In 2013, I had a life-changing and devastating medical issue — the thing that, in many ways, became my flaw. At the time, I completely isolated myself from the world and from everyone in it. I had my friend Rebecca — Nanny’s granddaughter — and, of course, my mum, but really… I was very much alone.
For years, I stayed there — hiding away. Even now, twelve years later, I’m still pulling myself out of the rabbit hole I went down and slowly learning to meet new people and socialise again.
In 2015, still isolated and withdrawn, I reconnected with Maiki, who had been my former boyfriend Kijanda’s best friend back in Tanzania. Kijanda had been tragically shot dead while working as a detective for the local police force, and somehow, Maiki and I found our way back into contact. I can’t even remember exactly how we reconnected — maybe Facebook, maybe something else — but once we started talking, we never really stopped.
At first, it was just casual chats on Facebook Messenger. Then we moved to Skype. And now, ten years on, we talk on WhatsApp almost every single day.
When Maiki and I started speaking, he was also working as a detective in the police force while finishing his Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration. He was a dreamer — and I liked that about him. I felt comfortable talking to him in a way I didn’t with anyone else. He was so far removed from my life here in Adelaide, and most importantly, he didn’t care about my medical issue. He never made it a thing. We just talked.
I’d spent a lot of time in Tanzania before, but through my friendship with Maiki, I learned so much more about what life was really like there — about poverty, survival, and scraping by.
Maiki had — and still has — a wife and two boys. His wife is an awful, awful woman. At one point, she beat their pet dog with a large rock after it destroyed part of her garden. To me, that’s unforgivable. I have no guilt whatsoever about spending so much time talking to her husband, purely based on the fact that I strongly suspect she might actually be a serial killer.
By 2018, Maiki and I had been speaking every single day for almost three years. That year, I decided to go back to Tanzania to visit him. I was extremely apprehensive about returning after the terrible experience I’d had there back in the 2000s — but I was so grateful for my friendship with Maiki that I knew I had to go.
Because of my flaw, even back then, I made a decision: if I was going to travel the world, I would only travel business class. It wasn’t about luxury — it was about security and protection.
What I mean by that is this: if something happened while I was overseas and I needed to get home urgently, all I’d have to do is get myself into a taxi, make my way to the airport, approach the airline, and from there they would look after me.
I’d travelled business class once before — from Adelaide to Chile on our big Antarctic trip — but my mum had paid for that as a special gift. This time, though, I needed to pay my own way for a business class trip from Adelaide to Arusha, Tanzania.
After a lot of searching, I found a reasonably priced business class ticket from Adelaide to Nairobi with Etihad Airways. From there, I planned to take a bus from Nairobi to Arusha — only about four hours across the border.
I took out a loan. I booked the trip. And just like that, it was happening.
My journey began just after Christmas in 2018. Back then, I didn’t take photos the way I do now, and I only had a handful on my phone — but I still wanted to share my trip with you and the few memories I managed to capture.
Below, you can see my business class seat from Adelaide to Abu Dhabi. It felt so much more opulent and comfortable than the business class flight I’d taken before — the one Mum had gifted me for our Antarctic trip. This time, it felt different. It was mine.
The flight was incredibly turbulent — the bumpiest I had ever been on — and I was genuinely terrified. By the time we landed in Abu Dhabi, my body still felt rattled, and when I got up to walk through the airport, I couldn’t get my balance right. The turbulence had stayed in me.
Thankfully, the stopover wasn’t long, and soon I was boarding my next flight — from Abu Dhabi to Nairobi in Kenya. After the experience I’d just had, I wasn’t looking forward to flying again, but from memory, that leg of the journey was much smoother and far less traumatic.
But Nairobi itself… that was different.
Tanzania has its dangers — like many other African countries — but Kenya has its own very specific concerns. The city has long been affected by Al Shabab terrorist cells, and I felt a quiet, silent terror stepping off the plane. On top of that, there’s also significant local criminal activity, including violent crimes against travellers.
I had to catch a taxi from the airport to the hotel where Maiki would meet me later that day. I can’t remember the name of the hotel now, but it would have been a four or five-star place, not far from the airport. I was exhausted, but back then, I could still control my sleep better than I can now, so I waited up for him.
Maiki had driven from Arusha to the Tanzania–Kenya border, left his car there, and then caught a bus into Nairobi to meet me. When he arrived, it was wonderful to see him after so many years. We sat, talked, and reminisced — and then he let me sleep, which I did, deeply, until morning.
The next day, we made our way to the bus station, caught a ride back to the border, collected the car Maiki had hired, and drove into Arusha, Tanzania — the place where the next chapter of my journey would begin.
In Arusha, I had booked an apartment at a compound I’d stayed in before. It was safe, comfortable, and I settled in quickly — it felt almost like a second home to me. The apartments, called Kundayo Serviced Apartments, were completely secure, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter where I am in the world — I still feel unsafe at night.
I asked Maiki if he would stay with me, and he agreed.
On our first night staying together in the apartment, we kissed!! It was a complete surprise because our friendship had never been heading in that direction. But almost as soon as the thought crossed our minds… it disappeared. We sort of looked at each other and were like, “Nah.” And then we laughed.
