How Could They?

The reason Zanzibar has haunted me for so many years is the slave fortress on prison island. I remember when I was 17 years old I swear I could hear people crying in the wind outside the beautiful ruin of the fortress. It was overun by trees growing form the walls and vines covering the past. Inside all those vines my friend Jen and I found an iron neck shackle a link to the ruins gahstly past. So you can see why my romantic visions of this place are what prompted me to come back this island and make photos of historic slave trade here. Now to the bad part.

This morning I had hired a boat to take me out to the island before dawn so I could photograph the fortress in the red morning light. We arrived on the island and to my surprise some freaking @#%^(&^*(%*& built a hotel on it. He "fixed" the fortress as the construction crew informed me. So I found the site of my dreams swallowed in concrete, painted some hideously bright orange and blue, and partioned into neat little rooms for tourists. I planned to spend the day on the island in stead I asked the boat driver to take me home and nearly cried.