Escape from Zanzibar

The spice island is host to a bitter contest for power

By BBC reporter Sulaiman Salim in Dar es Salaam

It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was making a routine call to BBC East Africa Editor Joseph Warungu, who has been covering the Tanzania elections from our office in Dar es Salaam.

"I knew what 'to apologise' meant to the Zanzibar police"

I had been posted in Pemba, the main opposition stronghold, and I just wanted to tell him that I had pulled out of the island and was ready for new assignments.

"Pole Bwana (sorry Mr)," said Joseph in a worried tone.

"Have you come out of police custody? What happened?"

After a few more words I learnt for the first time that my colleague Ali Saleh, the BBC Swahili correspondent in Zanzibar, had been arrested and the police were looking for me.

In hiding

I said to myself that they would have to catch me first - after all I am not ignorant of the nooks and crannies of the old Stone Town - nor of the hospitality of Zanzibaris.

A knock at any of the enormous antique carved doors would lead to an invitation for a cup of strong Arabic coffee and while sipping it I could plan my escape route.

I did exactly that.

At one of the houses I was ushered into an enormous room with a handsomely curved wooden ceiling, Persian rugs which had seen better days and creaking teak benches.

As luck would have it, the lady of the house turned out to be an old family friend.

"They are looking for you," she said, not showing any anxiety.

"They want you to apologise for your BBC maneno (words) about ballot boxes being removed from a polling station in Pemba".

I knew what "to apologise" meant to the Zanzibar police.

I passed the time in the magnificent room, waiting for the sun to sink into the Indian Ocean when I could move under the cover of darkness.

I made a call - thank goodness for mobile phones - to my colleague Roger Dean to tell him that I was still safe.

Nightfall

A few minutes latter he called back to ask me to come to a certain hotel in the Stone Town where I would feel safer with fellow journalists. I accepted the offer.

The police might come up with similar preposterous charges against me

A taxi to the hotel would not be safe - many drivers are known to be police informers.

Now they would be extra busy as election tension reached fever pitch.

I decided to walk, avoiding the main roads where groups of khaki uniformed policemen with rungus (clubs) were on patrol.

Walking through the maze of the Stone Town, the aroma of spices of supper being warmed up wafted down to street level. I realised I had not eaten since the morning.

After a warm welcome by colleagues at the "Journalists Hotel", it began to dawn upon me that I might not be able to get off the Island.

The police have been brutal with opposition demonstrators

The routes out to Dar es Salaam are few and it was late to organise a boat lift with weary smugglers who ply their trade between the island and the mainland.

My anxiety increased when we learned that Ali Saleh was being charged with kidnapping and assault - nothing to do with his journalistic work.

The police might come up with similar charges against me.

I asked Roger to make sure I had a good supply of pills for my diabetes should I end up in a police cell.

Moving again

Despite the insistence of my friends I thought it wise to move out of the hotel.

Roger Dean ended up escorting me to another hiding place where I had left my luggage.

We ran through the narrow stone streets in the dark, thanks to the notorious inefficiency of the Zanzibar Electricity Company, and safely reached our new hide out.

Throughout the hot night all my thoughts were on the door, lest it be knocked or pushed down by unfriendly visitors.

Morning flight

I reckoned the best option of escape would be by a sailing dhow or a fisherman's Ngalawa (catamaran).

But I don't know what came over me in the morning.

I just picked my bags, called a taxi and headed straight to the port, boarding one of the regular speedboats plying between Zanzibar and the mainland.

As soon as we left Roger called on the mobile phone. I just said: "I am floating."

Two hours later, I was safe on the mainland.

Long ago a Zanzibari Sultan escaping a political feud with his brother had landed at the very same port and named it Dar es Salaam. The name is Arabic for Haven of Peace.