Journeys of the Soul

There are moments in life when a single journey can redefine who we are, shifting our perspectives on the world and ourselves in ways we never anticipated. For me, that journey was to Tanzania—a land of breathtaking landscapes, vibrant cultures, and warm-hearted people who taught me more about life, resilience, and humanity than I could have ever learned from books or documentaries.

I didn’t go to Tanzania merely for sightseeing; I sought a deeper experience—one that would challenge me, open my heart, and perhaps help me discover a part of myself that I had yet to meet. What I found was far more profound than I had imagined: a journey of self-discovery, humility, and an understanding of the incredible tapestry we, as human beings, weave together despite our differences.

When I stepped off the plane in Dar es Salaam, I was immediately struck by a wave of humid heat and the rhythmic sounds of a bustling city. The air was thick with the aroma of grilled maize, spices, and the salty breeze from the nearby Indian Ocean. Unlike the neatly structured cities I was accustomed to, Dar es Salaam felt alive in a different way—chaotic yet harmonious, loud yet comforting.

My first encounter with Tanzanian culture came right away when I met a taxi driver named Joseph, who was there to pick me up from the airport. He greeted me with a broad smile and a cheerful “Karibu Tanzania!”—a phrase I would come to hear many times, meaning “Welcome to Tanzania.” As we drove through the city, he shared stories about his life, his family, and his dreams.

“In Tanzania,” he said, “people are people first, not their job or status. We take care of each other.”

That simple statement stayed with me. In the fast-paced, individualistic world I came from, people often defined themselves by their careers or accomplishments. Here, however, identity was rooted in relationships, community, and shared humanity.

After a few days in Dar es Salaam, I took a ferry to Zanzibar, an island steeped in history and cultural diversity. As I walked through the labyrinthine streets of Stone Town, I felt the weight of the past—Arab, Persian, Indian, and African influences all intertwined in the architecture, cuisine, and the very essence of daily life.

One evening, I met a local fisherman named Salim, who invited me to watch him and his crew prepare for a night at sea. They worked with practiced ease, tying nets and securing their wooden dhow as the sun dipped below the horizon. Sensing my curiosity, Salim handed me a piece of breadfruit to eat and said, “The ocean feeds us. We respect it, and it gives us life.”

There was something poetic in the way he spoke about the sea—as if it were a living, breathing entity. That night, as I sat on the shore watching their boat disappear into the dark waters, I realized how disconnected I had been from the natural world. Back home, I rarely thought about where my food came from or the people who worked tirelessly to provide it. Salim’s words made me reflect on how deeply cultures are shaped by their surroundings and how, in many ways, modern society has lost touch with that relationship.

One of the most profound experiences of my journey took place in northern Tanzania, where I had the opportunity to stay with the Maasai people. I had always been fascinated by their distinct way of life—their deep-rooted traditions, striking red shukas, and their ability to thrive in the vast, often unforgiving landscapes of the Serengeti.

When I arrived at the village, I was greeted by a group of Maasai men who performed the adumu, or traditional jumping dance, as part of their welcome ritual. Their movements were graceful yet powerful, each leap seeming to defy gravity.

Over the next few days, I dove headfirst into the lively Maasai way of life. I learned all about herding cattle, building homes with mud and dung, and how they share stories orally rather than writing them down. One elder, whom I affectionately called Mzee (which means “wise elder” in Swahili), shared a beautiful thought: “We do not need many things to be happy. We have the land, the sky, and each other. That is enough.”

His words really hit home for me. Back in my world, happiness often felt intertwined with material stuff—big houses, shiny gadgets, and endless achievements. But here, I found joy in the simplicity of life, the warmth of community, and the beauty of nature. The Maasai showed me that true happiness comes from the connections we make and the gratitude we carry in our hearts.

One morning, I had the chance to join a lively group of women as they prepared food. They were laughing and having a great time as they showed me how to grind maize. While their hands moved effortlessly, mine were a bit clumsy, which made for some funny moments. Even with the language barrier, we communicated through our smiles and shared efforts, creating a lovely bond.

A wonderful woman named Naserian told me, “We all have different lives, but we are the same inside.” That really captured what I had been feeling—that under all our differences, we’re connected by a common desire for love, community, and purpose.

Before I left Tanzania, I decided to take on an exciting challenge: climbing Mount Kilimanjaro! I had read all about it, but nothing could truly prepare me for the adventure ahead.

My guide, Juma, was a calm but determined guy. He had climbed Kilimanjaro many times, but he treated each ascent as a new adventure. “The mountain is like life,” he said on our first day together. “You must take it one step at a time and never rush.”

As the days went by and we climbed higher, I could feel my body getting more tired, but my determination only grew stronger. There were moments when I thought about giving up—when the cold crept into my bones, when my legs felt heavy, and when each breath became a challenge. But whenever I felt down, Juma and the friendly porters would encourage me, reminding me that the journey was all about resilience and pushing beyond what I thought I could handle.

Finally, on the last leg of our ascent, as the sun began to rise, I reached Uhuru Peak, the highest point in Africa. Tears filled my eyes—not just from exhaustion, but from the realization of how far I had come, both physically and mentally. At that moment, I understood what Juma meant: Life is not about racing to the top, it's about enjoying every step, even when it’s tough.

Tanzania turned out to be way more than just a travel destination for me; it became a teacher, a mirror, and, unexpectedly, a home. Through the kindness of strangers, the wisdom of the elders, and the challenges I faced, I discovered parts of myself I had never explored before.

I learned that true happiness isn’t found in what you have, but in the relationships you build and the gratitude you practice. I also realized that strength comes in many forms—not just the physical, but mental and spiritual as well. Despite how different we may seem—through language, tradition, or lifestyle—we are all connected in this beautiful humanity we share.

As I boarded my flight home, I took with me not just memories but also a fresh sense of purpose—to live more intentionally, appreciate the little joys, and aim for understanding instead of judgment.

Perhaps the best lesson I gained was; Travel isn’t just about seeing new places- it’s about meeting amazing people, learning from their stories, and discovering that in this big, diverse world, we’re all connected by a common thread—the desire to love, belong, and be understood.

I’ll always cherish the understanding Tanzania gifted me, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful.