Two short stories by Kanga Homestay founder Dominik, drawn from real moments in Tanzania where tension, relief, and human trust shaped experiences between Dar es Salaam, Zanzibar, and Arusha.
My passport, credit cards and cash were gone in Tanzania!
I was so excited to cross from Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar by ferry for the first time.
But the entrance to the ferry terminal? Not exactly pleasant. The security check is chaotic, with scanners and lots of movement and it’s hard to keep an eye on your luggage.
After making it through, I sat down relaxed on the ferry and started chatting with the guy next to me. Tanzanians are so easygoing! I had my big duffle bag under my feet and my small backpack on my lap.
Then I noticed: my small backpack was open at the top and my shoulder bag with all my valuables was missing.
I looked around and asked people nearby, walked up and down the aisle, but no luck.
That’s when the nerves kicked in. I grabbed my things and spoke to a ferry staff member.
The ferry was about to leave, but without a passport, I wasn’t getting into Zanzibar. And the Swiss embassy is in Dar.
Within seconds, I made a decision: I left the ferry and went back to the terminal.
Was it smart? Maybe the bag had just fallen out. I remembered holding it at check-in. Or was it stolen?
The ferry staff were incredibly kind. “Do you have a photo of the shoulder bag?” they asked. Nope, rookie mistake.
They gave me a seat in the VIP lounge, offered coffee, and even shared their numbers with me.
I still had my phone and 50 USD in my duffle bag. Not a bad backup. I told myself: You’re healthy. You’re safe. That’s what counts.
I called my only contact in Dar es Salaam that I had by then, someone I did not know personally yet. Then I checked the Swiss embassy location.
Suddenly, one of the ferry staff returned and said: “Someone found your bag. It’s still on the ferry.”
They arranged for me to take the next ferry. I had time to rethink my life choices.
In Zanzibar, I met their colleague. He led me to a small booth and there was my bag.
Everything was still inside. Passport. Cards. Cash. Not a single shilling missing!
I gave him a big tip, messaged the whole ferry team, and walked away full of gratitude.
You haven’t experienced trust… until you’ve taken a bus in Africa.
Let me explain.
I was riding a dala dala, one of those packed local minibuses in Arusha, Tanzania, where personal space doesn’t exist.
Wedged in the middle seat of a row of three. One guy on my right. One guy on my left. The kind you don’t know but end up chatting with anyway.
Then a woman with a baby squeezed in. She stood in that cramped little space by the sliding door, where you bend your head to avoid the frame.
No seats left. No handles free. No room to breathe.
The bus hit a bump. A few glances were exchanged. Just enough for everyone to understand what needed to happen:
I passed my bag to the man on my right. He had space on his lap. The guy on my left handed me his bag.
And the mother? She passed her baby to the stranger with free hands.
No hesitation. No questions. No words. It just flowed naturally.
That’s when it hit me: In Europe, I’ve never seen a mother hand her baby to a stranger like that.
Africa is different. And maybe… that’s something the world could learn from.