MBWENI RUINS HOTEL - ZANZIBAR 

Please take a look at the following articles which mention Mbweni:
 

"A Dream in Zanzibar" by Flo Montgomery

"The Trail of Tears" by Flo Montgomery

"Up the Mountain, down the Isle" by Flo Montgomery

Also, please see for yourself what visitors to the hotel have said about us:

GUEST COMMENTS

A DREAM IN ZANZIBAR 

by Flo Montgomery (printed in Tantravel)

The afternoon was hot and humid and flies buzzed inches from my nose as we drove along a rough track that petered out at a tumbledown stone gateway. A wooden pole barred the way, half lying across the entrance. Tall trees draped with creepers created a thick canopy and in the darkness below them a shadowy silence lay thick and dense. Leaving our car, we ducked under the barrier and edged along the overgrown driveway, only the occasional glimpse of sky and blue sea in the distance
lighting the way.

Suddenly massive crumbling walls towered over us and I craned my neck to gaze up at moorish arches filled with leafy vines and fig leaves. Maybe it’s Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, I joked under my breath to cheer myself up as a sturdy thorn pierced my shoe. Ahead of me others, including John Da Silva, a friend and artist from Zanzibar, bashed his way through the undergrowth. John had brought us to a place called Mbweni - pronounced imbwaynee - which apparently means “the place of shingles” in  Kiswahili. He told us that over the last 70 years, no-one has lived here and the buildings have gradually turned into ruins, generally thought to be of a Sultan’s palace.

Falling behind, I turned in a different direction and soon their voices faded until I was alone. There was a steady hum of crickets buzzing in my ears. A dim doorway beckoned and I stepped into cool darkness. A bell was ringing insistently overhead and the air rippled past my face. Suddenly I could hear young girls singing in harmony. They were kneeling around me on woven palm mats and the music rose past tall columns topped by arches. Nuns and teachers knelt on either side in dark wooden stalls and black and white marble steps led up to an altar at the end of the room. A blaze of light flooded  white marble inlaid with greenish mother of pearl. Gold candlesticks and banks of flowers stood on the altar, fronted by a white cross. Overhead the ceiling was flat, of white plaster interspersed by dark poles and every so often a huge buttress spanned the room.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw two girls whispering and giggling. They froze as a dark shape loomed over them. An elderly woman in a black dress with a flash of white collar came close. As she leaned down I saw her lined face and kindly smile. The girls, subdued, adjusted their red headscarves and white embroidered caps and straightened their neat red dresses.

“We know of course that these buildings were not a Palace, they were a Christian Seminary”, John’s voice intoned. 

Startled, I moved out into the sunlight and walked through a long narrow building with arched cloister-like verandas facing the sea, which lay below us in a blaze of shining turquoise. On the shady side was a garden with two enormous cycad trees. Their thick trunks were over a metre in diameter and branched at about the height of a man. Shiny narrow dark green leaflets feathered and cascaded every which way, shading two cows who had wandered into the garden and were cropping the rough grass.

We made our way down to the beach below the ruins and just before we reached the shining white sands we found ourselves wading through a deep layer of clam shells. Could these be the shingles after which Mbweni was named? The tide was out, leaving  flats interspersed with pretty green mangrove trees. I watched people walking, some of them quite far out near the coral reef which surrounds all of the islands of Zanzibar. They were bending down and digging in the sand - when I went to look closer, I could see that they had found “chaza”, a kind of baby clam. Back on the beach, two old ladies sat in the shelter of the coral cliff, boiling a pan full of the shellfish. When they were ready, they picked them open and ate them with gusto, flinging the shells over their shoulders afterwards.

Looking up from the beach I saw the grey walls of the ruins rising from a cliff above the sweeping bay. To the north the bay came to a rocky point and in the distance was the Stone Town, surrounded by anchoring ships. The atmosphere of the place was serene and friendly.

Returning to our car we drove down the road to a mellow coral stone church with bell tower and steeply sloping red roof. In the cemetery was a forest of crosses. The sextant proudly showed us the grave of Caroline Thackeray, a cousin of the British novelist. John told us that the Anglican “Universities’ Mission to Central Africa” - usually known as the UMCA - had bought a large piece of land at Mbweni in 1871, and built a mission for freed slaves there. There was a village where families lived and the orphaned children boarded at boys’ and girls’ shools. The ruins we had visited were of the latter, and had been called St Mary’s. Caroline Thackeray had been headmistress for about 25 years. As we left, I looked over my shoulder at the crennellations overgrown by fig trees and felt a pang of pity for the neglected place.

