The aloof island

On the tiny island of Tumbatu, located off the north-east coast of Zanzibar, solitude is a familiar experience. The morning waters are eerily calm. The translucent Indian Ocean is so still that it looks just like the sky, only distinguishable by the handful of dhows and fishing canoes along the horizon. Below us is a stunning coral reef and we can see hundreds of tiny multicoloured fish enjoying the solitude of their swim.

Once the reigning capital of Zanzibar, ‘The Kingdom of the Sultan’, Tumbatu has gained a reputation for an aloof and unfriendly population that turned its nose to the booming tourism industry sweeping Zanzibar. Tumbatu's muddled history is part of its mystique. Its inhabitants, the Watumbatu, claim to be descended from Shirazi kings who left Persia in the 10th century, although history books differ on the origin of its settlers. The Sultan is said to have ruled all Zanzibar from his Tumbatu kingdom until rebel groups terminated the monarchy in the mid-13th century. The Watumbatu have since had understandably tense relations with the people of Unguja and most other visitors. Shaped like a long, slender dagger, even the physical nature of the island seems to hint at its uninviting character. A few enormous baobab trees tower over the island, keeping an ominous vigil over potential intruders. The island is powered entirely by solar panels, keeping it proudly independent.

Our boatman drops us a few hundred metres from the village beach, which only makes our entry that much more jarring as we trek into Jongowe. The village looks similar to most rural towns in Zanzibar, except the dirt roads are covered with solidified coral and white sea shells. There isn't one car on the entire island or a bicycle in sight. The 'main' road is a dirt path cleared of debris and lined with pieces of coral splattered in white paint.

The handful of young men chatting beneath a massive baobab tree freeze at the sight of us; all eyes are on the three extremely lost-looking wazungu (the Swahili word for white foreigners). It’s not long until the young men escort us through the village to visit the sheha, or village leader. Nearly all the island's residents are fishermen although few eat their catches; most sell them in the nearby fish market in Mkokotoni village for cassava and rice, which rarely grow in their island's infertile soil. Children with buckets hunt small fish in the coral-lined beaches, where mangroves are budding in the sand. The waves cascading on the beach are quiet compared to the noisy snaps and pops of thousands of sea crabs in shallow ponds - they sound like a giant bowl of crackling rice cereal.

In the distance, a dozen young girls in beautifully coloured kangas are giggling and pointing and shying away from eye contact with the visitors. We enter the sheha's house, remove our shoes and sit on a straw mat placed over the concrete floor, where we're scolded for not bringing written permission to visit the island. My Swahili is passable on the main island, but after five minutes trying to keep up with the speedy dialect of the Watumbatu, I'm lost. Thankfully my fellow travellers have worked in rural Tanzania for over two years and they're able to understand the sheha. He asks us to sign a guestbook that is falling apart at the seams. Seven guests have visited and signed in the past two months.

In Jongowe we visit an impressive building the sheha claims to be the oldest operational mosque in East Africa, outdating the famous one in Kizimkazi by 30 years. There's no way of proving it, but I can’t imagine the Watumbatu have gone out of their way to update guide books.

After a short boat ride to a beach on the other side of the island, we walk in the history of a Zanzibari capital, long since deserted. We visit the ruins of a Persian mosque and the remains of the Sultan's palace. My companion is a history buff but he's unimpressed with our tour guides. None of them speak a lick of English and they don't seem to know any of the history of these ruins. One claims the mosque is 2000 years old when it's actually closer to 1000. The mosque and palace, both built with coral and dried seashells, have just barely stood the test of time, but the intricate carvings and detail are astonishing- particularly inside the mosque.

On our anticlimactic boat ride home, it dawns on me that the poor service might not be an accident. For an island that prides itself on independence from the main island Unguja and its associated tourism, there is no need to cater to the desires of curious travellers. What's the worst that could happen with a bad review? Only fewer tourists.

Tumbatu is a scenic island teeming with history. For patient, respectful travelers with a firm grasp of Swahili (or a translator) a trip will help orient you in Zanzibar's past while sidestepping the nuisance of its touristy present. But make no mistake, Tumbatu is a wholly different experience than anywhere else in Zanzibar.