Let me start by saying this: if you ever think you’re in control of your travel plans, you’re not. God is. And He’s got the wildest sense of humour.
When I thought Tanzania, I pictured myself in Zanzibar bronzed, glowing, waist snatched, sundress flowing, coconut in hand. You know, island-girl energy. But fresh off Italy, where I basically had a committed relationship with pasta, bread, and Aperol, my body said, “Babe, let’s be realistic.” And God said, “Awungitsheli lokho, we’re starting in Dar es Salaam.”
Now, Dar wasn’t even on my vision board. But life has a funny way of reminding you that detours are divine.
I boarded a 10pm SAA flight from Joburg, business class, because we don’t suffer unnecessarily, and honestly, SAA has entered its comeback era. The new lounge? Soft life certified. The hospitality? Chef’s kiss.
Four hours later, I landed in Dar. The heat hit first humid, sticky, Durban-style. My driver from Sea Cliff Hotel was already waiting, and as we cruised through the quiet streets, I could feel that familiar coastal energy. Sea Cliff sits right on the ocean, all elegance and calm, but that Tanzanian heat? It wasn’t playing games.
I was supposed to travel to Dodoma that same day. My body said, “Respectfully, no.” So instead, I listened. Took a two-hour nap, a long shower, and made an executive decision to go have breakfast and margaritas. Balance.
It was just me, my laptop, and a fresh coconut from the actual tree, not a Woolies bottle. The way my skin started thanking me after struggling through Italian vino and lack of water? Unmatched. I sat there soaking up the view, chatting to locals, half-working, half-floating in peace.
Dar has this raw, unfiltered rhythm. Street vendors on every corner. Motorbikes zooming like they’re late for destiny. Boutiques tucked into every street, only one mall I could spot. It’s messy. It’s vibrant. It’s alive.
Later that day, I dragged my suitcase through rush-hour traffic and headed to the airport. Naturally, my flight was delayed. So I did what any woman of faith and finesse would do: found a glass of wine and let the universe entertain me. Somewhere between sip number three and gate announcement number five, I met a very interesting man. I ran into him again a few days later in Zanzibar. And now he knows I might just return for New Year’s with him.
By the time I finally touched down back home, after hopping through Zanzibar, Kenya, and a few too many airport lounges, I had boarded ten flights across five countries and somehow still had my glow and my sanity intact.
God’s timing? Chaotic. But always, always perfect.