Two years later we found ourselves buying the piece of land just to the south of the ruins. We made plans to build a small hotel and as we worked, excavating the foundations and watching the walls take shape, I glanced from time to time at the lonely pile next door, draped with clambering vines and vegetation. One day our neighbour asked if we were interested in buying the property as he didn’t have the time to develop it and the ruins were disintegrating daily. At first we were reluctant to take it on but eventually we went ahead and added it to the land we already had.

       In 1992 I began to plant palms near the lovely old cycads. Now the total species of trees and shrubs in the gardens numbers over 800, including over 150 types of palm - more than in any other botanic garden in Tanzania. As it is forbidden to bring plants into Zanzibar, I had to send for seeds from all over the world and raise them painfully slowly. Palms can take from 3 to 12 months to germinate and after that it’s years before they reach a substantial size. However, all the seedlings and cuttings we planted at Mbweni seem to thrive in the good soil and pleasant atmosphere so that after only five years we have plenty of good jungly patches. Botanic name plates were added and have proved to be of especial interest to visitors. Zanzibar has many exotic fruit and spice trees, which were imported by the Sultans and by Sir John Kirk, British Consul General and adviser to Sultan Barghash. Kirk had a house down the road from the church and when he left Zanzibar in 1887 Caroline Thackerary bought it from him and retired and eventually died there, after 50 years’ service at Mbweni. The exotics which Kirk brought into Zanzibar from Kew Gardens in England and from the far east and South America, are nearly all represented in the Mbweni Gardens.

       I planted two royal palms in the courtyard of the ruins and these have done best of all - possibly there may be an underground water tank that we have not yet found! At first, as I wandered around, inspecting every wall and arch, I felt frustrated because I knew so little about the history of the Mbweni Mission.

       One day I went to the Zanzibar Museum and found quite a lot of references to it as well as two very small Brownie Box Camera black and white photographs of the facade of St Mary’s. I was directed to the Archives, which are in excellent shape under a charming, academic scholarly gentleman called Hamad Omar. I was allowed to spend as much time as I liked studying the history of the UMCA and saw handwritten logbooks from St Mary’s, letters from Stanley, Livingstone, Kirk and many others. In the Archives were the three volumes of the UMCA History. This book, started in Victorian times and continuing on until 1957, revealed the fundamental secrets of our ruins and at last I found out what daily life had been like there when it was a school for freed slave girls.

In the Archives there were some wonderful photographs of missionary gatherings - of ladies in tightly corsetted white silk dresses and black-suited, waistcoated gentlemen with stern expressions - and of mission buildings and groups of emaciated slave children freed from dhows. I found out that the land at Mbweni was bought in 1871 and St Mary’s opened in 1873 as a school for girls. The chapel was added a little later and the long “Industrial Wing” beside the cycads was finished in 1887 and used to teach the less academic girls skills so that they could support themselves. In 1911 the Anglican Sisters of the Sacred Passion moved in and in 1920 the property was sold by the church, partly out of despair because despite the best efforts of the missionaries, Mbweni was apparently a centre of witchcraft second to none - and partly because after the abolition of slavery in 1896 there were fewer children coming in to the school.

When we bought the property in 1991 we puzzled over the various buildings, trying to work out what had happened there. When we dug the foundations for the hotel rooms, a little south of the ruins, we found we were cutting into layers of coral buildings going deep down into the soil. About one metre below the surface was a six inch layer of black ash, which seems to be quite extensive. We supposed that there must have been a major fire in the area. The coral rag and pottery we were digging up had to precede the Christian mission, it was far too deep. There is no doubt in my mind that Mbweni has been a settlement of some kind for a very long time.

In December 1994 we opened Mbweni Ruins hotel, which has only thirteen luxurious suites, a swimming pool above the sandy beach and a restaurant and bar opposite the rooms, on the top of the cliff overlooking the Indian Ocean. Many of the staff were part of the labour force which built the hotel. It has been fun working with them over the years and today almost every visitor comments on the friendliness of staff at Mbweni.

