White seagulls are flying in circles and when they get closer to the ocean they start reflecting its shades and become turquoise flying beings.
There’s a fantastic chromatic palette, as every color match every color and the locals ebony skin suits every shade. At sunset tall and black men dressed in masai are walking the beaches that seem to belong to them since ages. Amazing red scarves on blue background on just another Zanzibar eye paint.

Small children are playing with handmade invented toys that break hearts and universal happiness laws. They are energetic and quick observers. There’s a wall and a guard dress in white that actually separates curated luxury rooms and half eaten plates from a world where every cent and every bit of bread has a different meaning. And when the dark comes at evening hours it penetrates deep inside the handmade walls where there’s no electricity. “Electricity is expensive here.” says my African friend Lorenzo.
Only the ocean is common ground for us. We, the white ones carefully enter the blue waters watching steps as there is the land of crabs, sea hedgehog and so on. The black team runs and makes incredible jumps and screams of life joy, getting lost in the white foam. Some of them, despite all the shortages seem more energetical and healthy than many of us that have paradise tickets of one week only.
That’s how maybe counts between the two teams get balanced.