The winding, sandy road ends in a spectacular view of the Indian Ocean. Streaked in playful shades of blue and green, the waves roll invitingly. Tall, swaying coconut trees line the sandy beach. White sand, soft like talc, stretches forever.

Jambiani is a peaceful fishing village. The rough coral houses with colorful cloth doors are scattered in no particular order. Chickens and goats wander around peacefully. Outside of the homes, there is usually evidence of their trade. Blue fishing nets drying in the sun and purple seaweed, spread out on plastic to dry. The buyers would arrive at the weighing house and buy the dried seaweed weekly.

Every day, a group of cows with no one leading them, make their way down the beach. Beach cows.

In the early morning sunrise, the fishermen gather and yell greetings to each other as they meet at their wood sailboats bobbing by the shore.
To watch them set out against the streaked sky, pulling up the worn ivory sails one by one, is a beautiful sight.

Later, the children in uniforms make their way to school in chattering groups. If you happen to be walking at the same time, they will gather around, take your hand and practice their English.
"Good morning teacha"
They call every visiting guest teacher.

By mid day, the fishermen return and the village makes their way to the beach to see and buy their daily catch. With their brightly coloured fish, they head back home, out of the heat of the noon sun.
Sometimes you will see a young boy rolling an octopus in the sand to tenderize it.

Shopping is a social event as the women meet up and chat, buying a few tomatoes and onions from the little shops. The vegetables and fruit are stacked in neat piles. Tiny packets of spices hang from the ceilings, about a tablespoon of spice in each one. When you buy, the shopkeepers takes his scissors and cuts the required amount.
Fresh baked buns, doughnuts spiced with coriander and cinnamon and chapatis are always stacked under plastic containers.

Walking through the sandy paths of the village, you can hear people living their humble lives. From within the houses, sounds of the cricket game on the tv, women pounding some food methodically, children crying or laughing can always be heard.
Always constant is the chatter and laughter of happy women.

The various vendors come by throughout the day on their bikes, selling various wares and food. Each one has their own unique horn, so people know what product is coming without looking.

In the cool of the evening, everyone comes out and strolls down the beach. Little charcoal fires are lit as the venders prepare chips and pieces of chicken on a stick. The smell is delightful.

When there is a special celebration, you know. Groups of women sit in chattering groups peeling potatoes, cutting meat and vegetables. Huge pots sit balanced on three stones as they create a feast for their fellow villagers.
The music and dancing entices anyone that passes by.

In the evening, the stars spread across the velvet sky. The southern cross holds pride of place. Because there is no big city with all the lights, the stars are especially bright.

I love when the full moon rises majestically, casting a silver streak across the water. The sound of the nighttime waves are a wonderful sound to fall asleep.

In the morning, it all happens again.