The tale of the Mushroom King of Zanzibar begins in Arusha, Tanzania.
The journey there from Nairobi was a long and exhaustive one. We had come to Arusha to meet up with our climbing party. It was the eve before our trek up Mt. Kilimanjaro.
I was in a planning and organizational flow in our room. Partly trying to keep my mind busy from the excited anxiety of what was on the horizon for us. Jessica was wanting a nightcap to settle her nerves. As I presume, she was wrestling with the same anxiety I was. Where I was distracting myself with organizing gear, Jessica wanted one last taste of Mexican firewater. She desperately attempted to get me to join her but to no avail.
Before I knew it, two hours had passed. Apparently, I had managed to distract myself very well. My mind went straight to concern over where Jessica could be and what could be keeping her this long. I sent her a message on WhatsApp. To my relief, I received a prompt response back.
“Down at bar still. Met someone awesome!! He is a mushroom farmer! You’re going to love him! Be there in a minute.”
When Jessica arrived back at the room, she was very enthusiastic and excited about the gentleman she had just been talking with. She described him as the most interesting German man who lived in Zanzibar. He allegedly was the largest mushroom farmer on the island, and in addition to that, also ran his own media design company where he did work for the East African Community (EAC). In fact, that was what brought him to Arusha in the first place! As if all that wasn’t extraordinary enough, he had invited us to come to stay with him once we arrived in Zanzibar; which was our planned destination after completing the mountain.
I remember at the time feeling a little skeptical about all she was telling me. The idea of a random acquaintance, at a bar, in a foreign country, offering you to stay at their home, after only a couple hours of conversation, sounded suspicious at the least, Or, more likely, just an insincere lounge offering sealed with a clinking of glasses. Either way, for now, I was focussed on the mountain that literally lay ahead of us.
The next day we set off on the challenge of our lives. During our eight-day trek I rarely thought much about how serious this Mushroom King (as we had dubbed him) of Zanzibar’s offer was. Somewhere deep down thought I kind of hoped it would work out. It would surely make for a unique story…
Our summit attempt was a successful one and after eight days found ourselves back in Arusha. The plan was to head to Zanzibar next. We were desperately seeking some rest and recovery; the kind that only white sand beaches and the salty sea could offer.
We decided to reach out to this Mushroom King of Zanzibar and see if he was serious about having us come to stay with him. I wasn’t amazed when we did not receive an immediate response from him. In the meantime, we found a lovely, quiet, and secluded beachside resort on the Matemwe side of Zanzibar. Just the kind of place where we could lay low for a few days and nurse our sore bodies.
While relaxing on the beach in Matemwe, we got a response from our perspective host! He expressed his apologies for not getting back to us sooner. He had been on safari in Masai Mara (of course he would be…). He let us know he would be more than happy to have us visit when he returned to Zanzibar in a few days. We had a couple of days left in Matemwe ourselves, so there was no hurry. We were both so surprised to receive his welcoming response. We were flushed with excitement for the unknown adventure ahead of us yet again.
We left Matemwe bound for Stonetown. There we exchanged a few emails with our new friend and hashed out a plan to come to see him. We learned, he lived in an area called Jambiani. Jambiani is located on the south-eastern end of Zanzibar. Where we were in Stonetown was on the western edge of the island. He offered to meet us at a petrol station in Kitogani, an area completely foreign to us. But, we were confident we could figure it out.
With our plans to meet finally sorted, we spent one last night in Stonetown. It’s moments like this when you take a good hard look at how well you can honestly judge a person’s character, and how much risk you are willing to open yourself and/or your loved one up to.
It was Jessica who really met and knew this guy. Sure, I had been a part of the emails we had exchanged back and forth, but in all reality, I knew nothing about him. Nor did we really understand what we were getting ourselves into. He offered to host us at his house, but what does that mean? Would we have a room to ourselves? Would we have a bed? Would this guy take all our stuff and leave us floating facedown in a tide pool somewhere?
These and more were all questions that were running through my mind. It all sounded great in theory, but as the reality drew closer, I worried if maybe we had extended our trust in a stranger a little too far.
