Three Weeks in Africa: The Trip That Renewed Me

Some trips are vacations. Others are pilgrimages. My three weeks in Africa became the latter.

I didn’t intend for it to be that way. At the time, I simply needed space: space to reflect, space to breathe, space to process a season of my life that had not unfolded the way I once imagined.

My divorce hearing was scheduled for November. Nearly two years had passed since the separation, yet the emotional weight of it all was still very present.

So, I planned something radical. Three weeks in Africa.

It was an act of self-care. An act of faith. An act of reclaiming my life.

But the trip almost didn’t happen.

Fighting for the Journey

Before I ever boarded the plane, the planning felt like a battle. It took more effort than I expected to protect the time and space I needed, and by the time it finally came together, I was already worn out.

Then, I missed my flight.

To this day, I still don’t know how it happened. I had never missed a flight in my life. Suddenly I was standing in the airport, frustrated and emotional, trying to rebook my trip while realizing I had just lost the stopover I had planned in Doha, Qatar along with an additional $600 to change the ticket.

It felt like everything was falling apart before the trip had even begun.

But the next morning, as I sat in the airport lounge with a plate of food and a drink in front of me, something shifted. I felt calm.

Even after the chaos, I knew I was still meant to go. And eventually, after a very long journey, I arrived.

I was finally in Africa.

Uganda: Perspective

My first stop was Kampala, Uganda.

After traveling for what felt like forever, the first thing I did when I reached my hotel was take a shower and fall straight into bed. My body had no interest in sightseeing, it needed rest.

But once I recovered from the travel exhaustion, I began exploring the city.

One day I took a walking tour around Kampala with a local guide. As she shared stories about the city, its history, and daily life, something inside me shifted.

Being there gave me perspective.

We often joke in the United States about “first-world problems,” but seeing how much of the global majority lives up close puts things in a different light.

Yes, we have our struggles: politics, racism, sexism, and all the other “isms.” Standing there in Kampala, I couldn’t ignore how much I had taken for granted in my own life, and how easy it is to measure blessing only through comfort or material stability. It made me pause and question what gratitude really means.

The experience reminded me to practice gratitude. Even while walking through my own personal challenges.

Kenya: Independence

From Uganda I flew to Nairobi, Kenya.

And that’s when the trip began opening my eyes in unexpected ways.

One of the most powerful experiences I had was visiting a Maasai village. There, I heard the story of a woman who had survived extraordinary hardship: married off at twelve years old, banished from her family, raising children on the streets, living with HIV, and still standing before us as a symbol of resilience.

Her story stayed with me.

It also forced me to reflect on my own life and what independence really means. I don’t even recall how we got on the topic of divorce. I certainly didn’t bring it up and I never mentioned I was going through one.

But I learned that in Kenya, and especially in the Maasai village, divorce is extremely rare and often requires extreme circumstances. That’s certainly not how it is in the United States, where divorce is relatively common.

Listening to that conversation, I realized something important. Even though my marriage had ended in a way I never expected, I still had freedoms many women around the world do not.

I could live on my own. Earn my own income. Travel across the world by myself.

God had provided for me in ways I had never fully stopped to acknowledge. And sitting there in Kenya, I felt grateful for that independence.

Wrestling With Confidence

Not every moment of the trip was light and joyful. Some days forced me to confront insecurities I had carried for years.

For example, one night at dinner in Nairobi, I looked around the room and saw beautifully dressed women who seemed so confident and put together. Suddenly I felt out of place.

The next evening, instead of going out again, I stayed in my room.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I began confronting things I had been avoiding: my body image, my confidence, and the ways years of insecurity had shaped how I moved through the world. It was the beginning of a conversation with the woman staring back at me, one I’m still learning how to have with honesty and compassion. In many ways, that moment planted the seed for a lesson I’m still unpacking: learning how to encourage the woman in the mirror.

For a long time I had been shrinking. Shrinking in my clothes. Shrinking in my presence. Trying not to be seen.

That realization hurt. But it was also necessary.

Because you cannot reclaim yourself until you acknowledge the parts of yourself that feel lost.

Zanzibar: Freedom

By the time I arrived in Zanzibar, something inside me had started to shift.

Zanzibar is breathtaking. The turquoise waters, the spice-scented air, the winding streets of Stone Town, it all felt vibrant and alive.

But the island gave me something even more valuable than beautiful views. It gave me space. Space to think. A place to pray. Time to sit with my thoughts without distraction.

One day I went snorkeling for the first time, floating peacefully in the Indian Ocean as fish moved around me in quiet harmony. Another day I watched dolphins surface beside the boat while we drifted through the water.

There were moments when I felt completely at peace. Like the world had finally gone quiet long enough for me to hear my own heart again.

Lineage

One of the most sobering experiences in Zanzibar was visiting historical sites connected to the East African slave trade. Standing in those spaces is humbling. It forces you to confront the brutality of history.

But it also reminds you of something else: survival.

At one point my guide mentioned that the enslaved people who survived the journey had to be incredibly strong.

At first, that statement made me uncomfortable. But later I understood what he meant.

The fact that I exist today means generations before me endured unimaginable hardship and survived anyway. I come from a lineage of strength. That realization stayed with me.

Reclaiming Myself

Toward the end of the trip, something beautiful began happening.

I started smiling again. Not the polite smile you give out of habit, but a genuine one that didn’t fade after a few minutes.

One morning I even caught myself humming the lyrics to Smile:

“Almost gave up, but a power that I can’t explain fell from heaven like a shower…”

It felt like the words were narrating my life. Because in many ways, I had almost given up during that season. But God had been quietly restoring me.

During one of my final days in Zanzibar, I wrote something in my journal that captured the shift I was experiencing:

“I finally feel like it’s my time to reclaim what the enemy tried to kill, steal, and destroy.”

Not my marriage. My identity (a journey I began unpacking in Learning to Encourage the Woman in the Mirror). Then my joy (something I first wrote about in Reclaiming My Joy). Along with my peace (which I explored in Faith in the Fire: When God Refines, Not Destroys). And finally, my name (a decision I wrote about in Reclaiming My Name). Myself.

The Embrace of Africa

On my final day, I wrote something else in my journal that still resonates with me.

“This trip felt like a hug from Mama Africa.”

And that is exactly what it was. Throughout those three weeks in Uganda, Kenya, and Zanzibar, I felt embraced.

By the people. Through the culture. And by the land itself. But most of all, I felt embraced by God.

He reminded me that I was safe in His arms. That my life was still unfolding exactly as it was meant to. And that the woman I was becoming was someone worth celebrating.

When I boarded the plane home, I realized something important. I wasn’t leaving that woman behind.

She was coming home with me.

Finding Your Renewal

If this story stirred something in you, I want to encourage you not to dismiss it.

Healing rarely happens by accident. Sometimes it requires stepping into unfamiliar spaces, choosing courage over comfort, and fighting for your restoration with faith and intention.

Your leap may not be three weeks in Africa. It might be one brave decision you have been postponing. A conversation. A plane ticket. A therapy appointment. A new routine. A quiet yes to the next right step.

If you want to keep walking with me, you can subscribe to Grace Notes, my newsletter, where I share reflections on faith, healing, and becoming with gentleness and honesty.

And if you have ever taken a leap that helped you reclaim pieces of yourself, you are welcome to share your story in the comments. Your testimony might give someone else permission to begin.