ON THE ISLAND OF UNGUJA in the Indian Ocean, there is a beach named Kiwimbi. All of the locals know the beach by this name, but I suppose the visitors and tourists do not. This is why I tell you its name now in case this is your first visit. Visitors might know it by another name. They may not care to ask for its name at all. I am unsure because I have never asked them, and they have never asked me.

Each morning before sunrise, local people exercise on Kiwimbi. Before these morning exercises take place, there are occasional Hindu cremations and there are daily returns of fishing boats. After the ashes have departed into the same wind which brings the tired fisherman ashore the exercises begin.

On Kiwimbi, there are jogging teams and capoeira teams. There are also individuals who do not belong to any team. These solitary swimmers and jumpers defy custom, but surely they rejoin the fold upon completion of their routine.

At Kiwimbi beach, there is also a track for running, a court for netball, a court for basketball, and a field for football. You may know this final sport as soccer, or you may know it as football. Perhaps even better, you know it asmpira. Perhaps this is not truly better, just different. Anyway, every evening before it is time for dinner these fields fill again with people. These evening exercises comprise running and jumping, and playing those sports with teams. Again, some people do not belong to any team. I do not know what those people want.

This evening, the sun is particularly early to sleep. On Unguja, we are close to the equator. Our daily supply of sunlight is nearly equal all year long. But, our island lies just south of the equator and this means that July is a little darker and very much cooler than other months. This evening, the sun is low on the water. It is as low as it may go without being fully swallowed by the waves. A blue like peacock feathers spreads across the sky, and the pink of bougainvillea flowers accompanies it. The sun itself is red like a dying ember.

On Unguja, we call this dark but colorful timemagharibi. Travelers love this time, and they swarm Africa House to drink alcohol and take photos of the vision. Sometimes, these travelers venture out onto the beach, loosely wrapped in lacy scarves.

When they do, I ask them why they are so compelled to photograph the sunset on Unguja, and they always respond in the same way. They look at me with wonder and it is clear that my question is foolish to them. I know this because amusement is visible in their blue eyes like the kind reserved for clever children who ask surprising questions.

After they look at me for a moment, they explain how very beautiful this sunset is. They tell me that it is unlike anything else in the world. This is a funny thing to say, but I take them by their word. Yes, they must know the world better than me. After all, by their being here, they have at least seen their homes and Unguja and maybe more. Based on what they say, perhaps Unguja is unusu