The revolution of January 1964 in Zanzibar remains a foundational trauma in Indian Ocean history, marking the violent collapse of the Al-Busaidi Sultanate and the end of Omani elite hegemony. In Zanzibar Was a Country, Nathaniel Mathews offers a masterful analysis of this rupture by focusing on the fate of the Omani-Zanzibari diaspora. Drawing on the archives of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the contemporary press, and memorial testimonies of survivors, the work reconstructs a “connected history” through the lens of forced migration and shifting citizenship (158–60). The study ultimately sheds light on the transformation of a perceived Arab population in East Africa into a stateless diaspora scattered in “Dubai, Muscat, Portsmouth, London, Nairobi, Dar-es-Salaam and elsewhere” (2). In that, Mathews’s work joins an expanding historiography on the Arab diaspora known as muwalladūn—or individuals of mixed South Arabian and East African or South Asian descent.Footnote ¹

In the first part of the book, “Belonging in Zanzibar,” Mathews situates the diaspora’s experience within the broader decolonisation process. He demonstrates how the “regime of indigeneity” (33–35) established under the British protectorate exacerbated divisions between the descendants of enslaved people from the bara (mainland) and the Omani elite (45, 178). A central strength of the book is its focus on the muwalladūn, whose identity became precarious during the rise of pan-African nationalism in the 1950s.

Mathews’s use of the term “Afro-Arab” to describe locally born Zanzibaris of Omani origin warrants scrutiny. He skilfully shows how this population, once a ruling class, was transformed into a stateless diaspora after 1964. In the end, the Afro-Arab ideal of an independent, multicultural Zanzibar, championed by the Zanzibar Nationalist Party (ZNP), ultimately fractured against the militant ethnic consciousness mobilised by the Afro-Shirazi Party (ASP) (41–47).

Titled “Belonging in Diaspora,” the second part of the book examines the immediate aftermath of the inqilab al-dammawi (bloody revolution). Mathews chronicles the flight of approximately 35,000 refugees to the United Kingdom, Oman, and the Trucial States (now the United Arab Emirates). A crucial element of his analysis is the paradoxical integration of these exiles. While the author highlights their economic resilience, the text could have further explored the internal political frictions within Oman during this period. Mathews briefly mentions refugees holding Imamate passports (23) but does not fully detail the reluctance of Sultan Said bin Taimur to welcome subjects who were often viewed as political rivals or supporters of the deposed Imamate. This political context, which is missing, helps explain why many Zanzibaris were redirected to Dubai rather than Muscat.

The final section of the book, “Belonging in Oman,” adopts a diachronic perspective on the formation of Omani national citizenship under Sultan Qaboos. Mathews illustrates how the return of this skilled, educated workforce after 1970 became a catalyst for the country’s modernisation. He observes an “instrumentalised citizenship,” where Zanzibari identity persists as a private cultural marker even as individuals successfully navigate the Omani state apparatus (142–45). The diachronic perspective also allows Mathews to explore different narratives, both institutional and personal—including Tanzania’s attempts to downplay the consequences of the revolution and the refugees’ memorial narratives, often marked by a desire to minimise the consequences of slavery. He compares the experience of the Omani-Zanzibari to that of other groups facing similar situations of dispossession and violence, including the Indians of Uganda in 1972 or the Indonesian Chinese in 1998. Mathews also underlines the place of the Manga—a minority population that was a victim of the revolution despite having no links with the Afro-Arab elites and their attendant privileges—and the tragic fate of some of the Afro-Arabs who had campaigned for independence.

In many regards, this is an excellent work. Yet, the book would have benefitted from engagement with events in the larger region. For instance, the trajectories of Comorian religious authorities, such as Sayyid Umar Abdallah (Mwenye Baraka) (1918–88) or al-Habib Umar b. Sumayt (1884–1976), would have provided an instructive parallel. Their experiences as “scholar-travellers” (like Anne Bang is calling them) embody the very “eclectic citizenship” Mathews describes. Furthermore, as anthropologist Engseng Ho has argued regarding Hadrami networks, access to modern education (often in Cairo or the USSR) was frequently a more decisive factor in successful diaspora integration than genealogical prestige alone.Footnote ² This perspective would have added further depth to Mathews’s analysis of the muwalladūn elite.

While the book suffers from some oversights and minor factual errors, as when the author says that Zanzibar is the “only Muslim majority ‘country’ in the region” (176), which isolates Zanzibar from its neighbours such as the Comoros archipelago, Zanzibar Was a Country remains a significant contribution to the extant historiography. Mathews succeeds in synthesising hitherto unheard accounts, particularly from the Gulf diaspora. He brilliantly demonstrates how the instrumentalisation of indigeneity prevented the construction of an egalitarian nation in Zanzibar. At the same time, he highlights the resilience of a hybrid identity in Oman. This book is set to become an essential reference for the historiography of East Africa and the wider Indian Ocean world.