Review: Mnemba Island, Zanzibar

Mnemba Island has been sitting on my “to visit” list for years.  I have been to nearly every luxury private island resort on the planet, and a private island off the coast of Zanzibar?  That’s Africa, folks, my spiritual home.  That’s like dangling a goat in front of a T-rex. Or waving Ozempic in front of a room full of models.  In both cases, someone’s going to bite.  And yet, every time I looked at Mnemba, I just couldn’t see the point.  The reviews were all over the place, the product looked tired, and the whole place looked like a budget homage to North Island, put together from scraps collected on Craigslist.

But then, at the end of 2024, they reopened after a ten-month full rebuild.  Finally, I had a reason to go.

Getting there

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to earn your holiday, Mnemba will give you the answer.  From the moment you land, it’s a sequence of travel insurance bureaucracy, visa queues, and the endless faff that is Zanzibar airport.  After an eternity of bureaucracy, I was escorted to a lounge while they retrieved my luggage.  That was the warm-up act.

Then came the drive — 90 minutes of potholes, chaos, and a flooding of memories reminding me exactly why I hadn’t hurried back to Zanzibar.  The island still reminds me of Bali: sold as paradise but, in reality, a dump you escape as fast as possible to reach your resort.  And never leave.

Zanzibar currently bans helicopters, so there’s no shortcut — you have to endure every bit of it.

It would’ve been nice if the car had proper snacks, not just a bag of crackers, given they knew exactly how far I’d travelled to get there.  Most properties fail to do this, yet with so few rooms, it’s the perfect opportunity to show some personalisation.  And yet, nothing.

A bumpy hour and a half later, I hoped on a boat for a short, choppy, wind-blasted ten-minute ride.  There’s no pier, so it’s barefoot embarkation, straight onto the beach where, finally, a ray of sunshine and hope, as a line of staff, including Kenny, the GM, were waving me in.

Setting

You leave behind a landscape of construction sites and concrete blocks, and within minutes, you’re barefoot, handed a casual warning and waiver about sharp objects, and away you go.

I don’t like the term barefoot luxury and the compromises it usually signals, but I do love anywhere that lets you abandon shoes — and the sand here is, for the most part, wonderfully soft.  Low tide was something to behold, pulling the water so far back it completely transforms the landscape.  The island looks every bit the part, turquoise water, golden sand, lush green trees, but the tourists have done their best to wreck it.  It’s Earth in microcosm: beautiful, and gradually transforming into a sewer.  And just like Thanda Island, so much of the island has sandbags lining much of the island, in a constant fight against erosion.

You can walk around the entire island in under 15 minutes.  All the rooms and facilities are clustered on one side of the island for a reason — the other side is relentlessly battered by wind.  Strong winds are a commonality all year round, it’s just the direction they’re coming in that changes.  At this time of year, the island itself acts as a shield — the chaos you feel on the boat crossing mostly disappears once you arrive.  What doesn’t disappear, though, are the lights from the mainland and a sea full of boats.  From my beach, the nighttime view was like a ferry terminal.  Don’t expect the remoteness of Soneva Secret, North Island, Thanda Island or the serene, meditative calm of, say, Glastonbury Festival.  In fact, you’ll be longing for the peace and tranquility of a St. Patrick’s Day parade by midday, when one corner of the island fills with day boats.  Apparently the Instagram crowd’s preferred method of “visiting” Mnemba. At least it’s now away from the house reef, which, from what I’ve been told, they had already done more damage to than their own orange skin.

The bugs make their presence known immediately.  I’m gonna get fucked up, aren’t I?

From December to April, the winds hit the island head-on.  Probably not the best time of year to order a hanging kebab — all that swinging meat and surprise face-slaps.  Sounds like my teenage years browser history.  Yes, it’s windy, but mercifully, the rooms are tucked away enough that you’re not eating sand as a canapé.  They sit just off the beach, nestled in a patch of jungle that feels almost wooded.  You can walk through it to reach your room if you don’t fancy the beach route, though there’s nothing particularly thrilling happening back there.

If all it takes to keep mosquitoes away is extreme weather, then sign me up for the apocalypse.  Unfortunately, my optimism was short-lived.  Did I get bitten?  You’re damn right I did — just not as badly as I expected given the circumstances.  Still too much.  Always too much.

The beach was in possession of weed.  Seaweed, to be precise.  And just like the Seychelles, where you find sea turtles, you find seagrass too.  Pick your poison; the turtles aren’t here for your pretty face.  I’ll take the seagrass any day.