When we are asked why we don’t add more rooms, we are surprised. It’s so much fun having only a few people to look after in the airy and spacey environment of the hotel, why would we want to crowd it? We are not cheap, though we feel we’re giving fantastic value for money. There are plenty of hotels - in Zanzibar and elsewhere - that have large numbers of rooms, lower rates and a less special service. We are different. We will develop further, restoring the ruins and adding just six more luxurious hotel suites in the Industrial Wing. The main buildings will be part of the hotel, restored as they were, and used for the main entrance and reception. The rest of the rooms will be used for a library, museum, coffee shop, conference centre, aromatherapy centre and other services.

It hasn’t always been easy, getting the paperwork right, overseeing the building, training staff and learning what makes people happy in a hotel. But today we are pleased and proud to have a reputation for hospitality and friendliness, a haven for visitors to Zanzibar, beside the dreaming ruins of an almost forgotten era. Our management are a happy partnership of Europe with Zanzibar, as in the past times of these beautiful old mission buildings.

THE TRAIL OF TEARS

by Flo Montgomery (printed in Tantravel)

Zanzibar was the main entrepot, on the east coast of Africa, for the slave trade which operated out of central Africa from time immemorial until the 5th April 1897, when Sultan Hamoud bin Muhammad partially abolished slavery in his domain. Even after 100 years, the visitor can still see enough of slavery’s traces to be able to reconstruct those traumatic times.

 A few years ago I decided to visit as many of the sites connected with slavery as possible, beginning at Mbweni Ruins Hotel, which lies in the grounds of the Universities’ Mission to Central Africa’s “freed slave village” at Mbweni, five miles south of the town of Zanzibar. This was a positive place to start. From 1864 onwards, the Anglican missionaries did their best to care for slaves who had been freed from dhows by British naval ships, who were often worse off than the captive slaves, having no food, shelter or clothing. So a village, two schools and a church were built at Mbweni. The ruins of the school for girls can still be visited in the grounds of Mbweni Ruins Hotel.  

The crumbling golden walls of the lovely old school chapel were warm with early morning sunlight when my guide, Idi Mohammed, a forestry oficer who now works with Equator tours, arrived to take my father and myself off in search of  former slave caves and chambers. Our first stop was at Mkunazini, in the Stone Town of Zanzibar, where the UMCA cathedral has been built on the site of the whipping post of  the slave market which was abolished in 1873 by Sultan Barghash. A young guide showed us around. He told us that the Anglican Bishop Steere obtained the land and began to build immediately. Seven years later, in 1880, the Christ Church cathedral was completed. Bishop Steere, who died in 1882, is buried behind the altar, whose mosaics were donated by Caroline Thackeray, a missionary lady who lived at Mbweni for nearly 50 years, from 1877 until her death in 1826.

On the left hand side, near the altar, we admired a cross made of wood from the tree under which David Livingstone’s heart was buried, after his death at Chitambo in 1873. The atmosphere in the cathedral is serene, and I felt the presence of an unseen congregation, many of whom may have walked across Africa in fear and pain, to reach the coast and Zanzibar before reprieved and coming to this peaceful place. 

My father and I walked out of the church into the strong sunlight, passing a tall date palm which must have been planted more than 50 years ago. We cricked our necks, admiring the tall slim steeple and strange barrel vault roof, which was the personal invention of Bishop Steere. On the tower was a clock, keeping Swahili time: this was donated by Sultan Barghash, in return for the honouring of his request that the top of the spire be kept below the height of the House of Wonders. 

Surrounding the church are many buildings of the UMCA, including the Bishops’ house, the orphanage and a school. To the left of  the Cathedral is the former UMCA hospital and St Monica’s guest house. Inside the hospital building is a flight of steps leading downwards to what appear to be slave chambers. They are open to public viewing; our guide went into graphic and patently innacurate details of the horrors which occurred in the past. There are two rooms, one supposedly for men and the other for women. There are small barred windows and concrete shelves. 

We now drove westwards from the UMCA compound until we reached Kilele square, bordered by the Serena Inn and the Mambo Msiige building. This was the first Mission house of the UMCA, who sold it to the British Government for their Consulate in 1874, and moved to Mkunazini, as mentioned above. Kilele square is supposed to have been the site of the slave auction, before it was moved to Mkunazini. This seems likely, as it is at the outermost point of Shangani peninsula, right by the ocean, where slave dhows could have disembarked their cargoes. Today there is nothing to see except a peaceful square with a pretty garden. 

We proceeded to the Tumekuja school nearby. This is not open to the public, as visitors would obviously disturb the scholars. However, Idi was able to get permission for us to go in and take a look. There are two buildings, comprising the French Mission, begun in Zanzibar in 1862. The one on the left was the former St Joseph’s convent and the one on the right was the French hospital, built in 1892.  

