Zanzibar and a Lost Bag

There was no hint of sunlight, and yet my alarm erupted wildly into an annoying chorus of buzzing and chirping. Past-me, paranoid about missing the ferry, had cranked the volume to max. But after that heart-pounding morning jump-scare, sleep was out of the question, with or without sun.

I hurriedly packed my bag and walked out the door by 6:15 am. I expected to be at the ferry terminal 15 minutes later - a cool and collected thirty minutes before my 7:00 am departure.

My spirit felt sullen. I walked the streets of Zanzibar knowing that I hadn’t given this place the time or the mindset it deserved. This leg of the trip was supposed to be accompanied by my Aunt Jodi, but instead, I was here alone.

We had planned to spend 3 days together on the island of Zanzibar - a semi-autonomous region which has been part of the United Republic of Tanzania since 1964 - after she finished leading her group trip in the mainland. However, she flew home astonishingly sick from something she caught in the first few days. By this point, she was already home and under doctor’s orders. She encouraged me to make the best of my time in Zanzibar, but I couldn’t muster up the strength.

Not all travel is glorious. I was homesick and anxious about getting back to work. These were surface level excuses that I told myself to justify my bad attitude. But the domino effect was working its magic. First, I had slept through my only opportunity to see the sunrise when I stayed on the beautiful white sand beach in Pongwe in the east. Then, I missed the tour of the historical East Africa Slave Trade Exhibition in Stone Town because of my delayed cab ride across the island.

I reflected on my big win from the night before. I got lucky by walking to the only restaurant I knew - Emerson on Hurumzi - without a reservation and experienced a full course dining menu at sunset in Stone Town. Not all of Zanzibar was a lost cause for me.

But, overall, my mindset was sullen on this walk to the ferry terminal.

Frustrated and annoyed, I thought about how I bought 2 non-refundable tickets for the short flight to Dar es Salaam, but both were delayed significantly. That led me to this moment, opting for the early morning ferry, and I was not taking any chances. I planned to take the first one off the island. No delay could affect me much.

So here I was, stomping my steps into a ground that I didn’t take the proper time to appreciate. I took a breath and wished I could do it all over again, which is a very silly thing to do for a woman who has learned over and over again that time only chugs forward.

I walked into the ferry terminal clutching for dear life everything that was important to me. My cross-body purse was stuffed with my wallet and back-up wallet, personal and work phones, and my passport and extra copies. On my back, I had an Osprey backpack strapped to me like a prisoner. I stood out like a sore thumb - most other passengers had either no luggage or old fashioned roller bags.

Apparently, 6:30 was a popular time to arrive at the terminal. Bodies swarmed in the cracks between many lines to credit themselves just one more second of time. Valuable time that would be used to… await the ferry’s departure.

I brushed past enough people to finally make it to the security checkpoint where only one machine was being used to scan all luggage. This machine was taller than it was wide, and tall enough to host a person standing, which made me question what sort of luggage they expected.

Surrounding this holy machine, there was space on both sides for many people to slip through. About 4 security workers nonchalantly did their required morning duties, and all of a sudden took it seriously when they saw me. I was happy to comply and was already in line for the luggage check, but was feeling increasingly on edge.

When I stepped closer, someone took my place ahead of me. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Too slow.”

I gave him a look that said simultaneously “Who do you think you are?” and “I don’t care because we’re all heading to the same boat.” But in the end, I kept my mouth shut. I was uncomfortable with the hostility and just wanted to get out of the crowd.

My backpack landed on the conveyor belt and the large metal rollers wheeled it away. I pointed to my purse, questioning if this small thing should join the heap of large suitcases that were already feeding the machine. The worker nodded and I put my bag down.

The other side of the scanner was a mad house. Shoulder to shoulder we stood, and we shoved. It was a fight to grab our own things. There was no order and a whole lot of urgency.

I spotted my backpack and pulled. A moment later I grabbed the strap of my small purse - except it wasn’t mine. I spotted the real one, pulled, and - oh wait, oh shoot, “Where is it?!”

Seconds felt like hours as I scoured the heap of bags, dread curling in my stomach. One eye felt fixed on the conveyor belt and the other was crying for help, which only made me cross-eyed and dizzy, overwhelmingly scared and alone. My day unraveled before me—missed ferry, lost passport, no phone. I flagged down a guard, breathless: “Stop the belt! My bag’s gone! Someone took my bag!”

I’ve been told you can read me like a book. I cannot hide my emotion, good or bad. This moment was no different. I had the word “panic” printed in bold on my forehead. And it didn’t help that the past 3 days of a bad attitude had created a monster in my mind.

I felt the palpable pity from others as we locked eyes. Most were kind eyes, others were simply unconcerned. Fair. Then, I saw the too-slow-guy float out of sight. I was sure it was him who took it.

But as I was formulating accusations, one security guard got serious, dove into the rollers, flashlight in hand, and after what felt like a lifetime, emerged victorious with my black purse.

A wave of both relief and astonishing embarrassment engulfed me. I profusely said “thank you” and hurried off. Both to make the ferry on time and to save myself from the uneasiness of having the attention of the crowd.

To add flame to the fire, I had to endure a 2-hour long journey with the same people who saw my incident. I felt ashamed that I made accusations and blamed others before I even understood what was happening. And instead of laughing off comments like “too slow” when we are all in line for the same boat departure, I perceived it at hostility and made judgements.

It took two more minor moments of friction between me and boarding the plane on this morning to properly prepare me to reflect on my travels for the 36-hour journey. One was my mistake in opting for a rickshaw instead of a cab to the airport (airport security apparently doesn’t allow this) and the second was an online treasure hunt to find my ticket number because the airline claimed I wasn’t booked. By the time I buckled my seatbelt, I was just grateful to be on my way home.

In the end, this experience reinforced a lesson I’ve learned before: the day starts with me. Travel has its give and take, but mindset can transform even the roughest moments into meaningful memories. Next time, when my head and heart aren’t fully invested, I’ll start with reflection and curiosity. If my mind had been positive and opportunistic the previous 3 days, I would have felt stronger and more well-equipped to handle the challenges of transport. Mindset ultimately makes meaningful memories—the best souvenirs.