Facilities

This is a very basic island, in that there’s your room, the main area, or the spa.  And the spa is just two treatment rooms and a yoga studio, so not many people are going to spend much of their time there.  Realistically, you’re spending most of your time in your room.

The redesign is solid.  I’ll never love rustic, barebones design — it’s just not for me — but I can appreciate when it’s done properly.  And here, it is.  They’ve made it work within the limits of that style.  Everything looks good, it’s very photogenic, the main area has loads of space, and they do make an effort to personalise things — mixing up where you eat, making sure there’s always someone around to look after you.  But what it lacks is the magic of being able to wander off and explore, or simply find your own space.  There just isn’t enough island for that.

The main area is the hub of everything, with the bar being the standout feature — especially in the evenings when it’s genuinely very pretty.  There’s also a small conservation room, a lounge area, dining tables scattered out on the sand, a dive center and, of course, a boutique.  The house reef sits directly in front of my room, making the ocean the only real “facility” on offer.

This is the definition of basic: no pool, no gym, and little in the way of common spaces.  There’s nowhere else to go beyond your banda or the main area, so it doesn’t feel particularly private nor special.

Room

There are 12 rooms in total: 11 Bandas and one Family Banda.  I was in Room #9 — like all the rooms, it’s tucked into the trees but faces out to the ocean.  Though it’s worth knowing Rooms 1-4 look directly towards the mainland lights.

Design-wise, it definitely feels fresh after the rebuild.  Do I look at it and think wow?  No.  Do I hate it?  Also no.  That is, until I wanted to escape the bugs.

It does feel private when you’re in your room, but that illusion started to fade when, walking back to my room, I could clearly see into Room 8, so privacy is more of a theory than a guarantee.

Each room has what they call a beach lounge — basically a covered outdoor setup which sits a good 20-30m away from your room, on the beach itself.  It’s a good way of trying to offer that exclusivity and privacy back in your room, whilst having a beach area you can hang around all day.  It’s two sun loungers, a dining table, some chairs, a massive built-in sofa, and a minibar and shower.

The room itself layout is fully open; not open-plan, open.  If you come in from the beach, you walk through the living area with a roof and no walls, looking back into the trees.  The lounge has a long curved sofa and a token hanging chair.  There’s that familiar rustic, slightly damp wood smell — you’ll know it if you’ve been to North Island.

Step up to the bedroom and there are actual doors… though they’re more for show than practicality.  They ain’t keeping out anything other than a moron.  There’s no blackout, no air-con, no bath (because water conservation), no cover, just a giant mosquito net over the bed.  At least you get proper charging ports: UK three-pin, USB-A, USB-C, the works.  And a fan above the bed.  And a “gym in a bag” which contained a 1kg and 2kg dumbbells, a skipping rope, and a resistance band.

There’s a little desk off to the side, plenty of storage behind the bedroom, and a personal bar with everything from spirits to snacks.  I like to sit up in bed, especially at night when it’s the only protected area from the bugs, but there’s only a half-arsed headboard that but the headboard was about as supportive as a 25-year-old at the deathbed of her 85-year-old billionaire husband.

The bathroom is huge, with a double vanity and a gigantic, elegant shower, which was all fart, no shit.  The shower made me give up and just fester in my stench: one minute it’s boiling, the next it’s freezing, until I worked out the secret — leave it running for two minutes, then pray.  The water pressure was barely a trickle, so even when it worked, it didn’t really work.  They also have this bizarre little side room that’s meant to be an outdoor shower but got abandoned mid-idea.  Now it just exists, looking pointless….cos it is.

The toilet is the only fully enclosed space — though even that has gaps for airflow, because of course it does.  One night, I went in and there was a crab.  It started scuttling in the dark, and I mistook it for a spider — at which point, I no longer needed the toilet because I’d already shat myself.  After taking some brave pills and going back in, what do I find?  An actual goddamn spider.

Service & Food

They make an effort.  They knew all my preferences, and even sorted me a memory foam pillow, and the chef came over early on to talk through things.  Then came dinner, where I felt like I’d walked onto Love Island: a parade of introductions — dive manager, conservation lead, wellness therapist — everyone queuing up to say hello.  A conveyor belt of “hi, I exist”.  Thankfully, only wellness comes with a bill, so it wasn’t like Soneva Fushi where they were trying to flog me things, just an overly keen group.

