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When Paradise Gives Back How One Family Transformed The Island Of Zanzibar

Dillon Kivo



Tales of Zanzibar’s white sand beaches, crystal blue waters, spice trade, and an ancient stone town had enchanted me from the first time I heard of the breathtaking archipelago, located just a handful of miles off the coast of mainland Africa. Marked by Swahili, Portuguese, Omani, and British influences the island is one of the few places in the world where so many cultures peacefully coexist which is why this year I made the trip to experience it myself.  I had heard of a fascinating family that had sought out this beautiful land to create a truly unique development that honored these various cultures and traditions while also giving back and I wanted to see exactly what they had built. Many even credit them with why the tourism industry in Zanzibar is doing so well. 

I fell in love with Zanzibar the minute I arrived. There were Muslim women clad in striking hijabs of hot pink and royal purple, standing outside their small fruit stands that lined the dusty roads we drove along. Freshly picked pineapples swayed behind them in a humid late afternoon breeze, dangling upon small strings and bright green bananas lay in piles on wood tables beneath. Every mile or so we’d pass plucked cloves that lay drying in the sun on brown tarps on the ground and their smell fragranced the balmy air blowing in from our open windows.

Outside the towns, as we edged towards rice and sugarcane fields, the sky was rich blue and painfully sunny one minute, then suddenly the deepest shades of purple and grey, with a tropical shower threatening to erupt the next.  Cows with shimmery skin like silk roamed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun and as my driver took me to the first Zanzibar Collection property built by the famed family I had come to learn about, he pointed out the henna and tamarind trees we passed. He said how much he loved tamarind and his favorite local dishes, like cassava with coconut milk, coconut rice, garlic and onion, and fish caught fresh at dawn each day. 

We wound our way along bumpy roads, dodging more cows and motorbikes and weaving around the local taxi service – small pickup trucks covered with tarp and packed impossibly tightly with people in the back, with one young man, just a boy, hanging off the back to direct the truck through traffic. His right foot and right arm gripped the bumper and top of tarp, with his other foot and arm floating in the dusty air making an elegant arc with his body. I smiled as we flew by him and he smiled back.









Founder & Editor-In-Chief of Kivo Daily Magazine