Ever started your dream holiday by almost losing all your spending money before the trip even begins? No? Well, let me tell you how it feels, because we did. Welcome to Zanzibar.

The Plan Was Perfect… Until It Wasn’t

We planned it for weeks. Just the two of us. A remote resort in Zanzibar, tucked far enough away from tourists to feel like our own little paradise. Sun, beach, peace and absolutely no signal. I was all in. We even drew cash. Real notes, none of that “we’ll just swipe” nonsense. Over ten thousand. In an envelope. In her purse. Classic mistake number one: too much trust in an envelope.

We landed in Zanzibar just before the rainy season. The sky was heavy, the air thick with salt, and the airport? Well… let’s just say, it wasn’t exactly a welcome mat. The place was old-school, tight, and kind of looked like time had taken a break there sometime in the 1980s and never returned.

Welcome to Zanzibar Airport: Where the Guards Are Armed and the Panic Is Free

The terminal looked more like a converted bus depot. Paint peeling. Fans squeaking. And everywhere, armed guards. Big rifles. Zero smiles.

It was 5AM, we’d barely slept, and suddenly we were being handed forms and pens like it was a pop quiz we didn’t study for. We dropped our bags, pulled out the envelope, we had documents in there too, and placed it right on the counter between us. Then we started filling out entry forms like obedient zombies.

You can probably guess what happens next.

We finally got through customs, which felt more like convincing your in-laws to trust you with their daughter. And then we were out. Done. No idea what we’d just left behind.

Finding a Taxi… or Something Like It

Outside, we hunted for a taxi. The kind we found looked like it had driven through five continents and seven civil wars. Faded paint, cracked seats, and a driver who didn’t seem too bothered that we had no idea where we were going. He was relaxed. Like “Bob Marley at a hammock store” relaxed. But we were tired, sticky, and desperate. So we jumped in.

Then came fuel.

He needed petrol before taking us anywhere, which seemed fair. But as he pulled up to the pump and I reached for my wallet, I had that sinking, slow-motion moment. You know the one. Where everything in your body drops five inches and your mouth goes dry.

“The envelope,” I said.

“What envelope?” my wife replied, suddenly suspicious.

“You had it.”

“No, YOU had it.”

A beat of silence. Then she whispered, “You left it. At customs. Didn’t you?”

And that was it. Full panic mode.

Explaining R20,000 to Armed Strangers

We turned that taxi around so fast, I think the driver actually woke up. Back to the airport. I rushed to the entrance, wild-eyed and sweating, trying to explain to a group of unsmiling men with serious guns that I left all our holiday money inside. Past security. At customs.

They looked confused. One guy blinked slowly. Another adjusted his rifle. I tried again, slower this time, using hand gestures like I was miming “please don’t shoot, I’m just stupid.”

Eventually, after too much pointing and a phone call, two guards agreed to escort me. I say escort. What I mean is: I was led through the airport like a suspect in a thriller. I walked fast, head down, praying no one thought I was smuggling bricks of cash or worse.

And then, I saw it.

There. Sitting quietly. Right where we left it. Forty-five minutes later. Untouched. Like it had waited politely, knowing we’d return. I don’t remember breathing until it was in my hands.

I thanked the guards so many times I think I annoyed them. But who cares. We had the envelope. And the trip was back on.

A Drive You’ll Never Forget (No Matter How Hard You Try)

Envelope secured, we hit the road. Except Zanzibar’s roads are more “choose your own adventure” than actual infrastructure. Potholes you could lose a rental car in. Goats wandering into traffic. And our driver? Still chilling.

My wife held my hand, mostly to avoid grabbing the seat. I closed my eyes. Every time I opened them, I regretted it. Imagine a rollercoaster. Now take away the rails, the safety harness, and replace the operator with a reggae DJ who’s texting.

We eventually made it to the villa. Barely.

Too Early, Too Tired, and Too Beachy

Because we took the earlier flight, we arrived before check-in. Of course.

We were exhausted. Sweaty. Slightly traumatized. And all we wanted was a shower, a drink, and a nap. Instead, we collapsed on two sun-bleached couches near the beach like castaways. But the staff were kind. They brought us breakfast. Papaya, toast, strong coffee, and a tiny taste of relief.

We ate with our feet in the sand and eyes half-shut. The ocean in front of us. The envelope between us. And the worst behind us.

The Rest of the Trip? Absolute Magic.

Once we checked in, everything changed. The villa was remote, peaceful, and surrounded by palm trees that danced in the wind like they knew secrets. The kind of place where time slows down and your brain finally shuts up.

We snorkelled. We read books with our feet dangling in the pool. We laughed, especially about the envelope. It became the joke of the trip.

“Remember when you almost tipped a foreign military into thinking you were a drug mule?”
“Yeah. Good times.”

Moral of the Story? Don’t Trust the Envelope

You think you’re smart until you lose twenty grand in a strange country before sunrise. But if Zanzibar taught us anything, it’s this:

Don’t panic. Trust strangers sometimes. And always double-check the counter before walking away.

Oh, and if your taxi driver seems too chill to care? That’s your sign to pray. Or buckle up. Or both.

Final Thought: You’ll Forget Things. Just Don’t Forget to Laugh.

Trips never go to plan. Not really. That’s the beauty of it. The stories you tell later? They’re never about the days that went right. It’s the chaos you survive together that bonds you for life.

So, go. Get lost. Miss your flight. Leave your envelope. But come back with stories.

Because that’s the whole point of the adventure, isn’t it?