I Succumb To The Spice Tour

Zanzibar was one of the major spice islands back in the day. A lot of spices arrived here from India, South America and Indonesia, and many of them are still used in local foods, especially in pilau and curries, which explains why Zanzibari food is so much more flavorful than up-country cuisine.

Scores of tour operators on the island offer tours of spice plantations for the low, low price of $10. Tours are generally very similar, and usually include not only the plantation, but a pilau lunch, a poke around an old slave cave, a tour of crumbling sultan baths, and a dip in the ocean.

There was a French couple and a German family – an MSF volunteer working in Chad and his visiting parents – in my tour group, who all, by nature of being European, made me envious of their multilingual skills. How often do you meet someone from Europe who only speaks one language, except Brits? It always makes me want to dedicate the rest of my life to learning as many languages as possible, starting with a few months in Provence…or Tuscany…or Nepal.

Anyway, today’s tour was probably the only tour I’ve taken in Africa where our guide actually guided without constant prompting. Not only did Abdul know what he was talking about, he actually pointed things out to us as we went along.

We went to a spice plantation owned by the Tanzanian government that’s now used mainly for research rather than income generation. Abdul walked us around to different plants and explained what parts are used for spices and how they’re harvested.

Here’s some interesting information if you’ve ever wondered what’s in your Indian food (and for future reference for those of you who will receive Zanzibari spices as gifts when I get home):

pilau masala = cinnamon, cumin and whole cardamoms.
tandoori masala = cumin, cinnamon and annatto (gives it the red color)

Other fascinating spice facts, according to Abdul:

Nutmeg is taken from the seed of the fruit of the, uh, nutmeg tree. To get nutmeg spice, remove the seed and dry it (if the seed rattles when shaken, it’s dry), then remove the mace (a waxy outer covering that looks like wilted flower petals), crack it open and grind the stuff inside. This is the only part that’s used; the fruit itself isn’t used for anything.

Nutmeg has a lot of cultural significance among the Swahili people. In large quantities, it can be quite intoxicating, so women drink nutmeg tea during special ceremonies, which “puts a welcoming look in their eyes,” as Abdul describes it. “All women on the coast of Tanzania and Kenya know how to use nutmeg.”

Cloves are considered THE Zanzibari spice, even though it’s not a native plant. It was brought to the island by traders and flourished in the warm, rainy climate. Cloves are not quite the big export they used to be on Zanzibar, but locals are still very proud of “their” cash crop.

Turmeric is used only for its deep yellow coloring, not for its flavor, which is bland. You harvest the root of the plant and grind them up. Turmeric is used mainly in curries and stews, and sometimes as a substitute for saffron to color rice.

Annatto is the red coloring used in tandoori masala. It is made by crushing the seeds of the annatto fruit, which looks like a larger, flatter version of rambutan, with its long, fuzzy red hairs. Like turmeric it doesn’t have a flavor. Annatto is also used by women as makeup.

Durian is ready to be harvested when it falls off the tree. Since durian is rather sizeable and spiky, people have to wear helmets and stand under the tree ten hours a day retrieving fallen fruit like tennis ball boys.

Durian (or, according to my eavesdropping on the Germans, “schtinke frute”) are forbidden on boats, buses and trains in Tanzania (and in most other countries where they’re grown.) Illegal smuggling of durian has never really taken off; somehow the contraband is always discovered.

Jackfruit is the biggest fruit in the world. Fortunately it doesn’t fall when it’s ripe; you have to pick it off the tree. Therefore, no helmets required.

On the same spice plantation there were some dilapidated bath houses used by various sultans of Zanzibar, but mainly by the first and most powerful sultan from Oman. Despite the cobwebs and mildew of today, you could imagine that it was quite the luxurious spa treatment centuries ago. There were massage tables, a sauna room, and the bathtub itself (now home to leaves and algae.)

The slave trade was also big business for centuries on Zanzibar, where slaves fetched the highest prices in East Africa. Men from the Congo were especially valued for their strength, and women from Ethiopia for their beauty. Today women from some tribes in Tanzania still practice facial mutilation – piercing their upper lip and threading a bone through – which arose out of the slave trade, when women would do this to make themselves “ugly” and therefore be useless as slaves. Slave masters were not only Europeans and Arabs, but also Indians and Africans – basically anyone with a lot of money.

We saw a cave that was used as a holding cell during the sultanate, where slaves were kept until they were ready to be sold. Today the cave has a steep stairway that allows tourists to descend the 50 meters or so to the bottom, but the slaves were lowered down using ropes. There’s a natural spring inside, and an underground tunnel leading to the ocean through which slaves were smuggled to awaiting boats. Only a third of slaves survived the journey across the ocean.

Kids are everywhere in Africa, and the spice plantation was no exception. What was different, however, was that some of these kids spoke German, which quickly endeared them to the German family, and was much cuter than any English- or Swahili-speaking kids I’ve ever come across in East Africa, for the mere fact that I couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

Unfortunately some types of communication are universal, and since Brady’s gone and I’m no longer accompanied by a man, I’m apparently required to be treated as a prostitute in this Muslim culture. When I got back to Stonetown this afternoon, 14-year-old boys decided that the proper way to address me was to follow me around making kissy sounds and pretending to swoon at the daring impossibility of a respectable woman walking around alone. I pictured each of them purple, cross-eyed and strangled in my bare hands, and that had to suffice. This may be vacation, but not every day ends as a carefree paradise.