Zanzibar; city, island, and coast. Vol. 2 (of 2)

On Monday, January 5, 1857, began our trial trip, which homely term was justly written large as ‘tentative expedition,’ by the then President of the Royal Geographical Society. But a stiff north-easter blowing dead in our teeth, the crew of the Riámi would not wear round by day, and at night all showed a predilection for the ‘Safar khoriyah,’ i. e. anchoring in some snug bay. Consequently the old tub, with knees and mast loose like a slaver’s, did not make Kokoto-ni, the usual departure point from Zanzibar Island, till 7 A. M. on January 8.

Kokoto-ni ‘(at or in) the pebbles,’ is an anchorage 18.30 direct geographical miles from, and north with 3 miles east of, Zanzibar City. Formed by a bight with a streamlet, and the Island of Tumbatu, with its little outliers, Manawamána and Popo (in Owen Moina and Benoth), this roadstead is rendered dangerous during the Azyab, or N. East monsoon, by a heavy rolling sea and a coral-bound lee-shore. The coast has the usual edging of sand, clear as crystal, and of bright green mangrove, whilst an inner belt of darker jungle defends a country, here, as everywhere around, prodigiously fertile, green, and monotonous. The interior is a mass of cultivation, manioc and sweet potato (Jezar) from Madagascar, superb mangoes and cocoas waving in the clear sea-breeze, and limes and oranges, the latter disposed, as by the Paraguayans, in long rows, which, at a distance, imitate the tea-field. Clove plantations adorn the uplands, and the giant Calabash (Adansonia digitata) stretches its stumpy, crooked arms over the clustering huts. The tree is at once majestic and grotesque; the tall conical column of spongy and porous wood, covered with a soft, glossy rind, which supplies half Africa with bast, will have a girth of forty to fifty feet, far exceeding the cedars of Lebanon, whilst the general aspect is that of a giant asparagus. Like the arbutus, some trees will be bare, others in leaf, and others in flower, all at the same season. When thickly clothed with foliage growing almost stalkless from the wood; topped with snowy blossoms, like the fairest and lightest of water-lilies, and hung about with four or five hundred gourds; ovals somewhat larger than a cocoa-nut, dressed in green velvet with the nap on, and attached by a long thin cord, like tassels which wave with every breath of the zephyr, its appearance is striking as it is novel. Nothing, in fact, after the negro can be more typically and distinctly African.

Escorted by Said bin Salim and his slave, we visited the village Mwándá. It is the normal collection of cajan-thatched huts, with wattle and dab walls, gathering round a little Mosque and grave-yard. There are no stone dwellings, but scatters of such hovels extend far and wide. The settlement was mostly tenanted by women who hid themselves, by children who ran away, and by slave-girls who squatted, combing and plaiting one another’s locks; these grinned merrily enough, having nought to fear. The faces were hideous to look upon, with black, coarse skins, scarred and seamed by small-pox; huge mouths, and rolling eyes. Not a few were lame and toothless, and the general dress was the ungraceful swaddle of blue, checked or indigo-dyed stuff. Presently we were addressed by an old man, carrying a spear, and attired in Arab fashion, of red cap, loin-cloth (Futah), and Tobe (Taub), or shoulder-scarf. Taking us for traders, who came to buy cocoa and cloves, he placed a Kitandah (cot) under the central calabash, the gossip-place of the village, and brought us cocoanut-water, which here takes the place of coffee. In vain we offered high prices for meat; geese, ducks, and fowls, however, were abundant.

After a short rest we set out northwards, to inspect the plantations. Most of the men were at work in their Mashamba; the weeds had been burned for manure, the primitive manner of restoring nutrition to the soil, and the peasant, with his rude implements, was smoothing the lowlands for paddy. Already the light showers of the Azyab had flooded the ground, and the stagnant stream which we forded was choked with rush and sedge. A ‘Tell,’ or dwarf rise, was occupied by a farm belonging to the late Sayyid; here we were again seated and supplied with mangoes. This fruit, curious to say, would never fall upon the Prince’s head, although his courtiers often suffered severe contusions—at least, so we were assured.

After a long walk, which crippled my naked arms and legs with sunburns, we returned to the shore, and Said complaining, with a visage like Falstaff’s ‘wet cloak ill-laid up,’ that never before had he endured such fatigue, we signalled the Riámi for a boat. It was five hours coming, the wind blew off shore, and we had some trouble in persuading certain Tumbatu men to carry off the party of six in a monoxyle, a single log of wood, propelled by a scarf. A few dates and a dollar sent them back happy, and the Riámi had used her time well in washing decks and taking in water.

