Tired of Stone Town hawkers, I decided to leave the narrow lanes behind me and head up country to see what the rest of the island had to offer.
Sadly I had not thought to bring my driving licence and so this was going to be tricky. At the tourist office, they rightly rejected me. I sat on the waterfront and wondered whether it was possible to find my driving licence details online.
Bless the British government, I input my National Insurance Number, my post code and with some calculation of the first 16 characters of the licence number and a surprisingly lucky recall of the last two check digits, I was able to get my licence details on the screen.
Armed with this screenshot, I went back to the office and persuaded them to let me have a scooter. I paid $10 for a permit and $30 for the bike. They warned me that if I got stopped by the police I would be in deep water without my driving licence. I would get a fine (and bribe) and be taken to the police station. But I am a risk taker, so I took the risk.
I was sucking dust into my lungs for much of the northward journey as some of the road was under construction. It was very difficult to enjoy the view when you’re looking out for pot holes, speed bumps and public dala dala buses passing at close quarters.
I took it easy and within the hour I was out on the open road speeding past banana plantations, coconut palms, simple mud brick houses, some with thatch and some with tin roofs. Groups of boys playing football, girls (even small ones) with headscarves, carrying bundles of sticks. Women in bright colourful clothes and women in black burkas. You can never forget that is a predominantly Muslim island.
I arrived after a couple of hours, in a place called Mkokotoni which was a small fishing port. On the beach were fishermen mending boats, derelict boats and boats bobbing in the shallows. In the small fish market were fish, the like of which I have never seen, some looked like sharks and then tiny silver fish, in shiny heaps on the stone slab. Women sat in groups, scraping scales off the fish while men bought and sold them.
Leaving Mkokotoni behind, I continued my journey northwards to Kendwa where I saw my first white sandy beach. This, I thought, is where the rich holidaymakers hang out. The place was almost deserted and the restaurants on the beach had very few customers. I selected a reasonably priced one and did something I never normally do – I ordered fish. Actually, it was a lunch special and for $10 the tuna was excellent, though a little stingy in my opinion.
Three boys shouted at me from under a beach sign where they were hiding from the sun. Shells, shells, they shouted. I stopped, I looked at them and their three shells laid out on the sand and had a weak moment and paid £1 for the large one. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had bought it from a shop and just walked to the beach to resell it. But anyway, I like their marketing and so I rewarded them for their entrepreneurship.
I then headed back south and down the eastern side of the island where I found many more beach resorts, hidden away from prying eyes, behind big gates, down drives lines with coconut palms. I cannot imagine a more boring holiday than one where you spend the whole day lying on a beach, drinking and eating. In any case, it’s far too hot.
I stopped at another beach village where fishermen were chopped up and gutting fish and saw squid and octopus in the sand and hanging from trees. The only sound was the chopping of the fish, the waves and the chatting of the men, sitting under trees at the edge of the beach.
Then something I had dreaded happened. I got stopped by the police. Oh no, I knew what was coming and I was guessing how much they would want as a bribe/fine. I pulled over under the tree where they were standing and turned off the engine. One of them approached me, “Show me your driving licence.” I smiled “Yes sure, I have it here.” I took off my helmet and sunglasses – I find it easier to deal with people if you can make eye contact.
I smiled and he asked all the usual questions, those questions, as an expat you get very very fed up of answering. I answered the questions if it was the first time I had been asked. “Britain. Oh that’s good, I like England” (Not the right time to correct him).
I did some more smiling and said I was really enjoying my stay on Zanzibar, that the roads were great and that Tanzania was loads better than Uganda. A bit more chit-chat and a few more compliments and then “It’s OK sister, you can go”. Thank God! That was a very close call.
A couple of wrong turns later and at 6pm I found myself back in Stone Town and watching the football in Tatu bar. For the price of $40 plus a bit of petrol, a scooter around the northern part of the island is a very good option for a day trip. Next time, I’ll bring my licence though.