Volunteering in Africa | Travelling 20+ Hours to Tanzania

Last August, I had nearly two weeks off and felt a deep itch for a different kind of solo adventure. I sat quietly with my thoughts and asked myself: Is there somewhere I’ve always longed to go, but never quite found the time or courage to visit. Almost immediately, one answer came rushing in — volunteering in Africa.

I’ve always believed in the power of education. Nelson Mandela captured it perfectly: 'Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.' Growing up in a working-class family, I often watched my own hunger for learning get cut short by circumstances. That quiet regret, the ache of wanting to explore a bigger world but feeling held back, has stayed with me. I am grateful that my English is good enough, which opened up my world with the opportunities to communicate with people from different countries. I even sat for my TEFL certificate out of pure interest. This time, as I browsed through volunteer programmes, the teaching projects in Tanzania kept pulling me back in. My heart made the decision before my head could catch up. Arusha it is, I thought. An inner voice whispered clearly: ‘Just go.’

I wanted to see the world with my own eyes while I was still young, and to give something back — even if only in small, simple ways — while I still had the energy and freedom to do so.

The preparations were a whirlwind, but somehow everything came together smoothly. Just two days before flying, I casually mentioned to my mum that I was heading to Africa. She was very calm. She’s grown used to my restless spirit and trusts that I’ll be okay. I spent hours packing dozens of stationery sets and notebooks I’d ordered online, already smiling at the thought of handing them to the students.

Compared to the nerves that gripped me before my first solo trip to Europe the year before, this time I was surprisingly not really that nervous. Booking through International Volunteer HQ (IVHQ) gave me confidence and structure. They gave me reminders, guidelines, things I could expect during my stay. The biggest challenge wasn’t practical but mental: letting go of my comfortable city routines and opening myself up to something far more raw and real. Deep down, I knew this trip was answering a call I’d felt for years.

The journey from Hong Kong to Kilimanjaro Airport is a serious marathon — over twenty hours in total. Knowing I don’t handle long flights well, I cleverly broke it up with a short layover in Amsterdam: thirteen hours to from Hong Kong to The Netherlands, a night in a hostel, and then nine more hours to Tanzania. The plan was solid. The execution? Not so much. I woke up with a brutal stiff neck thanks to the hostel pillow, and spent most of the second flight in quiet misery.

When I finally stepped off the plane at Kilimanjaro Airport, one word immediately came to mind: modest. There were no airbridges, just metal stairs leading us down into the warm and dry heat. The airport itself was small and simple. We joined a slow-moving queue that carried the distinct smell of dust and earth. With only two to three immigration counters available and yet another security check afterwards, everything moved at its own gentle pace. Even though the ‘Nothing to Declare’ lane was clearly open, the officers waved everyone through the full declaration process. It was my very first taste of Tanzania’s relaxed, wonderfully unpredictable rhythm.

Outside the terminal, I met the friendly representative from THE (Tanzania Host Experience), IVHQ’s local partner. The one-hour shuttle ride (at additional cost) into Arusha was lively, filled with volunteers from all corners of the world: a French guy escaping the Paris Olympics, a nineteen-year-old Spanish engineering student, two Italians from Tuscany (I never did figure out if they were siblings or a couple), and a Scottish girl who had also come to teach.

That first night, Arusha was wrapped in thick, velvety darkness. I couldn’t see the city through the van windows, but I could feel the warm breeze brushing against my skin. Inside the shuttle, the air buzzed with excitement as everyone shared their placements — medical projects, childcare, construction, or the Maasai Immersion. Even though we were all from such different worlds, we already felt strangely connected.

Hotel breakfast

Hotel lunch

The coordinator said they would take us into town tomorrow to sort out SIM cards, find an ATM, and stock up on essentials. I had exchanged dollars at the airport last night. I wondered if the rate was better in town, but he reassured me it was more or less the same. I decided not to overthink it — my first little lesson in embracing the African pace.

I was staying at the Lush Garden Hotel, just near the volunteer house. It was actually much nicer than I had imagined: clean rooms with a few bunk beds, hot showers, and Wi-Fi (not too stable but I had noting to complain). My roommates were a lovely English girl and an Australian girl who had already been there for two weeks. We chatted for a bit before sleep took over.

Having arrived so late the night before, I hadn’t managed to buy water since all shops were closed. By morning, my throat was painfully dry. Without saying a word, the Australian girl quietly handed me a cold 1.5-litre bottle. I knew the nearest supermarket was far away so she must have bought it from the hotel restaurant. And I later found out that it was not cheap (compared to the price in supermarket). It was such a small act, but as I was completely new to this strange new place, her kindness warmed my heart.

To be continued…

(Note: The cover photo was taken with consent from the school, teachers, and students. Respecting local people and culture always comes first, whether travelling or volunteering.)