When a place is this basic, it needs to absolutely excel in the soft stuff — the food, the service, the little moments that make you forget there’s no pool, no gym, and not a single door in sight.  But it doesn’t.  I never had a “wow” moment.  It’s not that the service was bad or indifferent — it just never lifted above background noise.  The standout was the activity team — genuinely brilliant guys who actually made the stay.

Food-wise, it’s fine.  Simple menus, limited options, lots of fish (unsurprisingly).

I liked that they offered sundowners in the room on the first night — a decent selection of sushi sent over before dinner.  The sushi itself was perfectly fine, as I’ve come to expect on islands like this, but the gesture felt more like a nod to safari tradition: a sort of island version of afternoon tea in the bush.  And that’s exactly what this place feels like — a safari lodge, with all its limitations.  Which makes sense, given & Beyond’s portfolio is overwhelmingly safari-focused.  And it doesn’t work on a private island setting.  For a private island, it’s easily the most restrictive menu I’ve ever seen.  The Michelin guide ain’t sending you on a road trip here.

Dinner each night was limited to choosing from two starters, three mains, one dessert — exactly the same as Suyian Lodge.  First dinner didn’t impress, just felt like filler.  Lunch was family-style, no choice, with a choice of three desserts, once again the same as Suyian.  The fish was excellent… shame about the onions I’d very clearly said I didn’t want.  One evening, they setup dinner beside my beach lounge was undeniably beautiful.  Watching other guests dine in front of their villas with fire pits looked very cool too.

Breakfast was a big buffet dropped off at your table — fruits, yoghurt, pastries, granola, salads.  Breakfast had an a la carte of “something sweet” and a healthy offer, which rotated between “actually very good” and “absolutely not”.

On departure, there were even less snacks in the car than arrival, and no offer of any food, like they did at Suyian.  But they did give me a very late checkout of 5:15, which was very appreciated.  Everyone coming to the beach to wave me off.  It was lovely.  I think the longer you stay here the better, as there are some really wonderful people working here, but I’m not sure that’s enough.  In fact, I know it isn’t.

Activities

This is where the island redeems itself — a bit.  There’s snorkeling, sunset cruises, and a house reef just steps from your room.  I’m not a diver, but they include it in the rate, which at least goes some way to justifying the cost.

But there are long stretches where there’s just nothing to do.  I ended up writing my Suyian Lodge review one morning out of sheer boredom.  This entire multi-million dollar travel business started because I get restless on holiday over a decade ago.  Clearly, nothing’s changed.

The dolphin swim was genuinely incredible.  I’ve done countless dolphin cruises in the Maldives — always great, especially with the kids — but this was something else.  When they said you could swim with them, I assumed it meant jumping in, catching a blurry glimpse as they sped past like a 28 Days Later horde.  Nope.  They came right up to us, circled around, and stuck around so long it felt like we should’ve at least exchanged numbers.  They were so close I could have touched them, which is something you should only ever write about animals.

The sunset cruise itself was fairly uneventful — no sunset due to the clouds, rough seas, and the boat definitely isn’t Kisawa standard — but it’s there if you want it.  Coming back from a boat trip really highlights how exposed the rooms are.  All those tourists arriving by dhow get a lovely view of you trying to relax on your beach lounge, which slightly undermines the whole “private island” fantasy.

And then, just as I was wondering how to kill the three hours between finishing dinner at 7pm and going to bed, I got a call: a turtle was nesting right near my room. Two hours later, I’d helped measure her, watched her lay her eggs, and seen her head back to the ocean.  An absolute highlight.

Yet would it get even better?  Oh yes it would.  By sheer luck, a clutch of turtle eggs was due to hatch on the very day I was leaving.  So at 4pm, with my boat to the mainland just over an hour away, I found myself standing on the beach watching tiny turtles emerge and bolt toward the ocean like they couldn’t wait to get the hell outta Zanzibar.  It was amazing to experience — watching them charge into the waves, off into the unknown, never to see their parents again.  God, I wish I was a turtle’s parent.

Kids Friendly

There one family room but no kids club and certainly not sold as a place for kids.  Only two children under 12 allowed on island at any point.  I cannot imagine bringing my young kids here, they’d be bored shitless

The Good

• Service

The Bad

• Accommodation
• Views
• The crowds
• Lack of menus
• Lack of facilities

The Luxurious

• The wildlife

Conclusion

Mnemba Island is exactly like North Island — just without the massive island, the gorgeous pool, the hiking trails, the multiple restaurants, the extensive menus, the tortoises, the places to explore, the sprawling villa, the gym, the air conditioning, and the views into nothingness.