We were led down some steps below the hospital, into a double chamber with rounded ceilings where tradition says that slaves were imprisoned. They were very beautiful, the light coming through the tiny barred windows causing the lime walls to glow. But there was nothing on the bare floors and no mark or sign to tell the history of this hidden place. Below the older convent building, was another, square cellar.  

From the Stone Town we now drove for 20 km, which took about 35 minutes, on the road which leads north along the west coast to Nungwi. We passed Maruhubi, Mtoni, Bububu, Kibweni and Chuini palaces. All except the first two of these were “summer palaces”, built by the various Sultans to provide an escape from the town in the dangerous hot months, when epidemics of cholera, plague and smallpox were commonplace. At Bungwini we took a left fork and wound our way slowly along a bumpy road to the ocean. Another left fork brought us to the Mangapwani cave - though there is no tradition that this was used to house slaves, it is well worth a visit.

A slave boy working on the plantation of a wealthy Arab, Hamed Salim el Harthy, discovered this cave while looking for a lost goat. There is a spring in the bottom of the cavern, about 500 feet below ground. The water is clear, sweet and cool and the  nearby village still uses it today. Now there is a flight of steps and a rough pathway down to the pool. My father stayed at the foot of the steps and I climbed right down to the water and took a photograph of him looking very small, diminished by the distance between us.

 Emerging into the now blazing afternoon heat, we drove northwards for a few minutes, through thick and prickly scrub until we came to the Mangapwani slave chambers. This was the climax of our trip. This time, descending into two damp rectangular chambers, each below its own hipped coral roof, there was no doubt in my mind of the original purpose of these subterranean rooms. The hairs rose on the back of my neck when we descended the wide central steps, moving into a heavy atmosphere which was not caused by the gloom and decay alone. Ferns sprouted from the walls and light streamed downwards - which certainly was not the case in the days when the chambers were in use. They were covered by a locked wooden panel and the whole structure was hidden from view. The three small slits in each gable end provided the only light and air. 

According to the guide books, the Mangapwani slave chambers were built by Mohammed bin Nassur al Alawi and were probably used after 1873, when in spite of the the Sultan’s Decree that the export of slaves from the mainland should cease, the trade continued. We took a narrow and precarious trail down to the beach below, where the captives must have landed after their hazardous sail from Bagamoyo, or Kilwa and Mikindani, further south. Some remained on the island, sold to clove plantation owners or used as domestic servants. The rest re-embarked for Arabia and Persia.  

The sandy white beach was pristine, the sea a stunning array of turquoise shades. The contrast to the horrible prison was striking; we were silent and Idi’s face was sombre and still. Then he smiled slowly and called my attention to something on the cliff above our heads. “Look”, he said. “Orchids - Angraecum eburneum”. I couldn’t believe it; clinging in a narrow layer of humus on the rocky face were spray after spray of flowering plants. Their waxy white petals and bright green lanceolate leaves sprouted in a glorious profusion. They reminded me of tears, the tears of the slaves who may also have raised their faces and smiled at this small miracle, a hundred years and more ago as they stumbled to or from the grim dhows. The salty scent of the ocean, borne on a light breeze, made me want to take a deep breath of air - I have rarely appreciated my freedom to do so as much as I did at that moment.

Idi and the orchids, at Mangapwani

UP THE MOUNTAIN, DOWN THE ISLE

By Flo Montgomery (printed in Tantravel November 2004)

Little did my fifteen year old daughter Michelle think, when she was asked to be a bridesmaid in July this year that she would have to follow a long long trail up and down the biggest mountain in Africa to reach the wedding venue.
Especially as the wedding was to be in Zanzibar, at sunset, overlooking the Indian Ocean. 

When my husband Alan’s son Magnus proposed to his longtime partner Jane last year, our congratulations froze on our lips when we heard what they planned for the hapless wedding guests. Jane adores sunshine, beaches and the sea and Magnus scuba-diving, so we fully expected that they would want a honeymoon in the tropics. What we did not anticipate was that they had decided to take their guests there as well – and that Magnus had a further surprise in store. In order to prove his virility he was planning a pre-wedding expedition to the summit of Kilimanjaro. (Perhaps one should be grateful at least that the wedding was not at Uhuru Peak, we thought ruefully.) 

