The kaskazi and kusi monsoons of the East African coast have carried merchants and their wares on dhows from the Arabian Peninsula and beyond down to Mozambique since the seventh century. Over time, trading centres developed along this 3,000km stretch known as the Swahili Coast; Lamu and Zanzibar in particular became rich city-states.
When, at the end of the 17th century, the latter fell under Omani rule, the island began exploiting the insatiable demand for workers in the Caribbean plantations. Traders in ivory, spices, and slaves became very wealthy. And what do the (nefarious) rich often do with their gains? Build imposing houses with impressive entrances. So while door-carving traditions evolved in other ports, such as Bagamoyo and Mombasa, nothing ever matched the elaborate complexity of those in Zanzibar – the richest of them all.
In 1840, when Seyyid Said, Sultan of Oman, moved his capital from Muscat to Stone Town, the island was firmly Islamic. The home was sacrosanct, and only family was permitted. With wives, children, and slaves safely inside, men often conducted their business on the steps and benches built either side of the door, which through its size and symbols was designed to reflect the owner’s standing. It became a house’s most important feature. ‘The higher the tenement, the bigger the gateway, the heavier the padlock, and the huger the iron studs which nail the door of heavy timber, the greater is the owner’s dignity,’ so wrote explorer, Orientalist, and writer Richard Burton (WoI Dec 2015) in 1857. He had visited the island that year, though he was a little early to see many of the grandest examples; many weren’t commissioned until the last quarter of the 19th century. It is reported that by then there may have been more than 800 of these imposing entrances.
Arriving in Stone Town, I met up with Nimrod, my local guide, who was to show me some of the last surviving doorways. (By 1998, there were 277 left, according to a survey by historian Abdul Sheriff. Now there are fewer than 50.) Neglect, collapse, and the effects of weather are contributing factors, but most significantly, theft and subsequent resale to foreign buyers are behind the loss.
All these doors have the same uniform structure, consisting of a frame with vertical side posts on which rests a massive lintel. Looking from inside, a thick centre post is attached to the right-hand panel, which is named the mlango dume, or male door, while the left is the (female) mlango jike. Decorative beading covers the joints between door and wall. While the frame, lintel, and centre post are elaborately carved, the two main panels are plain, though most are studded with horizontal lines of brass or iron bosses. These are practical, holding the planks together, but some have a more pronounced spikiness and were originally used on ancient Indian strongholds to ward off elephant attacks. On Zanzibar – without a pachyderm in sight – they are essentially decorative, but they would have also served as reminders of the privacy of the home. Hasp and chain mechanisms enable the doors to be secured from outside. A few of these portals were made from teak imported from India during the 19th-century trading heyday, though most are built of a local hardwood called mbamba kofi (Afzelia quanzensis).
The designs fall into two loose types (though many mix and match): an earlier, more geometric style with rectangular frames and straight lintels; and one with a more pronounced Indian influence, with lunettes containing floral designs, which began to appear during the reign of Seyyid Barghash (1870-1888; a period known for its opulence). On his return from exile in Bombay, Barghash built many palaces, including Beit al-Ajaib (House of Wonders) in 1883, which had 13 of these doors.
Just six motifs predominate: lotus flowers, rosettes, chains, frankincense trees, date palms, and fish. Sometimes Koranic inscriptions are found on the lintel along with the owner’s name, the carver, and the date. Beads, pineapples, and ropes also feature. Sometimes a deep saw-tooth-like motif appears on the lower edge of the lintel, emphasising the changing patterns of light and shadow during the day, and some later examples were even perforated.
There is no compendium of Zanzibar doors symbols, but their continued use implies meaning and association rather than just decorative value, and there are generally accepted interpretations. The lotus flower and rosette are generally seen as linked with fertility and reproductive power, while the chain symbolises security – and that the door’s owner was probably involved in the slave trade. Frankincense and palms might intimate wealth and plenty, while a fish may represent the pre-Koranic Syrian goddess Atargatis, though it could have also been a clue as to how the master of the house earned his money, as is the case with ropes. Beads might mean the proprietor dealt in precious stones; pineapples were a sign of welcome. There is little proof of these interpretations, but the entrances – always the first part of the building to be erected – were of such significance that the images and the messages they evoke are likely to have reflected the status of those that dwelled behind them.
As Nimrod escorted me round Stone Town’s maze of alleys and streets, we got word that ‘officials’ may be out to ask me for permission papers as – with a camera tripod – I was evidently not your average tourist. Often we had to wait some time before owners decided to let us take a picture, asking for baksheesh before we could go ahead. But fortunately, we stayed ahead of the officials and survived the adventure. These photographs are the result.
Zanzibar doors are without a doubt the most important examples of Swahili architecture still left on the island. They were born with the fortunes of the caravans and their cargo – much of it human – and died with it too. Once the slave trade was abolished (officially in 1876, though slavery itself remained legal in Zanzibar until 1897), the era of ostentation dwindled, and so too did the practice of building grand palaces. But these entrances are a poignant reminder of a unique period of this island’s history and should be protected. If they are allowed to be ripped out and traded, as the elephant’s tusk or rhino’s horn has been, there is only one animal to blame.
A version of this article appears in the February 2017 issue of ‘The World of Interiors’. Learn about our subscription offers
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