And that’s exactly what it’s like now.
We shared the same bed while I was at the apartments, and I won’t say it was like brother and sister — because, well, brothers and sisters don’t do that — but it was so innocent, sweet, and childlike. More than anything else, I felt safe.
I talked to Maiki a lot about the turbulence on my first flight from Adelaide to Abu Dhabi. Not long after, I started having nightmares about flying — vivid, terrifying dreams that felt so real I would physically wake up in shock.
I spent some time online looking to see if there was someone in Arusha I could talk to about my new fear of flying, and I found a psychologist, Dr Joshi. Maiki took me to see her. At first, I told her about the turbulence and my sudden fear of flying… but then we drifted onto other topics, and before I knew it, I was in full-blown therapy in the heart of East Africa.
Dr Joshi was an Indian woman, and by Tanzanian standards, she would have been considered very wealthy. Our sessions were often held in a little space built specifically out the back of her home. Looking back now, it feels almost farcical: this woman flies into Tanzania on a business class ticket and ends up lying on a couch in a third-world country, talking about her first-world problems — problems that might be preventing her from getting back into another business class seat to go home again.
And yet… it was comforting. It was transformational.
I’m not usually one for psychologists, but there was something about Dr Joshi — the way she was completely removed from my life in Adelaide, yet understood the world through an entirely different lens. Somehow, it made me open up in ways I hadn’t expected.
Of course, my time in Tanzania wasn’t all spent lying on the couch of a foreign shrink. Maiki and I would often drive out of town to Lake Duluti. It became one of our little rituals — sitting quietly, looking out over the still water, letting the silence do the talking.
Below, you can see a photo I took of Lake Duluti.
Another place we visited a few times was Shanga. Shanga is a social enterprise that employs people with disabilities to create beautiful handmade jewellery, glassware, and homewares, all incorporating recycled materials. The products are sold in the onsite shop and around the world, with profits reinvested into supporting disability employment.
We spent some time browsing the shop, but the real spectacle was the hotshop — the glassblowing studio set up there. Watching the process was mesmerising: the heat of the furnace, the glowing molten glass, the steady rhythm of the tools, and the precision of every movement.
I wish I had taken better photos of it, but unfortunately, the two below are all I’ve got. Still, you can see the furnace and some of the equipment used to blow glass.
We quickly fell into a routine: driving out to Lake Duluti, visiting Shanga, eating at the same little restaurant every day. At night, I loved driving around Arusha with Maiki. It was probably a little bit dangerous — but it didn't feel like it at the time.
One day, I asked Maiki if he could drive us to Moshi, which is about 80km from Arusha — roughly a 1.5 to 2-hour drive. I wanted to go back because that’s where my story with Tanzania began; Moshi was the first place I stayed when I came to volunteer all those years ago.
We spent some time wandering around the town, taking it all in. The most spectacular thing about Moshi is that, if the clouds are kind, you can sometimes catch a glimpse of Mount Kilimanjaro — and we were lucky. One afternoon while we were there, the clouds parted just enough for us to see it rising above the horizon, and it was breathtaking.
You can see it in the photo below.
Dr Joshi then recommended another doctor to me — and when I walked into his office, there was a photo of the Ayatollah on the wall. Now, I’m not discriminatory or racist in any way, but I’ll be honest — it didn’t exactly thrill me. My immediate thought was: “If he follows the Ayatollah, he’s probably not going to be in a rush to cure me.”
It’s hard to describe exactly what I had. I felt fluey, but there was also this strange, detached feeling in my head. I was faint, weak, and so nauseous I could barely move without thinking I was about to throw up everywhere — but I didn’t. It felt like I had some exotic illness that no one could diagnose, and it terrified me.
I was so sick I became convinced I was going to die. And with very little real help from the local doctors, I did what any terrified person would do — I went online and convinced myself I had every rare parasite, virus, cancer, and disease known to humanity.
I stayed in regular contact with Mum, who was becoming increasingly worried about me, and at one point, I even thought about using my travel insurance to get home. But in the end, I decided against it. I was tested for everything they could test me for, and nothing came back. Nothing.
It was a scary, surreal time.
But in the midst of all of this, I had booked a few nights at the Serena Lodge in Lake Manyara National Park — a stunning wildlife reserve where you can see all the animals. I didn’t want to cancel, so Maiki hired a 4WD and I forced myself to go.
I took pillows into the car, put the seat back, and lay down for the entire drive, which took a couple of hours out of town. When we arrived at the lodge, I dragged myself up the stairs to our room and collapsed on the bed.
The next day, when we planned to visit the national park, I packed my pillows again and set myself up in the car so I’d be comfortable — but I made sure I could still see the animals.
You can see the car below:
When we arrived at Lake Manyara National Park, we hired a guide at the gate and he joined us in the car. I still felt physically awful, but as soon as we entered the park, something shifted. Being back in a national park brought back so many memories — that familiar rush of excitement, the quiet anticipation, and the sheer wonder of seeing the animals in their own world again.