Alan’s daughter Justine immediately agreed to join her brother on the expedition. Michelle sidled behind us and mentioned that she too liked the beach and could accompany Jane. After all, Jane would need her in Zanzibar wouldn’t she?
“Oh no, not until the day before the wedding, you go with them and enjoy yourself Michelle!” said the happy bride. Poor Michelle was in for it. To our surprise Magnus’s plan took off. His best man Mat agreed to climb the mountain too, as did his uncle Roger and two hardy friends, Robert and Chris. The total party would be seven strong – five men and two girls. I was quite worried about Michelle. She is a good walker having joined in many charity walks at home in the UK. But she has never climbed a serious hill, let alone 19,000 feet of crags and rocks.
“Maybe she’s too young” I said.
But Michelle herself was getting used to the idea of going and could not now be dissuaded. Justine is an excellent walker and was probably the fittest of all and she would certainly keep an eye on her little sister.

 In the end of June this year, we saw them all off at Heathrow: Jane and her family, and Magnus and his six companions, dubbed “the Magnusificent Seven” by the cheerful bridegroom. Not without some trepidation I gave Michelle a last hug and waved goodbye. I had provided her with some altitude sickness tablets, as I was quite worried on account of her youth – children under fourteen years are not allowed to climb Kilimanjaro at all, as younger people tend to be more affected by lack of Oxygen than adults. Roger, the oldest member of the expedition and Justine had decided to take them also, but the four hardy young men wanted to manage without. Possibly there were some regrets about this later.

 In Dar es Salaam, the parties split – Jane and company were met by Nicola, the genial owner of Coastal Travels, and escorted to Terminal One to take a Coastal Aviation flight to Zanzibar. Magnus and his group boarded a Precision Air plane to Arusha. There they were met by Shah Tours, who were arranging the expedition. From Kilimanjaro Airport they were whisked away to the Mountain Inn near Moshi. But the weather was so overcast that they were as yet unable to get even a glimpse of the challenge ahead.
 That Sunday evening they attended a familiarization lecture about the trek. Their guide Charles sounded reassuringly experienced. It was only later that they learnt that he holds the record for climbing all the way to the top of Kilimanjaro and down again in a single day. Magnus had sensibly decided that his group would take six days to do it: the usual five plus one extra day allowed for acclimatization halfway up. This usually gives the best chance of getting all the way to the top.

 That night as they prepared for the trip, they carried out a thorough check of their equipment. Justine had advised us on the gear Michelle would need and it seemed like a mountain in itself – sleeping bag, water bottle, special snow glasses, boots, many pairs of socks, good waterproof anorak and trousers, backpack, sleeping mat – the list seemed endless. Luckily, on this climb the heaviest part of their belongings would be carried up the amazing porters, leaving them each with a small daypack only.
 Next morning after breakfast they were driven by minibus to the base of the mountain, which has a diameter of about forty miles. This is encircled by some of the best land in the country, rich and fertile. They passed through coffee and banana plantations cultivated by the local Chagga people. When they reached the starting point they began to climb frustratingly slowly up through the rainforest to the first hut, Mandara. Their guides constantly reiterated “Pole pole!” - meaning that they should take it slowly. Apparently climbers who move too fast are more rapidly affected by altitude sickness.

 Meanwhile the bride’s party was settling into a very different environment. When they arrived in Zanzibar they were welcomed at the Airport and quickly transported to Mbweni Ruins Hotel, which is about five minutes’ drive south of the Stone Town, on the beach. There they were welcomed by Vivienne Bekker, the friendly South African manager and shown to their rooms. Everyone was tired from the long flight out of the UK.  But the walk through the tropical gardens to airy rooms overlooking the Indian Ocean worked some restorative magic. Soon they had changed and were relaxing by the turquoise blue swimming pool, getting their first taste of Kilimanjaro – not the mountain but the excellent local beer. Before long “Kili time” had become part of the order of the day.

 The Mbweni Ruins are part of a complex built by Victorian Missionaries under the aegis of David Livingstone, to house and school freed slaves. In the 19^th Century British ships were blockading slave dhows coming from the mainland, and when one was captured the slaves were released into the care of Anglican missionaries. Every family had a plot of land and assistance to build a house on it. The children were educated at three different schools – one for boys at Kiungani, nearer to Stone Town; the girls at St Mary’s School for girls at Mbweni and the very smallest children at Kilimani near by.