There are two things I ask myself when I stay somewhere: did I have a good time, and is the property actually any good?  Because those two aren’t always the same.  I can have a brilliant trip and still recognise the problems make a thicker dossier than the Epstein files.

This isn’t an I hated it review.  Mnemba has its moments, but it’s absurdly overpriced for a product that feels incomplete.  After 15+ years of travelling to the world’s best properties, I don’t get swept up in the novelty of palm trees and barefoot dining.  Although, goddamn, those turtles were cute.

So, did I have a good time?  Absolutely. Would I recommend Mnemba to most of our clients?  Absolutely not.  Vastly superior options exist for the same — or often less — money.  This is not a glowing review, but it’s not an angry one either.

Let’s break it down:

As I scroll back through this review, I can see people mentally checking out, one detail at a time.  For every nice thing I say, there’s two “buts…” in the waiting.  Yes, the island is beautiful.  But the view’s ruined by mainland lights and a parade of boats.  Yes, it’s exclusive in room count.  But you’re still sharing your “private island” experience with tourists bobbing a few metres from your beach lounge.  Yes, the team is friendly and the dolphins are magical.  But the rooms don’t have doors.  Or windows.  Or air conditioning.  Just a mosquito net and a lot of hope.  The food is limited.  The facilities are minimal.  There’s very little to actually do unless you’re diving or snorkelling.  From landing in Zanzibar to setting foot on the island, you’re looking at around 2.5 hours.  So it’s not convenient either.

So everything else — the service, food, activities, the setting — has to absolutely shine.  They do not.

Yes, it’s a private island — but “private” is doing a lot of heavy lifting.  The constant stream of boats makes it feel more like an Ibiza foam party drifted off course.  I once gave Miavana grief for having the nerve to call itself a private island, but at least it actually is private.  Here, you’re just separated from the mainland by some seaweed and a gaggle of cockgobbling wannabe influencers that leak piss and radiate like a glow stick.

Now, someone might say the charm lies in the simplicity.  But we live in a world full of properties that manage to deliver seclusion with variety and charm.  Soneva Secret.  Miavana. North Island.  Kisawa. Kudadoo.  The Nautilus.  All manage to do “small and special” without needing to serve the same fish three nights in a row.

And that is what’s been bugging me, that haunts me, that baffles me, that keeps gnawing away at the last sprinkles of my soul.  Not the mosquito bites or the inconsistent shower temperature.  It’s the question that kept looping in my head: who is this actually for?  As a travel writer-slash-agent-slash-person-who’s-seen-too-much, I try to put myself in other people’s shoes.  But here?  I’ve woken up in my own urine and found my shoes replaced with sausages.  I’m lost.

Every guest I spoke to loved it.  Some were on their second stay.  There’s clearly a loyal following.  But I still find myself asking: why?  Were they here under duress?  Who is this place actually for?  The only answer I keep circling back to is: people who simply don’t know what else is out there.  Is it a less polite way of saying “ignorant morons”?  Possibly.

Normally when I dislike somewhere, I go in hard.  But this isn’t that kind of place.  I don’t hate Mnemba.  I just can’t make sense of it.  I think that’s why this review feels softer than usual.  Cos I’m trying, folks.  Because I want to understand who it’s for.  I watched everyone else having a great time and started to wonder, is it me?  But I don’t think it is.  I don’t think most of our clients — which is the bubble I live in — would want something this basic.  And anyone who knows what else is out there probably wouldn’t either.  Mnemba Island is aimed at a very, very specific kind of traveller.  And I’m not one of them.

So after all this, do all the negatives make it a bad resort?  Well, if you’re expecting Cheval Blanc, for sure.  But if you’re into simplicity, and rustic minimalism, there’s something here.  Somewhere.  But it’s not cheap.  It’s not even in the same area code as cheap.  And at that price, I just don’t get what you’re actually paying for.  Well, except the all-inclusive element, which I always approve of.

Zanzibar itself isn’t a destination I rate.  You need a very good reason to come here.  And $6,000 a night to maybe see a turtle?  I could’ve bought a lifetime Nat Geo subscription for me, my children, and their imaginary grandchildren for that.