Looking Forward To My Zanzibar...

Every bird flies with its own wings - Kishwahili proverb

I cannot recall the first time I heard of Zanzibar, but I was a child. Maybe my father mentioned it, or maybe I stumbled upon it in a book or on TV. All I know is that from the very first moment, the name Zanzibar stirred something deep inside me—a longing for a place I had never been, a pull toward the unknown. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was a strange, aching desire, a bittersweet sadness mixed with a yearning to go far, far away.

For years, I dreamed of Zanzibar. In my young mind, it was a world apart—untouched, peaceful, moving at a slow and gentle rhythm. I pictured a quiet fishing village by the sea, fishermen in wooden boats drifting on the waves, life unfolding at its own unhurried pace. Even now, as I write this, I can still see it, still feel the calmness and stillness of that imagined Zanzibar.

As a child, I watched travelers in airports—mostly white, mostly foreign—and I believed that exploring the world was something meant for them. It seemed like a privilege I wasn’t sure I had. Africans, I thought, were grounded, tied to their respective countries, while others roamed freely. But this post is not about the fairness of the world.

This post is about longing.

Longing for a place. Longing for a way of life. Longing for a feeling that, for some reason, we believe exists somewhere else, somewhere just out of reach. Zanzibar, for me, became that place. A symbol of something simple yet extraordinary. A promise of slowness, of peace, of belonging.

I have not been to Zanzibar yet. But I carry it with me. And maybe that’s the beauty of longing—it makes the dream more vivid, the desire more precious. One day, I will stand on its shores, feel its breeze on my skin, and know that my Zanzibar was always waiting for me.

Until then, I look forward to it.

With all my heart,

Salima