motorbikes, stumbling over shops selling everything from cooking equipment to souvenirs to antiques. Stonetown boasts many famous tourist haunts, from the original Indian and Arabic doors, to the old slave market and Livingston’s tomb, and the intriguingly named House of Wonders. These are all fascinating in their way, and well worth a visit, especially with the compulsory
well-informed guide who escorts you around the maze that is Stonetown.
Zanzibar doors are huge and intricately carved, dating back centuries. The Arabic doors often have inscriptions, referring to the family who lived in the house, or quoting parts of the Qur’an. The Indian doors are adorned with huge brass knobs, apparently (if I understood correctly) to discourage elephants from breaking in. Whether I misheard this intriguing explanation or not, the doors are beautiful and imposing. My only wish was that they weren’t hidden down cramped, twisting alleyways, so that I could stand back and take a better look.
The site of the old slave market is a well-managed tourist area, with informative and well-organised guided tours. The tour leads you down into two of the tiny cells in which the slaves were held, with some of the original chains still on display. Then you are shown a replica of the pit in which the slaves were kept whilst they were being sold, with a moving series of statues created to commemorate the site. Lastly, you can visit the huge church which was built on the original site, the idea being that holiness and peace would counter the
horrors and suffering associated with it. The high altar is placed on the exact spot of the whipping post, with David Livingstone’s tomb behind. It has a poignant and sacred atmosphere.
The last famous spot we visited was the House of Wonders. At first sight, I was slightly disappointed at the big, slightly run down building. It is mostly wooden, the outside is not very well preserved, and you can’t get very close unless you pay to go inside the museum. However, its history is very interesting, especially the reasoning behind its name. It was the first building on Zanzibar (and I imagine a large surrounding area) to have electric lights and running water. Such everyday commodities seem to us now to hardly deserve being called ‘Wonders’, but it is a reminder that these things we in the modern, Western world take for granted, were things of wonder when they were first introduced. In fact, electricity and clean running water should still be considered wonderful. The House of Wonders represents Zanzibar’s ecclectic and fascinating history, which is why it is such a popular tourist destination.
Stonetown is noisy, chaotic, and overwhelming, overflowing in equal measure with historical and
aesthetic treasures, and decaying, neglected ruins. The main market is perhaps the least confusing site of interest. It has been running for hundreds of years, and you can imagine that it hasn’t changed much. It is vibrant, hot, busy, and fascinating, as you get gently pushed and shoved between raw meat and fish swarming with flies, rows of beautiful coloured fabrics, handmade crockery, plastic cooking utensils, carefully packaged spices, and assortments of fresh fruit and vegetables. Drainage systems run haphazardly underfoot, and a red netting overhead gives everything an eerie glow. It is tremendous fun, but even more tremendous relief when you finally navigate your way out into open air again. There are also moments of respite and open spaces when you can sit down, rest, and take in the significance of all you have seen. We did this outside the House of Wonders, and I also managed to calmly bargain with a local kanga seller, ending up with a beautiful new piece of material, something I wouldn’t have had the energy or language skills for in the epicentre of the marketplace.
And yet it is impossible not to notice the crumbling historic coral buildings, the dirt and litter
collecting along the street where Freddie Mercury was born, the rust and woodworm destroying the famous doors. It seems a wonder that any of Stonetown’s monuments have survived, as they are so badly managed and preserved. There are stories of the doors being taken down and chopped up to sell as cheap souvenirs. In houses where royal families once lived (as can be seen by the inscriptions), squatters fashion make-shift living quarters in the empty stone rooms. As you make your way down the winding, claustrophobic alleyways, you can turn a corner and find yourself equally likely to stumble upon a magnificent church, a shop stuffed full of priceless antiques, or a pile of stones and rubbish that not long ago was part of a royal palace.
The whole town is a chaotic series of bewildering contrasts. That being said, it is 100% worth braving the noise, dirt and decay for the breathtaking moments when you discover a fascinating historical gem, or become enraptured with a beautiful piece of architecture.
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