R25,000... GONE. For One Trip. To Zanzibar. Let’s Talk.
Okay. So let me be real.
I didn’t plan on spending R25,000 on this trip. Not really. I mean, yeah, I saw it coming... kind of. But you know how it goes — a few extras here, a room upgrade there, a “why not, we’re here already” kind of tour, and bam. You’re twenty-five grand deep before your second coconut cocktail.
But here’s the thing — was it worth it?
That question’s been living in my head since I came back. Like... seriously. I’ll just be there, sitting at my desk — same chair, same four walls — sipping on some sad, cheap instant coffee that tastes more like cardboard than caffeine. Then boom. I’m back in those photos on my phone. Zooming in too close. Staring at smiles like I’m trying to find proof it was all real. On tans. On toes buried in warm sand. Trying to figure out if that... thing I felt while I was there was real.
Or if I just fell for another travel fantasy wrapped in white beaches and perfect lighting.
So yeah. Here’s how it all went down.
The Build-Up (And the Panic)
I booked the trip after a breakdown. Not a “crying in the car” kind of breakdown — although there was some of that too. I mean more of a slow unraveling. Like... waking up every day tired of everything. Same walls. Same phone. Same routine. Same people.
And then someone mentioned Zanzibar. I think I saw it on TikTok first. One of those videos with the soft music and the drone shots and the caption like: “Come heal here.”
I didn’t even blink. I just Googled flights.
Something in me — that version of myself that hasn’t felt alive-alive in months — whispered, “Go. Just go.”
I mean, I’ve worked hard. Burned myself out, actually. So R25,000? Screw it. Maybe buying happiness is a scam. But buying a break? That’s survival.
I went solo. Not because I’m brave or cool or mysterious — but because I didn’t want to wait for anyone to be ready.
Touchdown. Zanzibar. And I swear, the second I stepped off that plane I was like... why the hell did I wear jeans?! Literal mistake. My legs were cooking. The air? Heavy. Wet. Like breathing through a warm sponge. I hadn’t even hit customs yet and I was already unbuttoning stuff, trying not to pass out. Chaos. Loud voices. Paper forms. Sweat in places I forgot existed. Bro. That airport? A furnace. Customs took forever. Everyone looked as sweaty and lost as I felt. My SIM didn’t work. No WiFi. No aircon. No idea if my driver was even real.
I stood there like, “Okay, this is it. This is where it starts falling apart.”
But then, after like 40 minutes (not exaggerating), my name popped up on a cardboard sign. Saeed — spelt Said, but close enough. Driver smiled wide. We fist-bumped. I exhaled.
And the second I stepped outside that airport, felt that humid breeze... smelled that mix of saltwater and something sweet — like mangoes and dust — something inside me unclenched.
Nungwi — The Real Showstopper
Listen. I’ve been to beaches before. Cape Town. Durban. Hell, even Thailand back in my wilder days.
But Nungwi?
That’s different. That’s... mmm. It’s like the sun hits different there. Warmer, softer. Less aggressive. And the water? You could drink it with your eyes. That clear.
I stayed at a resort which had sunset views — because if you’re gonna do this, do it right, right?
The room wasn’t big or anything. Nothing fancy. But whatever — I didn’t go all that way to sit indoors, did I? Spent most of the time outside anyway. That view though... man. That view. I’d end up on the little balcony every evening without even thinking. Feet up. Coconut in one hand. Just... quiet. Watching the sky do its thing. Like fire melting into the ocean.
And those sunsets? They didn’t want anything from you. No noise. No performance. Just show up and shut up. They just showed up. Loud and soft at the same time. Golds, purples, that kind of pink that makes you think about love and regret and all the people you haven’t forgiven yet.
The Quiet Magic of Doing Nothing
I didn’t party much. Didn’t even drink a lot. Not really.
What I did was this: I woke up early. Ate breakfast by the beach. Talked to strangers. Read half a book. Ate too much seafood. Took naps I didn’t plan. Swam like a kid. Stared at the ocean. Overthought life. Laughed at nothing.
And then I did it again the next day. And the next.
There’s something rebellious about choosing to do nothing. Especially when your whole life has been this endless checklist of goals and tasks and be productive and build an empire and chase the next big thing.
But in Zanzibar? My only task was to breathe.
Maybe that’s the real luxury. Not gold or marble or “all-inclusive bars” — but freedom. That rare kind of freedom that doesn’t come with guilt or deadlines.
If that’s what you’re chasing — find your way to freedom, even if just for a week. I swear it shifts you.
What I Didn’t Expect
Okay, real talk — I cried. One night. Didn’t plan it, didn’t see it coming. Just... boom. Tears. No warning. I was walking the beach, middle of the night, no one around. Whole place felt weirdly still, like even the ocean was holding its breath. And it just — hit me. Hard. No big reason. Or maybe too many small ones. I don’t even know.
The kind of quiet that makes you hear yourself too loudly.
And I thought, “Damn. I’ve been so numb for so long.”
Zanzibar didn’t fix me. It’s not a magic pill.
But it cracked me open. Let some light in. Made me feel things again. Like... properly.
Was It Worth R25,000?
Here’s the breakdown, if you're that kind of person:
- Flights: R8,500
- Accommodation (7 nights): R9,000
- Transfers and tours: R2,500
- Food (because I couldn’t resist lobster three nights in a row): R3,000
- Random extras (SIM card, souvenirs, that one overpriced massage): R2,000
Total: Just under R25k.
So yeah — could I have gone cheaper? Absolutely.
But I didn’t want cheap. I wanted real. I wanted ease. Comfort. A luxury escape deal without selling my soul to a corporate hotel chain.
And I guess… yeah. That’s what I ended up with. Not what I planned. Not what I thought I needed. But it’s what happened. What hit. And maybe that’s enough?
Anyway — if you’re still here, still reading this ramble... first of all, wow. Respect.
I came back different. Not new, but... softened. Realigned. More grounded.
And now, whenever life gets loud again, I close my eyes and remember the sound of the waves hitting the Nungwi shore at 2AM. The wind hitting my back while I was just — I dunno — floating there in the shallows, not even thinking about anything. Just existing. And that waiter? I think I said something like, “Uhh... just bring whatever you think I should try.” And the dude’s face? Lit up. Not even joking. Like he’d just won a scratch card or something. It was wild. Simple moment but it stuck with me.
I remember not rushing. Not checking my phone. Not caring what time it was.
So was it worth it?
Yes. A thousand times yes.
Even if my bank account whimpered a bit after.
Even if I’m back to instant coffee and deadlines.
I left a part of myself on that beach. But I brought something back too — something quieter, stronger. Something that whispers, “You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to go.”
And if you’re reading this wondering if you should take the plunge?
Book it. Pack light. Just go. Figure it out later.
Let Zanzibar show you who you are when the noise stops.
P.S. — If you’re looking for sunset-facing resorts in Nungwi, I can vouch for that view. It’s no joke. And if you're craving something fancy without dropping Dubai-money? Keep an eye out for these deals — they sneak up on you.
And when you're ready to ditch the noise and go off-grid inside, go ahead and find your way to Zanzibar. Trust me — the beach remembers your name even when you forget your own.
