The winds are already strong as groups of young people and musicians gather beside rows of Ngalawas, traditional outrigger canoes that embody Swahili seafaring heritage, anchored on the sand. The boats dot the white sandy shores with their white lateen sails gently swaying in the breeze, standing out against the bright blue ocean and sky. A sense of anticipation plays around the rippling material, as the audience grows excited. Fishermen adjust sails as children watch, waiting expectantly for the annual Regatta. The air is filled with sounds of drums, flutes and trumpets, wind whistling in the background, carrying the music.
This is the tenth annual Diani Regatta Festival. Locals of all ages journey to the shore for a day of diverse culture, enjoying food, entertainment, crafts and the crown of them all, a traditional boat race. On this day, culture, memory, and knowledge of the sea are shared across generations.
Knowledge of the sea
The Diani Regatta Festival is a race of traditional boats called Ngalawa, which use wind to propel themselves. It draws on the roots of the Swahili-speaking coastal communities, who have used Ngalawa for fishing and long-distance travelling for hundreds of years. Among the gathered sailors is Abdalla Mbaruk, a local fisher and captain from the Digo community, one of the Mijikenda communities of Kenya, who learnt to sail from his father. He began sailing Ngalawa boats as a teenager and has since spent years on the sea, using traditional knowledge to predict wind, waves, and tides. Abdalla is one of the boat captains for the regatta, leading a team of five boat operators, and is one of the best sailors in Kenya.
As he adjusts the white sails and seawater laps at his knees, he explains that sailing is not taught in books but mastered through experience. Without engines, the boats rely entirely on wind and balance, requiring an understanding of weather patterns only possible for those who have observed the Indian Ocean for a long time.
“We use only the wind for the movement, just like our parents and grandparents did. The boats are made using mango trees because it is hardwood. They are then carved carefully into shape.”
Abdalla’s boat was built more than fifteen years ago. It was passed down to him from his father, who not only used it for fishing expeditions but also for trips to nearby islands in Tanzania such as Pemba and Zanzibar.
For Abdalla and the rest of the sailors, the regatta is not just a competition where the winner looks forward to cash awards; the Ngalawa carries knowledge that is passed from generation to generation, holding immense cultural meaning. How we influence the ocean, and how the ocean influences us, known to the western world as ocean literacy, is central to the transition of this knowledge between generations here. Younger community members are increasingly drawn to this knowledge, looking up to sailors like Abdalla to teach them of the Ngalawas, winds, and tides.
The knowledge needed to guide these boats is now under threat. Fishermen along Kenya’s south coast say changing wind patterns and unpredictable seas linked to climate change are making traditional navigation harder. At the same time, tourism development is reshaping the ancient coastal spaces that were once used freely by fishing communities.
In the middle of this uncertainty, the Diani Regatta has become a rare moment where cultural practices tied to the ocean are actively remembered, practiced, and shared with a new generation.
While men are busy on the boats, women prepare food and organize cultural dances in traditional attire, celebrating ocean themes that connect families to their coastal culture. For many women along the coast, the ocean shapes their daily lives through fish trading, food preparation and other cultural traditions that are tied to seasons and tides.
“When we watch the race, we are not just enjoying the competition. It reminds us of where our fathers and forefathers came from,”
said Mwanaharusi Ali, one of the attendees.
As the morning heat rises, Mbaruk Abdalla’s knowledge is soon to be tested on water. The regatta races are about to begin.
The race
Eighteen boats compete in the regatta, with six boats competing in each round before the finalists are selected.
At the sound of a horn, each boat’s occupants quickly lift the anchor, marked by white buoys, as they set off for the sea, pushing their Ngalawas into deeper waters. One crew member jumps out to guide the vessel forward to a depth where it can easily move with the waves.
At the shoreline, spectators line up, cheering, as the wind fills the white sails, propelling the boats to higher speeds. This is not modern fishing, where motors control speed and direction; this is truly moving with the elements. The ocean transforms from a backdrop to a dynamic force of traditional knowledge in action.
Soon, the Ngalawas are spread across the water, easily identified by the white sails in the distance, each crew manoeuvring both the tides and winds to stay ahead of the rest. Victory depends on how fast a team completes the two-kilometre stretch and returns to shore. At turning points marked by yellow buoys, captains are seen at a distance adjusting their sail to realign with the direction of the wind.
Abdalla’s team are crowned the winners in an adrenaline-filled final. He explains that it takes teamwork and a mastery of navigation that only comes with confidence and experience.
“As a captain, my role is to ensure the boat is balanced and speed is controlled. The stronger the wind the faster the boat moves, but it is all about teamwork,” said Abdalla.
Hassan Kobe, a 32-year-old fisherman who is among the youngest participants in the race, says the competition is not always about winning but keeping traditions alive for future generations.
His fear, however, is the growth of motorized boats currently used by fishermen, which poses a threat to the centuries-old tradition.
Indigenous roots
The regatta is usually held between February and March every year since 2014, with strong wind seasons being the biggest determiner of the dates. In 2026, however, the event coincided with the holy month of Ramadhan. George Mokaya, chairperson of the South Coast Residents Association and part of the organizing team, says indigenous community guidance plays a central role in deciding when the festival takes place.
“The regatta depends on wind patterns, but we also listen to local communities,” he says. “This year many residents were fasting, so the competition could not continue as planned.”
Organizers say collaboration with Indigenous communities helps preserve maritime knowledge while encouraging responsible tourism among both local and international visitors. As custodians of this heritage, community members strengthen cultural pride by sharing boat-building techniques, wind-based navigation, and other long-held practices. Some visitors return year after year to witness the Ngalawa race, drawn by its deep cultural roots.
Fishermen like Abdalla and Kobe are glad that the skills they practice at sea daily are not confined to their night fishing expeditions, but are shared openly to the public ensuring that a timeless tradition continues to be remembered and Indigenous knowledge stays alive.
At a time when climate change is reshaping oceans and livelihoods, these wind-powered traditions could offer solutions, highlighting sustainable ways of engaging with the sea, making Indigenous knowledge not only something to preserve, but an active part of the future.
Events such as the Diani Regatta demonstrate that ocean literacy is embedded in cultural practice, where knowledge of winds, tides and the sea is learned through participation and passed between generations. By the end of the regatta, everyone walks away with far more than just memories of a great race. They have developed a deeper understanding of the ocean and our connection to it, where the Ngalawas sail.
