The stink of fish on earthen streets A hot wind blows from ochre hills Black faces shine with brilliant teeth Street market ***** doth cure all ills. Redness in her plaited hair Rhythm in her steady tread A harmony of balance, she carries Water jars on her head. A market girl is singing As she sits among bananas The drama in her music Is as dusty as the street, It fills the air with magic As it lilts above street chatter In the atmosphere of Africa Where new and ancient meet.
The goat boy herds his docile flock Through camel trains and bales The steamer tethered at the dock Announces that she sails With billowed steam and mournful wail It echoes through the town And the planter and his agent Bargain with a harried frown. The bleating of the goat herd And the stench of fish and dung Is as ordinary as Africa In the searing mid day sun.
Zanzibar is spices, Zanzibar is Stone. Club Zanzibar is whiskey on the rocks Consumed alone Or shared upon the balcony In the shadow of a palm With the turquoise Indian ocean Reaching out beyond the arm. Do you see the dhows are sailing? Do you see the fishing nets? Do you hear the oarsmen chanting? Did you see black muscle flex? Have you watched the dripping sweat Cascade on alabaster brow? Have you inhaled the scent of Africa And allowed it to allow?
Colobus monkeys in the treetops Narrow lanes in the bazaar Dull white walls adorn stone buildings And the rupee is by far The favorite tenure of the Island Since the days when slaves were sold By Arab camel caravaners Who traded coin for young black gold. East and west collide in concert Africa and Asia blend The Sultan's mix of race and spice In Zanzibar, beyond lands end.