The Story Behind Travel Africa Solo

I was sixteen when I got on my first long-haul flight — to the US — and something clicked. I didn't know what exactly, but I knew I wanted more of it. More airports. More unfamiliar streets. More of that feeling you get when everything around you is new and your brain just goes quiet for a second.

At 23 I flew to Johannesburg. I was studying English in Germany and went there to sharpen my business English. What I didn't expect was that Joburg would crack me wide open. The energy of that city, the people, the chaos and the warmth — it planted something in me that never went away. Africa got under my skin before I even understood what was happening.

Then life did what life does. My mum got seriously ill and I spent years taking care of her. During that time I also bounced through about twenty jobs trying to find something that didn't make me miserable. Offices, meetings, fluorescent lights, fake small talk — I tried so hard to make it work and it just never did. I'm not built for someone else's schedule. I'm not built for cubicles. I needed out.

When my mum died, I was broken. But somewhere in that grief I remembered that I'd always loved writing. Even at university — while everyone else was dreading their papers, I actually enjoyed them. That weird thing about me turned out to be the thing that changed everything. I taught myself SEO copywriting, started freelancing remotely, and slowly built a life that let me work from anywhere.

Now I write from places I used to only dream about. And this blog is where all of it comes together — the Africa obsession, the writing, and the years of figuring out who I am when nobody's watching.