Zanzibar has long drawn visitors to its shores. Even the main island’s name–“Unguja”, meaning “transit”--speaks to its legacy as a cultural crossroads. Here, diverse cultures have been sliced, diced, and simmered together to create a uniquely Swahili flavor. From fragrant pilau to tangy urojo, these 5 dishes tell the story of how migration, exchange, and high-quality ingredients created the world's first true “fusion food”.

1. Ndizi na Samaki

Before the Persian traders, Omani sultans, and tourist hordes in search of the ‘real’ Zanzibar, there were the Bantu. Originally from modern-day Cameroon, the Bantu people migrated across Africa and settled in Zanzibar around 1000 CE. Skilled hunters and farmers, they quickly put down roots–literally. Their crop of choice? Bananas.

Acquired from Southeast Asian traders, bananas are easy to grow and versatile in the kitchen. Green, unripe bananas are a starchy main, sunny yellow bunches fry up into snacks, and blackened peels hold nature’s candy within.

Ndizi na Samaki, or “Bananas and Fish”, is a favorite home-cooked meal throughout Tanzania. Archipelago Restaurant in Zanzibar’s capital, Stone Town, serves the bananas swimming in a savory coconut sauce and topped with golden filets of fish. As I spooned up bits of ndizi I imagined Swahili households gathered across generations to eat this wholesome meal of simple ingredients, just as their ancestors would have done.

I didn’t have to wonder about these households for long. Chef Shara of Tangawizi Cooking invited me into her home in the heart of the city to learn about local dishes. In her kitchen we peeled the bananas with a knife, stacking them log-cabin style so they wouldn’t get squashed. Cousins stopped by in a kaleidoscope of hijabs as we cooked. Outside, neighbors discussed a recent soccer match; inside, several toddlers watched in horror as I mangled a banana. And for a moment, I had slipped past the ornate doors of Stone Town to become part of it.

2. Pilau

Like in ndizi kwa samaki, coconut is the foundation of almost all Zanzibari sauces. Now a pantry staple, it arrived on the archipelago on Persian dhows, carried across the Indian ocean on the tides of trade.

With its sheltered harbors and central location, Zanzibar became a vital resupply point for sailors. Business started booming. Lured by the promise of fortune, Persian traders settled on the archipelago not long after the Bantu. They gave Zanzibar its name—Zanj al Barr, meaning “Black Coast,” in reference to its dark-skinned Bantu inhabitants.

Missing the tastes of home, they also introduced crops that flourished in Zanzibar. Persians brought not only coconuts but also rice and spices like cardamom, cinnamon and cloves. More than a waypoint, Zanzibar became a producer, its vast plantations earning it the nickname “The Spice Islands”.

All of these ingredients come together in what has become another local staple–pilau, which comes from the Persian polow, or “rice dish”. Steamed with coconut cream, cumin seeds, cardamom pods and a cinnamon stick, it's decadent enough to be savored all on its own. I sampled pilau at Lukmaan’s restaurant, an institution for locals and tourists alike. Looking around it was easy to see what their most popular dish was–almost every table had a fragrant heap of rice. I ordered mine alongside other delicacies like octopus curry and sweet rice cakes, but it was the pilau in particular that had me giving thanks for intrepid Persian sailors.

3. Halwa

As the Turkish man on my tour grumbled, “This is NOT halva”, a crumbly beige confection popular in the Balkans. Instead, what landed on my plate was a wobbly, molasses-hued cube of Zanzibari halwa. Though my Turkish companion protested, I was gobsmacked.

Zanzibari halwa combines the rich depth of caramelized sugar with the satisfying squish of a gummy bear. Laced with cardamom, saffron, and occasionally sliced almonds for contrast, it is cooked in great copper pots, stirred constantly for an hour until it achieves its signature jiggle. It’s then cut into blocks and sold at the bazaar’s entrance, to the delight of local sweet-tooths, dentists, and me.

Nowhere else in the world is halwa made this way—except Oman, which has deep ties to the archipelago. The Omani Sultanate took control of Zanzibar in 1698, and it became the crown jewel of its empire. Wealth poured in through a booming trade in gold, ivory, spices, and, tragically, slaves. Oman’s economy was bound so tightly to Zanzibar that by 1840, the Sultan had moved his capital to Stone Town.