Below, you can see a photo I took of a baboon we spotted near the gate:
Despite how awful I felt, the wildlife was incredible. We saw cranes, wildebeest, warthogs, buffalo, tiny dik-diks, and, most spectacularly, the elephants you can see in the photos below:
So when I paid the guide and gave him a tip, he smiled at Maiki and said, “Please thank Madam for me.”
In Swahili, “Madam” is reserved for older women. Maiki tried to soften it, laughing and insisting it wasn’t what I thought — but honestly, in that moment, not only did I feel like I was literally dying, I also felt like my youth died right there with me.
We made it back to Arusha without any issues, and I immediately crawled back into bed. The next thing on our agenda was a trip to Dar es Salaam — Tanzania’s commercial capital, much like Sydney is to Australia.
I was terrified to fly because of the nightmares I’d been having, but I decided to suck it up and get on the plane anyway, even though I was still deathly, deathly sick. I can’t put it into words properly — I’ve had the worst flus, viruses, and illnesses before, but this was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
The flight, thankfully, wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d worked myself up to believe. When we landed in Dar es Salaam, we made our way to the Holiday Inn, where we were staying. I remember eating something small and then going straight to bed.
The next morning, I dragged myself up to take a shower… and there was no water. Not a dribble. I called reception, and they apologised and offered to send me up a bucket of water to wash with. I actually said no. I should have said yes — but I wasn’t thinking straight.
Even though I felt like death on legs, I managed to get around here and there. I leaned on Maiki a lot for mobility, but I also spent plenty of time resting in bed. I spoke to Mum often, and she kept urging me to come home, telling me to force myself onto a plane. But the thought of such a long flight — plus a connection — was overwhelming, and I couldn’t imagine getting through it.
We didn’t manage to see too much of Dar es Salaam, but there was one thing I absolutely wanted to check out while I was there: some Tinga Tinga artwork.
Tinga Tinga artwork is one of the most vibrant, playful, and culturally iconic art styles to come out of East Africa — especially Tanzania, where it originated in the late 1960s. Known for its bright, bold colours, stylised depictions of animals like giraffes, elephants, zebras, and birds, and its decorative, repetitive patterns, Tinga Tinga paintings are instantly recognisable. The style often exaggerates features in a whimsical way — long-legged giraffes, huge-eyed birds, and surreal, hybrid creatures — all finished with a smooth, high-gloss enamel shine. It’s joyful, chaotic, and deeply rooted in African storytelling traditions, which is why it has become such a beloved style worldwide.
While we were in Dar es Salaam, Maiki and I found a Tinga Tinga studio and spent time talking to some of the artists. They were warm and welcoming, proudly showing us their work and explaining their process. You can see some of their pieces below:
“If I’m going to die here, I want to die somewhere beautiful.”
So I asked Maiki to take me to the Hyatt Regency. I didn’t have much money left in my bank account, but in that moment, I thought, “This is it.”
I booked a room, and it had the most beautiful view over the water.
Below, you can see the view from my room:
When we were checking in, I started chatting to the hotel manager, who mentioned that the President of another East African country was staying at the hotel, which explained all the extra security everywhere. I asked him if it was Paul Kagame, the President of Rwanda — and he subtly confirmed that it was.
My heart sank.
I’ve had a deep interest in the Rwandan genocide for years, and over time, I came to the conclusion that Paul Kagame both started and stopped it. I had wanted to meet him for over 15 years. And there he was — in the same hotel, possibly even on the same floor. But I was so sick, and so depleted, that I didn’t have the energy — or the health — to even try.
I remember lying on my bed, looking out at the most beautiful view, feeling like life was happening around me while I wasn’t truly a participant in it.
Then Mum called. She told me to come home. She’d spoken to our doctor about my health, and he wanted to help me. And in that moment, I agreed. I’d leave Dar es Salaam in a couple of days.
I’d already forced myself to go to Moshi. I’d made it on safari. I’d managed the flight to Dar es Salaam. I decided I could manage one more flight — I’d sit in business class, hold my breath, and just make it home.
I remember lying there, watching President Kagame’s motorcade come and go outside my window, wishing I could have had even the briefest conversation with him. But who was I? A flawed nobody.
I actually think he was staying on our floor — there was security everywhere, even right outside my door.
A couple of days later, I forced myself onto a flight to Doha, Qatar. Below, you can see my seat.
I was so convinced I was going to die that I started going to classes at Buddha House, thinking they’d help make the dying process easier. Boy, was I wrong about that.
The very first thing they taught us was to wake up every morning, look at the wall, and shout:
“I might die today!”
I never really understood that. They talked a lot about suffering, and I kept going for a little while, searching for answers, but eventually, as I started to feel better, I stopped. Somewhere along the way, I also remembered that the Dalai Lama is a fuckwit and that Buddhism isn’t nearly as peaceful or gentle as it sounds.
But the thing that still frustrates me most about getting sick in Tanzania is this: it was the first time I’d been away on my own since my medical issue — since my flaw came to light. I know no one in my family has ever said it, but I’ve always felt like some of them believed my “illness” was actually my flaw.
And that’s the thing about being flawed: you spend your whole life defending your right to be “just sick” — to be normal.
