Zanzibar

One week in March — the island leg of a Tanzanian journey, but Zanzibar asked for its own chapter. The carved doors and narrow shade of Stone Town, a classroom of grins that made the camera irrelevant, mothers with babies who laughed before I could focus, Maasai walking the white sand far from the mainland. An island that smells of cloves and salt, where every alley ends in either the ocean or a conversation.