July 2010
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236 Hurumzi
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The Indian Ocean calmed, lightened to turquoise. The ferry glided past dhows, their ragged sails shaped like shark fins, past nefarious rusting vessels, and into port, stopping in front of a wall of centuries-old buildings, squeezed together and set behind long stretches of powdery-white sand. “Welcome to Zanzibar. Do you have Typhoid?” The immigration officer asked....