From Uncertainty to Unexpected Hospitality: A Journey to Pemba Island
We woke up early, checked out of the hotel, and headed to the docks. We’d got wind that there was a boat heading to the Comoros Islands, and we were determined to be on it. The docks were bustling, filled with people working on imports and exports, organising goods, and just getting things done in a way that only manual labour can. Among them were the two of us, travellers with backpacks, not quite sure what we were doing but fuelled by the spirit of adventure.
Just as explorers once charted the unknown ocean which surrounds us, we found ourselves navigating the crowded docks, with only the promise of an uncertain destination ahead-yet, at that moment, buying a simple ferry ticket felt as momentous as launching a ship into the great unknown.
We asked around, and several people told us the boat hadn’t arrived yet. Others told us will be here tomorrow but the reality was no one seemed to know exactly when or where it would dock or had previously docked? This is the challenge of traveling in this part of the world-things happen when they happen. As they say, “Inshallah” (God willing). We moved to the next dock and asked again, but the response was even less encouraging. One man dismissed our ambition to get to the Comoros Islands, explaining that it wasn’t a passenger boat but a container ship, and catching it was a long shot. There might be another boat in a few days or next week, he said, but we didn’t have that kind of time. We wanted to leave today.
Without a clear plan, we kept searching for a solution, asking where this elusive boat might be, but nothing was coming together. Then, we noticed a ferry heading to Pemba with a crowd of people waiting next to a mountain of containers ready to board. We asked around, “where is what Pemba is?” The lack of clear answers led me to check the map. Pemba (it turns out) is an island that forms part of Zanzibar’s archipelago-Zanzibar being the more famous island, and Pemba its lesser-known cousin. It wasn’t on our radar; the map didn’t show much in terms of tourist attractions. No big sites, nothing like Stone Town. Still, in that moment, we decided to buy tickets to this unknown place, ready to venture as far north as possible, with plans to either wild camp or find a place to stay. With our backpacks and a strong sense of trust in each other, we were prepared for whatever lay ahead. We’d both been here before but never exactly here before .
In a world where everyone seeks certainty, there is a unique confidence found in embracing the unknown-much like placing your faith in a stranger’s directions and decisions , believing they’ll lead you to the right path, even if you have no idea where you’re headed.
Four hours later, we arrived at Mkoani, the port in Pemba. The ferry had been packed, and it felt like we spent an eternity trying to find a seat on the hot metal deck. As we explored every corner of the large ferry, we realised that we were the only backpackers-quite the contrast from the tourist-filled Stone Town. Undeterred, we were excited to explore this less-traveled island.
Once we disembarked, we decided to head to the northern tip of the island, where there appeared to be a few hotels scattered around small villages. The transfer was slow but straightforward. Buses were waiting for the ferry, and without any immigration checks, we quickly hopped on board. With no other tourists around, we paid the same fare as everyone else changing buses in the islands capital, Chake-Chake. Until the change we seemed to be making good time. However, the sun sets quickly in the tropics, and by the time we arrived in the north of the island at Kigomasha around 4:15 PM, the sun was already dipping toward the horizon.
I had the feeling that we traveled further from the familiar, each bend in the unpaved road seemed to ask us to trust more deeply in the journey, like the sun trusting that it would rise again after every fall into the Ocean every night.
The area was incredibly rural, i mean R.U.R.A.L! We were surrounded by mile after mile of rice paddies, coconut groves, banana plantations, cassava trees, and red bean farms. The roads were unpaved and bumpy, but the heat of the day had passed, and a cool ocean breeze blew through the minivan. This felt like a good place to stop. Maybe a local suggested it, or perhaps it was the nearby school buildings, or just intuition.we knew that if things didn’t work out, we always had the option to wild camp on the beach. There’s a certain comfort in knowing that if you have a tent and sleeping bags then you can always find a place to sleep even if the most unfamiliar place.
Sleeping under a billion stars, unsure of what tomorrow brings, seems a cosmic irony when our minds are often preoccupied with mundane worries-like what we’ll eat for dinner or if we’ll find a place to rest.
We hopped out and fired up the hotel websites / travel maps and Google to search locally for anything and everything we could find now that we had a final destination. Accommodation was here but they were all luxury resorts costing $400-$1000+ a night-way beyond our budget. As we walked, we spotted a European man and woman approaching. I mention this because they were the first europeans which we’d seen today from the thousands and thousands of people we’d seen at the docks, on the ferry and in the capital city were we changed busses. What’s more they were the first people we saw on the road and so we asked if they knew of a cheap local guesthouse. They smiled and said, “Around here? No.” The man was a YouTuber shooting a promotional video for The Manta Resort & Underwater Room, a fancy hotel for wealthy Europeans, featuring a floating suite 250 meters offshore with an underwater room for $1500 a night-definitely not in our budget. The woman, the hotel manager, kindly offered us a cold drink but said they didn’t allow camping on the grounds. However, the man let us use his room to shower before grabbing a drink with him.
The idea of luxury-an underwater room beneath a floating suite-felt worlds apart from our humble plans to camp under the stars, yet somehow, both held a unique kind of constrained freedom.
The hotel was incredible, and after months on the road, I’d totally forgotten what luxury felt like. The place was immaculate, air-conditioned, and the smell of lavender and sage was unbelievably welcomed . I showered and must have lathered up at least three times. The water was refreshing, and the air felt clean, not to mention the stunning view of the deep dark Indian Ocean which was only interrupted by surfacing refracted lights of the underwater room. “When I grow up, I’d love to come back here for a few nights” i said.
Night had truly set in, and we’d settled on a plan to grab a drink and then discreetly camp in a field we’d seen that over looked the beach. We mentioned our plan to the manager, and she suggested trying the Pemba Moonlight Guesthouse & Restaurant, less than five minutes away. It had been closed for a while, but the bar man had told her that the owner had returned that morning, and he might allow camping.
As luck would have it, in the dark of the moonless night, we left the hotel using our phone lights to guide us. Up on the right, there was an overgrown driveway with the flickering light that only a TV can produce. it was coming from what looked like a wooden shack. We approached cautiously, hearing people talking. As we got closer, we saw a group of guys sitting around watching TV. We introduced ourselves and explained our situation. It felt a bit risky-if they didn’t allow camping, our cover could be blown for the next 5-10 km-the goal of wild camping is for no one to know that you are there. But luck was on our side tonight. The owner knew the bar man at the lodge and said we could set up camp in the middle of what looked like a dining area under the wooden shack. This was a guesthouse in the process of being renovated and would be ready next season. The guys were just hanging out, watching TV. They had no food or drink to sell and wanted nothing from us. So, we pitched our tent on the sand floor next to the TV-watching guys. They didn’t care and pretty much ignored us. We then shared a simple meal-half an avocado, half a tomato, some crisps on a piece of day-old bread. It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough, and we were grateful for how the day had unfolded and how we’d found safety.
In the quiet company of strangers, under the soft hum of a television and the flicker of a single bulb, we found a kind of hospitality that no luxury resort could offer-a shared simplicity that transcended language and culture.
As we sat there, chatting quietly under the dim light, it struck me how travel often leads you to unexpected places, with unexpected people, in unexpected ways. And sometimes, those moments become the most memorable of all. just before bed wrote in my dairy:
“We realised that while we set out to traverse the world, what we truly discovered are the small, fleeting moments of kindness and connection- is this then not proof that even in a world so vast, it’s the simplest of gestures that can make us feel most at home”