Under Omani rule, Islam flourished in Zanzibar, shaping its daily rhythms. From the rooftops I watched the streets turn still as the call to prayer echoed across Stone Town, and on multiple occasions indulged in thoughtful treats from my hosts. As the Prophet Muhammad taught, “There is no good in one who is not hospitable,” and in both Omani and Zanzibari homes, guests are not properly welcomed without a thick black coffee and a sticky square of halwa. It is a sweet steeped in ceremony, offered not just as a treat but as a gesture of kinship. Through Halwa, Oman’s presence lingers—not just in the flavors, but in the way food is shared.

4. Urojo

Navigating the night market at Forodhani Gardens is an exercise in controlled panic. Vendors call out from across the plaza, steering you towards tables of fresh sugarcane or skewered octopus. Overwhelmed, I pressed through the crowd, dodging swarms of salesmen before reaching a woman on the outskirts.

She offered me a bowl of urojo with a polite nod. I was relieved but had no idea what to expect. Working with practiced efficiency, she assembled a bowl of green mango broth warmed with turmeric, tossing in bajia (deep-fried legume balls), kachori (deep-fried potato balls), mishkaki (grilled meat skewers), and crispy cassava strips. A hardboiled egg, a squirt of chili, and a dollop of coconut chutney finished the job.

*Bajia and kachora make delicious golden additions to urojo*

Tangy yet mild, creamy yet crunchy, urojo was everything all at once. As I ate, the world seemed to grow softer, more peaceful; a kitten curled up at my hip and yawned, a couple sat with hands discreetly touching, and teenagers screeched in delight as they jumped from the harbor walls into the warm sea.

Urojo traces its roots to kadhi pakora, an Indian yogurt-based soup studded with crunchy deep-fried onions and chickpeas. Dishes like this weren’t brought to Zanzibar until the 1700s, when civil war toppled Oman’s ruling elite. This opened up trade opportunities for middle-class Omani merchants, but there was a catch: Islam prohibits collecting interest on loans, which made finding start-up investments difficult.

Luckily, they found a loophole by partnering with Hindu Indian financiers, who were not limited by religious laws. As money-lenders, Indians became essential to Oman’s economy, eventually acquiring wealth of their own through the profitable spice and slave trade in Zanzibar. For Indian families, cooking traditional meals with Zanzibari ingredients gave birth to seafood curries, street snacks, and thankfully, the singularly delicious urojo.

5. Zanzibar Pizza

As spices have become more accessible and slaves, thankfully, less acceptable, Zanzibar’s economy has changed dramatically. What hasn't changed is that foreigners continue to flock to the archipelago–these days, instead of merchants or colonizers, it is a pilgrimage for European tourists escaping harsh winters and demanding jobs.

Enter the Zanzibari pizza: Not exactly a pizza, but a common street food seen at the Forodhani Night Market along Stone Town’s waterfront. Prepared by street chefs with names like “Mr. Nutella” and “Mr. Delicious”, the Zanzibar pizza is a crepe pocket fried up with various fillings. Originally a chapati snack of beef and onion, it has evolved slightly closer to its pizza namesake. Perhaps the greatest outside influence is the triangular slice of cream cheese that is plopped into the middle of the pizza, along with a slathering of mayo–two products I enjoy at home but have seen nowhere else in Zanzibari cuisine.

With Europe having both the highest rates of dairy and mayonnaise consumption in the world, and Zanzibar reaching a peak of more than a million visitors in 2024, I can’t help but correlate the Zanzibar pizza’s popularity with its newest wave of foreign influence: the West.

And as Western palettes descend upon the archipelago, Zanzibar has seen a new wave of epicurean innovation. Zanzibar pizza was one of the last things I tried while I was on the island, and tasted the most familiar–the oozy mixture of egg, tomato and melted cheese reminded me of Sunday omelets at home. Yet, the hints of masala-spiced beef and scoop of chutney kept my feet grounded on the island. The familiar and foreign blended into a thousand flavors at once, like Zanzibar itself.

Photo Credit: Brian Palmer

The pizza may be a contemporary addition, but just as with ndizi na samaki, pilau, halwa, and urojo, it follows an old recipe–over high heat, stir together adaptation and improvisation, with a heavy dash of spice. Zanzibar is a place where local ingredients blend with foreign flavors to become a rich melting pot of identities. And maybe that’s why people keep coming—because here, nothing stays the same, but everything belongs.

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