Last week, this newspaper republished Tinashe Mushakavanhu’s evocative travelogue, Abdulrazak Gurnah: Searching for signs of Zanzibar’s most famous writer.
In it, the Harvard professor—a Zimbabwean native—journeys to Zanzibar not merely for a wedding, but as a pilgrim seeking traces of Nobel laureate Abdulrazak Gurnah (pictured), the island’s most celebrated novelist. He found instead a Stone Town saturated in tourist gloss, where the echoes of Gurnah’s haunting prose have all but vanished.
His piece is a quiet indictment of the clove islands. Mushakavanhu prowls Stone Town’s winding alleys not in pursuit of the man himself, but of the essence that animated his novels: exile, memory, and the ache of belonging.
Yet Zanzibar offers no shrine, no street in his name, not even a modest plaque. In their place are piles of mass-produced “African” art, cheerful Swahili slogans lifted from Disney scripts, and a cacophony of languages speaking more to commodification than cultural depth.
When he asked where to find a bookshop, a local laughed: “You want to read on holiday?”
I understand what Mushakavanhu is pointing to. Zanzibar mesmerises me too. The history, the ambiance, the people—it effortlessly turns me into a tourist. On my last visit, I wandered into a souvenir shop and picked up three John Grisham novels I’ve yet to read. I didn’t realise that was the peak of Zanzibar’s literary offering.
Had Zanzibar been part of a nation that prized cultural production, its heritage might have been a huge asset, attracting wealth and global admiration.
Instead, the Stone Town, Forodhani gardens, and other tourist strips mask a normal, poor African reality: scarcity, improvisation, the hum of survival. No wonder Mushakavanhu’s search for his kind of culture proved elusive.
The same pattern appears in Dar. I can name the notable bookshops; there are few. In Mbezi Beach, from Mwenge to Tegeta, I know only one. Now count the bars. The comparison is telling.
Five years ago, I wrote an article titled “Dar Lacks Culture. And This is What We Can Do About It”. In it, I challenged our vague celebration of “Africanness” and nostalgic memory as substitutes for a structured cultural ecosystem.
Culture, I argued, is organised public life: shared experiences, aesthetic refinement and civic spaces that affirm communal identity.
Decades ago, a Canadian missionary presented my class with seven definitions of culture in a single course. One stuck: culture is what a society produces. Want to understand American culture? Think of the Moon landing and the internet.
Chinese culture? Think of the Great Wall and large-scale engineering. These are the products by which societies express who they are.
By that measure, what do we produce? We produce Mwendokasi fights, power blackouts, unreliable water supply, filthy public toilets and a disregard for democratic norms.
We may point to the Nyerere Dam, the SGR, Magufuli Bridge—impressive projects yet mostly built by foreigners. What we ourselves produce describes who we are—and that leaves so much to be desired.
When I published that article, a Columbia-educated anthropologist critiqued it, saying Dar does not lack culture but rather lacks the culture I want. Fair enough, but imagine I want to sleep and a loudspeaker blares prayer at night or dawn.
It is your prayers; why should I be forced awake? I want reliable water. I don’t want to spend half my day in traffic. I want to sit on public transport, open a book and read in peace. What is wrong with desiring that culture?
Culture is visible where cities prioritise human experience. I see it in places that offer family-friendly public life—where children play, elders stroll, families gather.
I notice monuments that speak to people’s journey, festivals that celebrate shared values, public art that provokes thought, and urban design that privileges walkable streets and clean beaches. Is that too much to ask?
Today we can choose what to become. African Renaissance Monument in Dakar – why don’t we do things of that quality? Indian Institute of Technology – why don’t we create schools that attract global attention? We have a buffet of models: Chinese industry, British law, American enterprise, French artistic life, Scandinavian governance. Borrow and adapt the best.
Poverty is not culture. Noise is not culture. Tradition without skill, beauty or purpose is not culture. Cities with museums, libraries, and bookshops; with beautiful, well-equipped gardens; with peaceful, organised public transport—that is culture.
Back to Zanzibar. Much of what we admire there is not really African, is it? Stone Town was built largely by Arabs. What we find unique and intriguing in Zanzibar is essentially a history of Arabs in it.
Yes, Swahili culture is diverse and cross-oceanic, but it is time we build our own distinctive culture that reflects the values we hold dear. Like literary excellence.
So, why not start by erecting a monument to the great Abdulrazak Gurnah? Why not name a prominent street in his honour? Why not create a museum? We have one for Freddie Mercury, and rightly so—why not for Gurnah?
Let’s stop trading our past for souvenirs — and start building monuments to our future.
Charles Makakala is a Technology and Management Consultant based in Dar es Salaam
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