The Long Road to Mafia Island: Heat, Dust, and Whale Sharks

Mafia Island might be one’s idea of an island paradise, but it doesn’t give itself away easily.

My journey started in Dar es Salaam, squeezed into the back of a tuk tuk, dodging through the morning chaos of the city. We weaved between buses, vendors, motorbikes, and clouds of dust on the way to the Dala Dala terminal. I had woken up early, but hoped that the dala dala for Nyamisati hadn’t left that day.

Dala Dalas are Tanzania’s shared minibuses, and “full” is a flexible concept. After haggling for a spot, I crammed into the aisle of a bus heading toward Nyamisati, a remote fishing village where the ferry for Mafia Island sometimes departs. “Sometimes” is key.

The bus was already packed with schoolkids in uniform, and men and women in traditional clothing. With no seats left, people sat on the floor, in the aisles, and even half-out the door. The heat in the bus was stifling: thick, wet, unmoving. I was soaked in sweat before we left the city limits.

The Road Disappears

As we headed south, the roads narrowed. Asphalt turned to gravel, then to packed dirt, then barely a trail at all. We rattled and bounced our way through villages where time felt slower. Every so often, we’d stop to pick someone up or drop someone off, sometimes both at once.

After nearly five hours, we rolled into Nyamisati. It felt like we’d driven off the edge of the map. Under the hot African sun, hundreds of people were gathered in the shade, waiting for their chance to take the ferry.

Waiting for the Ferry That May Never Come

Nyamisati is not so much a port as it is a promise. The ferry to Mafia Island runs subject to tides and weather, which are both very tempermental/ There’s no fixed schedule, just a window of hope that opens every few days. I wandered through the crowd, asking questions, pointing to the sea, very confused at what the situation with the ferry was. It took about an hour to figure out that the ferry tickets are sold in the morning at 6am when it is determined the ferry will run, and they are sold out almost immediately.

I had arrived at 4pm, and though I was lucky enough to arrive on a day that the ferry was running, the tickets were long since sold out. Luckily, I managed to slip some cash to the right official and secured a ticket. Ferry at 7 p.m., they said. Just wait.

As the sun began to set, I saw two young boys playing checkers in the dust with bottle caps. I snapped a photo of them, framed by the heat and stillness of the port, unaware that the ferry ride ahead would be one of the wildest experiences of the trip.

Two boys at the Nyamisati ferry port playing checkers.

The Night Ferry to Mafia

When the ferry arrived, it was already full. People poured onto the upper deck, which was covered in thin cushions that barely softened the hard metal floor. I squeezed into a spot beneath the smokestack, shoulder to shoulder with strangers who quickly became temporary family. Cigarettes were passed, stories told, and laughter bubbled under the stars.

As we pulled away from shore, the air filled with diesel and salt. I watched the last lights of the mainland disappear, sharing a cigarette with the people around me. Someone handed me a mango. Someone else offered a place to rest my head. We slept in a cloud of soot billowing from the smoke stack of the diesel engine and stared at the starlight for the next six hours.

When we arrived, it was 2am and I was disoriented. I did not have a place to stay, but luckily found a guesthouse that could give me a room at the late hour.

The scene from the upper deck of the Mafia Island ferry

Island Life: Swimming with Giants

Mafia Island delivered. On the first morning, I set off from the guesthouse with Hussain—caretaker, guide, and now friend—on a rickety wooden boat sealed with coconut oil and cotton. We were heading out to see the island’s most famous residents: whale sharks.

As we motored out, the sea was flat, the sky endless. Then we saw them, with dorsal fins cutting through the water. I jumped in, mask on, heart pounding, and found myself face to face with a 30-foot whale shark. Its enormous mouth opened just feet away, scooping krill as it glided past.

I swam hard, keeping up as best I could, then instinctively reached out and grabbed the dorsal fin. For a few seconds, I rode beside it. Eventually, the shark pulled ahead and disappeared into the blue.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating fruit on the boat, the crew laughing and posing for photos. The captain, who only spoke Swahili, cracked a rare smile for my camera. “He’s usually grumpy,” Hussain whispered. “But he likes you.”

Exploring by Land and Sea

Over the next few days, I explored Mafia Island with whatever transport I could find. I hired a motorboat and cruised through a sheltered bay to snorkel the island’s pristine reefs. The reefs were teeming with all sorts of tropical fish and octopus. We spent about six hours exploring the beautiful reefs around the small islands in the coves.

I also rented a motorcycle. It was my first time riding, and the man I rented it from barely explained how to turn it on before hopping on a passing bike and disappearing. I jerked forward in first gear until some locals yelled at me to shift. I eventually got the hang of it and tore down sandy tracks, fishtailing dangerously but grinning the whole way.

Evenings of Fire and Water

Every evening, the sun melted into the sea like a ritual. The sky turned violet, then orange, then gold. I made it a habit to walk the beach at sunset, barefoot, camera in hand. One night, the tide was pulling out and the sky caught fire. I stood there, speechless, the last light stretching across the wet sand like a painting.

Mafia Island doesn’t come easy. It’s earned, not given. But once you're there, sweating and grinning, surrounded by strangers turned friends and seas filled with giants, you'll know you’ve arrived somewhere truly special.

The Journey to Mafia Island