 Quite a lot of the ruins of St Mary’s remain including a beautiful chapel. The owners have researched the history and there are photographs of the buildings as they originally were. Sometimes romantic dinners are organized in the roofless chapel, under the stars. The gardens were planted over the last ten years, around the two ancient cycads which were almost the only trees in the grounds when the hotel was started. Most exotic trees in Zanzibar are now represented here, plus a collection of some hundreds of species of palms from all over the world, which were grown from seed. Rattans from Indonesia happily embrace cinnamon and clove trees from Zanzibar and one might see the occasional acacia from mainland Tanzania sending prickly branches above the canopy.
A special and restful atmosphere pervades the grounds, remarked on by many visitors.

 Jane had time to relax for a few days and took her family on trips and tours around the Island and to nearby Chumbe Island, which can be accessed by boat from the beach at Mbweni. Some of the party went to Jozani forest, where red colobus monkeys seem uninhibited by visitors and leap and bound from tree to tree and sometimes over the feet of startled tourists.

 Back at Mandara Hut Michelle was fascinated to see monkeys, but these were the black and white colobus, which are quite a different shape to their red-backed cousins in Zanzibar and have very thick, bushy tails. She also noticed blue, or Sykes, monkeys. By now the intrepid seven were relaxing outside the wooden National Parks huts, repairing kit, mending blisters and resting tired feet. The altitude here was still only 2750 metres and the air was soft and damp.

 Alan and I were still in England and I had been trying to contact Michelle on her mobile all day. In the evening, she switched on and I was able to get through and have a chat. She was tired but happy and said everyone was fine. She didn’t think much of the food, which was inevitably a bit samish since it all had to be carried up by the porters.

 It was very different in Zanzibar where the wedding party were enjoying a sundowner on the beach at Mbweni. Sickle shaped sails passed slowly in front of the sun and the first cry of the galagos – bush babies – echoed round the gardens. And as the fruit bats swept out of the ruins on the evening quest for food, the bride’s party settled themselves in the Raintree Restaurant where they were served a delicious dinner of Zanzibari seafood, exotically spiced vegetables and tropical fruits. No-one spared a thought for the weary climbers so far away to the north west.

 Next morning, which was Tuesday, Magnus led his faithful companions onwards and upwards, aiming for the next hut at Horombo which lies at 3720 metres. It was now that they started to feel quite a bit colder and already some of the men were suffering from mild stomach upsets. The girls were fine, perhaps because Justine kept a very strict eye on their water supply and insisted on it being boiled each morning. Roger, the Mzee of the group was starting to find the mountain hard going. He mentioned for the first time that he had broken his ankle the year before. He is also diabetic and as the air grew colder his insulin machine froze and stopped working which exacerbated his problems. By now he was hobbling slightly but then nobody was finding the walk a picnic, except possibly the two girls who annoyed everyone by “scampering” up the hill as the men put it.
By late afternoon they reached Horombo Hut and collapsed into their beds. Michelle was conserving her phone battery and did not switch it on. Unaware of this, I was in England wondering why I could not contact her.

 On Wednesday, Roger decided to stay near the hut and rest. He enjoyed looking at the plants and animals – by now the scenery had changed to a misty moorland landscape with giant groundsels looming up from it like strange sentries. The others took the acclimatization walk towards Mawenzi peak. As they climbed above the cloud level the skies cleared and for the first time they had good views of snow-capped Kibo, the higher of Kilimanjaro’s two main peaks. People who have climbed the mountain in the past are certain that the snow cap has now decreased considerably. Presumably this is due to global warming and climate change.
That night everyone felt cold in spite of warm sleeping bags. The altitude was just beginning to affect everybody. In addition Mat and some of the others were now suffering continuously from the effects of food-poisoning. But despite these problems, on Thursday morning they all set out for Kibo Hut, which would be their base camp for tackling the summit.

Magnus on the mountain as a "tourist"

 I phoned my father, known as “Babu” or grandfather, who lives at Mbweni Ruins. He told me that everyone was content and that though it had been raining – unusually for July – it was now fine and all was set for the wedding. But no-one had spoken to any of the climbers for two days. The relatives and friends at the hotel were thinking about them and wondering what was happening.

