StickyMangoRice

In the back alleys and dogleg streets of Stone Town, locals were sweeping their doorsteps with brittle stick broomsticks and opening up their shops. There were T-shirt and souvenir shops, as you might find anywhere in the world, but that wasn’t the kind of souvenir we were hoping to find. 

But then, around the corner and appearing out of nowhere, was a very unique antiques shop somewhere in the labyrinth.

Bargaining for treasure

Run by a local Zanzibari, Zanzibar Curio Shop had four or five rooms filled with shelves, stacked high with amazing old trinkets.

Lighters, compasses, playing cards, kettles, pipes, paintings, keys, typewriters, sculptures, lanterns, maps, shirts, knives, and toys – they were all there. One room even had a polished brass telescope positioned in the centre of the room. I couldn’t believe how awesome it looked. It was like a set from Indiana Jones.

But then there also seemed to be magic lamps, pirate ship wheels, elaborate musical instruments, and a million more items more akin to a trader’s treasure trove than a shop.

The owners, an Arabic man who spoke good English, was an intelligent and a shrewd bargainer. He ran the shop with his father, and knew his wares were worth a lot more than most of the other shops in the area who peddled cheap souvenirs. The prices were high and the bargaining was difficult.

Some strange souvenirs

Jeff bought a compass with the four members of The Beatles in place of the cardinal directions. He opened it up and recommended that we talk towards Ringo Starr to make it back to the market.

Wessel walked away with something far more outrageous, a pair of wooden door frame beams. Two-metre tall beams of dark wood, easily 15kg each, and intricately carved with Zanzibari designs, Wessel had an idea for a display at his gallery.

They were, of course, remnants from some old door frames that Zanzibar is quite well known for. I wondered if they were genuine. If so, they’d probably be at least 100 years old.

They were lashed together and protected with cloth, but they were very awkward, weighed a ton and carrying them around the winding streets of Stone Town soon became a problem.

Relaxing at Africa House

Dropping off the beams at the hotel was thirsty work, and we rewarded ourselves with a visit to the Africa House. If our hotel the Dhow Palace felt like a wealthy merchant’s house, then Africa House felt more like a nineteenth century African hunting club.

Long Persian carpets welcomed us inside the long painted halls of the hotel; the dark wooden walls were adorned with spears, shields and paintings of big game. The bar was a balcony overlooking the water, furnished with elegant chairs and comfortable stripy couches in the sun.

We sat outside, ordered an unlikely combo of white russians and hamburgers, a shisha, and soaked in our surroundings. A lone lateen sailboat drifted past lazily in the distance. The weight of nearly three weeks of driving was melting away with these few rest days.

It felt like we might as well have entered the Dakar Rally with the amount of distance we had covered thus far. The beers went down well, and we allowed the bar tab run for a while. We had to enjoy it, because tomorrow we were back into the sweat, the dust, and the wilderness of the African mainland.