The next day we gathered our bags and got a cab. Our instructions for the driver were simply this… “drop us at the gas station on the right side of the road in Kitogani.” He only took a few moments to process the location and then nodded in affirmation as though he comfortably knew the place. I remember thinking to myself… “things are so much easier in Africa.”
Our ride took us through the rural interior of Zanzibar. As we ventured inland, the scenery changed from desert beach to tropical forest. Between the small villages, we passed through were large plantations of various fruits, vegetables, and spices. In these rural areas, people mostly traveled either by foot or bicycle. Life here cruised along at a non-motorized pace and often greeted you with a full teeth smile.
We passed through the villages of Bungi, Kikungwi, Kwebona, Pete, and then Jozani before reaching Kitogani.
When we approached the petrol station that was our agreed meeting place, it was apparent why the driver knew where we were headed. It looked to be the only Petrol station as far as we could see.
No one was there when we arrived… Again my mind went straight to wondering what the hell we were doing? Fortunately, our taxi driver was willing to wait around with us for a while.
After some time a black SUV pulled up with limo tinted windows. It parked and out stepped a tall and lean German man with a mostly full head of long wavy ashy grey hair. It was Volker, and he greeted both of us with a friendly smile and a welcoming hug. After some customary introductions, we transferred our bags to Volkers car and paid our taxi driver.
In the car, Volker asked if we would like to go and visit his mushroom farm now. Apparently, it was rather close to where we were. The Mushroom King seemed to indeed be proud of his subjects. We happily obliged!
As we drove through the jungle toward the farm, my reservations and uncertainties of what we were doing began to fade away. Volker revealed himself to be a kind and good-natured character, and he would continue to do so through the duration of our time with him.
At this point, I was excited to see what the largest mushroom farm in Zanzibar looked like and incredibly interested to see how the whole growing mushrooms process worked. We chatted the entire way to the turn off for his farm which was marked with a sign bareing the name Kilimo Hai (Swahili for organic farming). Rarely was there a moment of silence between us. He seemed to be happy to be sharing his stories with us, and we were all too glad to hear them.
It was a short drive down the soft muddy road that ended at a newly constructed out-building. There were a few other small buildings scattered around the property, all of which looked as if they had been built within little clearings in a way to avoid cutting down any of the towering trees around us. One of the buildings seemed to be a home for a family living onsite. We later learned that was indeed the mushroom caretakers house.
We parked the car outside the main building, and Volker led us to the door. The entrance was adorned with a plague; bearing the words, “Be a Funguy” with a little smiling mushroom. It was fitting.
Just inside the doorway, Volker explained this was his processing room. This is where the mushrooms were harvested and packed for delivery around the island. Most of his customers were the surrounding hotels, resorts, and restaurants that catered to foreign visitors in Zanzibar. Mushrooms are a delicacy the locals have yet to acquire a taste for. This is one of the reasons why he is the one and only mushroom producer on the island. Earning him forever the title: Mushroom King of Zanzibar.
Beyond the processing room, we entered the mushroom grow house. Growing mushrooms requires very different conditions than most other farmed foods. For one, they don’t need sunlight. So the grow room was not like a greenhouse at all. There were windows along the walls, but the light that entered was mainly to see while he and his mushroom manager were working during the day. The temperature and humidity within the room were monitored and solely regulated by exhaust fans along the roof line.
The grow room was spotlessly clean and very organized. There were wooden racks lined in rows all supporting hanging clear plastic bags. The bags looked similar to stuffed sacks of potatoes hanging neatly in rows. Each stand was labeled with a date to keep track of how far along they were in the growing process.
There were three stages of growth happening; the bags without any buds yet, bags that had just started budding, with little baby mushroom caps poking out, and the bags in full bloom, with large colonies of white soft mushroom caps overtaking the surface of the bag. It was interesting to see the whole process all in one place.
Volker explained the only type of mushroom he was growing at this time were oyster mushrooms. The mushroom caps were soft like peach skin and snow white. Some were BIG too. I couldn’t believe how large some of them were and how healthy they all looked. The Mushroom King surely had a secret to growing the biggest and best mushrooms on the island that he was wisely withholding.