 Jane had discussed the arrangements for the marriage with Vivienne and the Registrar was coming out to do the ceremony at Mbweni, on the cliff outside the restaurant as the sun was going down. The menu was planned to the last detail and people were beginning to think of decorations and to get excited about the coming party. All the staff were going to be there to help – no hardship as they love celebrations and fun. Many of them helped to build the hotel before it opened in Chistmas 1994. Labourers and builders became gardeners and waiters, housekeeping or front office staff and they are all part of the Mbweni family.

 That night I finally spoke to Michelle who luckily had switched on one last time at Kibo – the battery was a little slow from the cold but it worked. I asked her how the climb had been from Horombo to Kibo, which is at 4750 metres.
She merely replied “So-so.”
She was fine but did have a headache, but no nausea. Justine too was fine, but most of the others were feeling sick and headachy and Roger was suffering from his ankle and lack of insulin. He decided that he would forget about climbing further, and the opinion of all was that he had made a fantastic effort to get so far.

 I told Michelle that Alan and I were about to set out for the airport and that we would fly over them at dawn on Friday as they made their attempt on the summit.
“I’ll wave,” she joked.
It was an odd experience next morning as we looked down from the aeroplane and saw Kilimanjaro’s peaks above the cloud blanket, rosy in the dawn light. There was a full moon in the sky which added to the strange beauty of the scene. Alan and I were both thinking of the little group who must be battling their way up the long slope to Gillman’s Point at that very moment.

My photo of Kilimanjaro at dawn.

Wwe flew over as they battled to the summit

 In fact, the remaining six all made it to Gillman’s around dawn, after going to bed at around 6pm the evening before and rising at 11pm after very little sleep. By the time they got to Gillman’s, no-one really had any expectation of going further, but as they waited for Chris and Mat who were some way behind, Charles moved them on and told them they would go on a little further. Then a little further until, in a daze of disorientation and hampered by freezing cold, they found themselves at Uhuru Peak, 5895 metres above sea level.
 They gazed out over a sea of cloud, with patches of land visible in the distance. It was amazingly exciting and beautiful as the sun rose and Kilimanjaro cast a long shadow towards Mount Meru.

On top of the world

They remembered to take a few pictures and then started the long descent, all the way down to Horombo hut where they collapsed into bed and slept for hours. But not before I, newly arrived in Zanzibar, managed to connect with Michelle and hear that they were all safe.
 Next night they reached the Mountain Inn and enjoyed hot baths and cold beers and started to feel a little human again. On Sunday morning they flew to Zanzibar and were met at the airport by a welcoming committee which of course included the bride.

 When the cars bearing the triumphant climbers reached Mbweni, the staff started a wonderful ngoma, dancing and ululating and casting armfuls of flowers. It was a great celebration. Vivienne stood smiling with seven Kilimanjaro beers wrapped in white napkins, her accolade to the victors.
 That afternoon was idyllic, most of the climbers, the family and all the friends of the wedding couple relaxed on the sea wall between the pool and the beach as the tide came in and the sun set. A golden light warmed us all as we sat and chatted and caught up with the news.

 My son David and his lovely partner Natalie had arrived from Dar es Salaam. David might have joined the Kili climb if it were not for the fact that Natalie’s elder sister was getting married in Dar on the Saturday and he was needed there. Well it sounds like a good excuse anyway!
On the morning of the wedding Vivienne and bevies of workers cut down palm leaves and barrow loads of pink bougainvillea, and began plaiting, weaving, digging on the beach, laying tables and cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Sophia, one of the housekeeping staff, is an expert at henna painting and was kept busy by many of the ladies including Jane, decorating arms, wrists and ankles.
Justine and Michelle made buttonholes for the men of hibiscus, gardenia and bougainvillea. Alan’s cousins Jen and Chris, and his sister Claire headed for Stone Town, away from the frenetic activity. 

That afternoon, we all gathered by the restaurant and greeted a rather nervous Magnus. Jane arrived in a stunning white dress on her father’s arm and the Registrar conducted the ceremony and congratulated the happy couple on their brave and wise decision to marry in Zanzibar. All the guests blew clouds of bubbles over the newly married couple who stood in a palm and bougainvillea archway as the sun slowly sank behind them into the waves sweeping in on the beach below. Vivienne had lit bonfires above the tide line. The swimming pool sparkled with flowers and floating candles and increasingly happy guests sipped champagne.

 As we all prepared for an enjoyable evening of dancing and feasting, I felt that one could hardly find a more idyllic setting for a wedding. And perhaps the hardship of that cold long climb made it even more pleasant for Magnus to be on a Zanzibar beach!