Jailed on Prison Island

By Harry Sagara, In Zanzibar Having just landed at the eastern coast of Zanzibar Island, an airport official dressed like a Ugandan policeman took one glance at me and perhaps thought I was material for prison. He approached me and muttered a number of words in Kiswahili that I did not understand, the only word I heard from his barrage was the word 'we go Prison' Oh my Jesus! Now what had I done? I asked myself before hastily checking my baggage, just in case someone had stuffed heroine or cocaine in there without my knowledge. The results of my search were negative, but this man insisted that we go to prison. I asked him what crime I had committed to deserve jail in a foreign country, but he just smiled, ushered me into a waiting car and assured me that everyone who came through Zanzibar Airport wanted to go to Prison Island. This is when it dawned on me that this chap was not a policeman but a tour guide who was doing some marketing for Changu Island off the Zanzibar coast also known as prison Island. It is not a Luzira of sorts, but more of a tourist hang out. So off we were into Stone Town at the harbour and a number of dhows were lined there bracing to take us to Prison Island. Myriads of tourists were all over the place trying to hook a ride to the island. On one of the dhows was written 'Titanic'! I surely did not want to be associated with this one, not with those rolling waters of the Indian ocean and memories of the 1912 Atlantic sink. Soon we were perched on an engined dhow as it marvelled above the ocean waters, in about 30minutes we arrived at a white sandy beach that ushers you into Prison Island, after we had parted with US$5 each we were free to discover what nature has provided to this island. According to a guide this island was christened Prison Island because it was formerly owned by a wealthy Arab slave trader who used it as a detention place for reluctant slaves. The first thing that catches your sight is the lush building where the trader lived. Today it acts as a restaurant for the Zanzibar tourist board. Right behind it lie two desolate buildings that served as prison cells where the slaves were detained and tortured into acceptance. Today, Prison Island is home to over 800 giant turtles with the oldest being over 200 years old. They snail around in their confinement and some of them actually appear like smaller versions of dinosaurs. They are of the Aldabra giant genre and originated from the seychelles Islands, according to the guide here. It is said that during the times of the thriving Indian Ocean trade, these turtles were put onto those slow moving dhows by the traders on reserve. just in case food ratios ran out, they would turn the turtles into their next meal. Also in abundance on the island are the shy peacocks. I became a temporary prisoner on this island, and sat back by the seaside as the breeze from the ocean sent my unbuttoned shirt shiver with the ndombolo gig. At a distance, I could make out the chirping of the white raven as the waters hit hard on the coral reefs, a few metres away. In the soft white sand cultures of red, crabs were playing hide and seek as I disappeared within myself and later found myself walking alone in the thick vegetation. There is no human soul here, just the sharp sunrays cutting through canopy. No single sound here, save for the click of my camera and the friction between my feet and the dry leaves on the ground. The evening sunset was so marvellous that I felt like having it for dinner. I had to leave Prison Island grudgingly, for it is one jailhouse you want to visit again and again. Ends