The weather now set seriously against us. The thermometer fell some 5° (F.), and heavy showers, mostly in the morning, wetted us clean through, despite all precautions. Lightning from the N. West appeared; the ‘egg of the cloud’ showed the focus of electric matter, and tornados, exactly resembling those of the Guinea coast, made the crew down sail, and satisfy themselves with one knot an hour. They had a peculiar style of keeping watch; all sat up singing till 10-11 P. M., after which every man slept as unanimously. The only waker was poor Said, who with red eyes and peeling nose suffered crispations when the squalls came on. About 9 A. M. (January 10) we sighted for the first time Pemba, the Emerald Isle of these Eastern Seas; and after three days’ stumbling over 33 miles from Kokoto-ni, Pemba channel, with the hills of the Mrima clear on our left, appeared at 3 P. M. To the right rose the tree-grown banks, and the verdant coral-ledges, which have given a name to the Green Island of the Arabs. Except from the mast-head it is invisible at an offing of 12 miles, this forest-clump emerging from the blue and buoyant wave, and therefore it was neglected by the Periplus. In A. D. 1698 the bold buccaneer Captain Kidd here buried his blood-stained hoards of gold and jewels, the plunder of India and of the further Orient. The people have found pots of ‘nuggets,’ probably intended for buttons, in order that the pirate might wear his wealth. Thus it is that the modern skipper, landing at Madagascar, or other robber haunts of the older day, still frequently witnesses the disappearance of his brass buttons, whilst the edge of a knife resting upon his throat secures the quiescence essential to the rapid performance of the operation.

The complicated entrance to Chak-Chak, or Shak-Shak as the Arabs call it, the chief port, fort, and town, has that silent, monotonous, melancholy beauty, the loveliness of death, which belongs to the creeks and rivers of those regions. The air was pure and sparkling; a light breeze played with the little blue waves; the beach, wherever it appeared, was of the purest golden hue, creamed over with the whitest of foam; and luxuriant trees of the brightest green drooped from their coralline beds over a sea, here deeply azure, there verdigris coloured by the sun shining through it upon a sand-shoal. But animated nature was wanting: we heard not a voice, we saw no inhabitant—all was profoundly still, a great green grave. A chain of islets forms the approach to a creek, below all mangrove and black vegetable mud, which stains the water, and bears roots upsticking like a system of harrows; above on both sides are rounded swelling hillocks, crowned with the cocoa and the clove. We sailed about on various tacks, and near sunset we anchored in the outer port, four or five miles distant from the town. On a wooded eminence rose the white walls and the tall tower of Fort Chak-Chak, standing boldly out from its dark green background, and apparently commanded by higher land, nowhere, however, exceeding 150 feet, while the spars of an Arab craft peered above the curtained trees. With the distinctest remembrance of Indian rivers, my companion and I could not but wonder at the scene before us.

Early on the next morning we manned the Louisa, and rowed slowly through a gate, formed on the right by Ra’as Kululu, and on the left by a high plantation Ra’as Bannani. It led to a broad, deep basin, where two or three Sayas, small Arab vessels, not wishing to approach the town, lay at anchor. After a couple of hours, during which progress was of the mildest, we entered a narrow creek, bordered by a luxuriant growth of mangroves. The black and fœtid sea-ooze, softer than mud, which supports these forests of the sea, contrasts strangely with the gay green of their foliage, and the place was haunted by terns, grey kingfishers, and hawks of black and white robe, big as the ‘Ak-baba,’ and said to be game birds. Here and there a tall man paddled a tiny canoe, and an old slave woman went to catch fish with a body-cloth, used as a net: she suggested the venerable comparison of the letter S mounted on ‘No. 11.’ The old Arab geographers seem to have been struck by the piscatorial peculiarities of these coasts. El Idrisi (1st climate, 7th section) informs us that ‘the people supply themselves from the sea without craft or without standing upon the shore. They use, whilst swimming or diving, little nets which they themselves make of woven grass; they tie them to their feet, and by slip-knots and lashings held in their hands, they draw fast the snare when they feel that a fish has entered it. All this they do with exceeding art and with a cunning bred by long experience: they also teach land reptiles to drive their prey’—possibly the iguana.

The tide, which hereabouts rises from twelve to thirteen feet, was then rapidly ebbing. At high water large boats run up under the walls of Chak-Chak; during the ebb the creek within several yards of the landing-place is a quaking bog, which receives a man to his waist. After three hours of persistent grounding, and nearly despairing to reach our mark, a sharp turn showed us the fort almost above our heads: we disembarked and waded up to the landing-place.

Ascending the sea-slope, I was struck, even after Goa and Zanzibar, by the wondrous fertility of the land. All that meets the eye is luscious green; cocoas, jacks, limes, and the pyramidal mangoes grow in clumps upon the rises; the wild solanum with bright yellow apples, and the castor shrub, rich in berries, spread over the uncultivated slopes; excellent rice, of which the Island formerly paid tribute, clothes the lowlands, and the little fields bear crops of holcus and sesamum, vetches as Thur (Cajanus Indicus), Mung (Phaseolus radiatus), and Chana or Gram (Cicer arietinum), with manioc, and many species of garden-stuff and fruit-trees, especially oranges and citrons. The eternal humidity—páni jo ghano sukh, say the Banyans—unfavourable to human, fosters vegetable development in a luxuriance more oppressive than admirable. After a few minutes’ climb we entered Chak-Chak, which, like a Brazilian country-town, consists of one long narrow lane. It is formed by square huts of wattle and dab, raised upon platforms of tamped clay: each tenement has a ‘but’ and a ‘ben,’ and most are fronted by a deep verandah, where poultry, fruit, and stale fish are exposed for sale by many familiar faces hailing from Hindostan.