Once the workhorses of the Indian Ocean trade, dhows carried goods, stories, and cultures along the East African coast and beyond—and to some extent, they still do. But in places like Mombasa, they have taken on an additional role. These same wooden vessels, shaped by centuries of seafaring tradition, now offer a slower, more reflective way to explore the ocean.
You don’t rush on a dhow; you ease into it, moving gently across the water and discovering the coastline not as a destination, but as a feeling.
While in Mombasa, I had a memorable dhow experience, courtesy of Virgin Explorers.
I boarded at English Point Marina Hotel, stepping onto a dhow that was already occupied—mostly by domestic tourists. As a matter of fact, I was the last passenger to board.
The vibe, the atmosphere, the mood… pure bliss. There was an easy calm in the air—nothing forced, nothing rushed. Conversations flowed lightly, laughter came and went, and everything seemed to move at its own pace. It was the kind of setting that invites you to settle in without thinking, to let your guard down and just be.
Although the vessel itself was traditional—rooted in a long-standing Indian Ocean marine culture—the interior told a slightly different story. It blended modern design with a quiet simplicity.
It felt like a minimalist open-air lounge.
I took off my shoes before stepping onto the dhow, leaving them in a designated compartment. Going barefoot deepened the sense of relaxation, making the experience feel more grounded, more connected.
As I kicked back, I noticed the crew preparing our refreshments, chopping madafu—coconut water served in its natural form. Before long, we were served the refreshing drink, accompanied by live drumming. The drummers sang Swahili songs popular along the East African coastline, setting a rhythm that carried through the entire experience.
From English Point, we sailed seamlessly toward Tudor Creek. Early in the ride, the waterway narrowed, and I found myself taking in two sides of Mombasa at once.
On one side was Old Town, its centuries-old structures standing still, almost frozen in time. On the other, modern Mombasa rose with a completely different energy. That contrast captured the essence of the city for me—the old and the new coexisting effortlessly.
At some point, I joined the band—the drumming troupe.
I picked up a drum and played along. I sang too. The Swahili songs took me back—to my time in Dar es Salaam, many moons ago. Memories resurfaced naturally, carried by rhythm and familiarity.
Then I put the drum down and stepped away.
I stood still, sipping my coconut water, taking it all in—the city unfolding on both sides of the waterway surrounding the island.
Mombasa began to make more sense.
The city’s core is an island. Moi International Airport—my entry point—is on the western mainland, while my hotel sits on the northern mainland’s beach. After landing, I was driven through the island, crossing two bridges—entering via Makupa Bridge and exiting through Nyali Bridge.
Now, on the dhow, we sailed beneath both.
That moment connected everything. The experience wasn’t just scenic—it was clarifying. It helped me understand the geography of this uniquely shaped city in a way a road journey couldn’t.
And then came the highlight.
Sunset.
At that moment, the engine was switched off. The dhow slowed, easing into a quiet drift. What followed was unforced and deeply present.
The sunset unfolded gently, without urgency—colors stretching across the sky as day gave way to evening. No rush, no noise, just a quiet stillness that settled over the water. It was one of those moments that doesn’t ask for attention, yet holds it completely.
As we drifted through it, everything felt aligned—the setting, the rhythm, the experience itself.
This wasn’t just a cruise.
It was a way of seeing Mombasa differently.