It seems like yesterday that my father had passed away. I know mentally that he has gone for years but my fountain of tears still has not dried, and all the tears that had cried for him, it is still not enough. Yet the idea of going back to Zanzibar scares me, however I love the image of the island from the sky, the green land, coconut trees standing thin and tall like a model parading her glamour physique. How I loved grasping through the ocean, keeping me breathless with its so ever green waters with strokes from here and there being blue. The work of our Creator is no doubt is beyond the word of being an artist.

As the wheels of the plane touch down the airport runway. The landing at the tiny airport and those tiny airplanes surrounding the airport, I keep going back to my childhood where my father puts me in one of those so I can go flying to Pemba so I can visit my grandparents. The image of my grandfather waiting for me, taking me to his home.  The walk through the tiny roads and the smell of the road with touch of dusts from uneven roads. How I loved my grandparent's house, a tiny home filled with memories facing bananas plantation and other trees and all old women sitting outside their houses chatting with their neighbors and as someone passes through greetings have to be exchanged, seems everyone is related to each other. How peaceful this part of earth.

 
Though it's hard for me to be back to my father's house knowing I would not find him there but Zanzibar I visit you without you knowing through my heart and soul.

Copyright 2008 Nasra Al Adawi