We spent awhile walking between the racks and admiring the lovely mushrooms before Volker took us back into the processing room to show us how it all starts from some spores.
Once planted, these spores give life to all the mushrooms we had just seen growing. He also showed us a demo of his meticulous harvesting and packing process, always taking care not to harm the ‘children.’
The last thing to do was try some! Now, neither Jessica nor myself are mushroom eaters. We usually steer clear of mushrooms in food actually. However, I was not about to disrespect the Mushroom King with such nonsense. I was handed a sizeable soft mushroom and bit gently into it. It was light and spongey on my tongue and full of earthy flavors. These flavors treated my pallet to a new satisfaction I had not had experienced the last time I ate a mushroom.
Could it be that my pallet had matured since the last time I ate a mushroom, or that these Zanzibarian mushrooms were just that much better than anything I had tried in the past? I’m leaning towards the latter being the case.
After our epiphany inducing sampling of mushrooms, we exited the grow house continuing our tour of the property. Volker showed us the growth substrate they used, how they dried it before packing it into the bags, and finally, how they neatly packed them up. It was like experiencing an episode of How It’s Made in person! Neither of us had seen anything quite like that in person and we appreciated having such a passionate guide to share it with us. We’ll never eat another mushroom without thinking back on this.
Before leaving, Volker made sure to grab a bag of fresh mushrooms for the house alluding to omelets for breakfast. YUM!
We set off from the farm toward Jambiani, where the King had his castle by the sea. On the way, we stopped off at a street-side market to get some food and wine for later. Everyone knew Volker, and he had an excellent command of the Swahili language. All the locals that we encountered seemed to look upon him somewhat affectionately as well. We felt very fortunate to be with him and received much of the same warmth that all the locals extended to him just by being his acquaintance.
Fully stocked up with food and refreshment for the next couple of days our next stop was Volker’s home in Jambiani. It was a quick trip and were soon on a dirt road which served as access for all the beachfront homes and hotels. We arrived at a wooden gate that secured the drive to Volker’s home.
I attempted to hop out and help with the gate, however, I was headed off by Volker because it was a finicky gate and required the ‘right’ touch. Pulling through the gate, we were greeted by a charming home. The white exterior, although stark against the green backdrop of trees, complemented the surroundings and is a familiar style to the others on the island. The Makuti (grass) pitched roof made it look like a real island sanctuary. In true Zanzibari fashion, the front double-door of his home was arched, made of dark wood, decorated with intricate carvings, and ornamented with brass spikes and pull-ring handles.
At this point, I couldn’t have been happier we had made the decision to reconnect with a random gentleman Jessica met at a bar in Arusha. I knew stepping through that doorway was going to lead to several days of fun, new friends, and unforgettable memories.
As we entered the King’s castle and marveled at his him home, he told us that he designed and built it inspired by traditional Arab and Zanzibarian homes. The first room we entered was a large sitting room with a high vaulted ceiling. The ground was covered with rugs and had floor cushions to sit on while enjoying story’s from friends all while puffing on a hooka. Humorously, Volker pointed out a small part of the roof that was smashed in from his monkey neighbors living in the treetops. They had attempted to make an uninvited entrance. Beyond the great room lay an interior courtyard open to the sky.
As we entered the King’s castle and marveled at his home, Volker told us that he designed and built it inspired by traditional Arab and Zanzibarian homes. The first room we entered was a large sitting room with a high vaulted ceiling. The ground was covered with rugs and had floor cushions to sit on while enjoying story’s from friends all while puffing on a hooka. Humorously, Volker pointed out a small part of the roof that was smashed in from his monkey neighbors living in the treetops. They had attempted to make an uninvited entrance. Beyond the great room lay an interior courtyard open to the sky.
The room were staying in was right off the courtyard through wooden double doors. There was a four poster bed for us and our own bathroom. Far more comfort than we had expected. Through the courtyard were the kitchen, utility room, and master bedroom. Beyond that, a comfortable patio that opened up a view of the ocean. The home also had a covered rooftop patio that provided unobstructed views of the ocean and coastline in both directions as far as our eyes could see. His home was a personal sanctuary that most only dreamt of.
