I had just climbed Kilimanjaro.

Seventeen years old, fresh out of high school, and riding that very specific kind of high which comes from doing something bigger than yourself. It was supposed to be a kind of gift to myself—proof that I could go out into the world alone and meet it head-on.

Zanzibar was the exhale.

Two weeks on a spice island I had dreamt about since I was a kid. No plan beyond being there. Sun, salt, freedom. That kind of in-between space where life hasn’t quite decided what comes next.

I ended up staying at a friend of a friend’s house from Kenya and as it turns out, he owned a kiteboarding school.

At that point in my life, I had never even heard of this wind sport.

On day 2, he asked me if I wanted to be a practice student for his instructors who were still learning how to teach.

I said yes immediately… and then very quickly realized—I was still 17.

So there I was, calling my mum in the middle of the night her time, trying to explain what kiteboarding even was (which I barely understood myself), asking for permission to be pulled around the ocean by a giant kite.

Pause. Silence. Confusion.

Eventually… yes.

I turned 18 on my first day of lessons.

Standing on that beach, sun just coming up, wind already moving through everything—I had no idea that moment would redraw the entire course of my life.

The first time the kite caught properly, something clicked.

Not just excitement—recognition.

I understood the wind.

Somewhere in my body, it was already familiar. Growing up sailing on Lake Victoria in Uganda had given me that language without me realizing it. The pull, the tension, the release—it all made sense before I could even explain it.

And from that moment, I was in.

Completely.

What was meant to be two weeks quietly turned into something else entirely.

An obsession. A pull. A direction.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning.

The beginning of chasing wind across the world.
The beginning of World Title dreams.
The beginning of a version of myself I hadn’t met yet.

I definitely didn’t know that one day I would be ranked 3rd in the world.

That part feels almost irrelevant looking back.

Because the real shift wasn’t the outcome—it was the decision to follow something that made no logical sense to anyone but me.

Six months later, I dropped out of university.

Not because I had a perfect plan (or any plan for that matter)—but because I couldn’t ignore what I had found.

Or really, what had found me.

Looking back now, it’s wild how quietly life can change.

No big announcement. No clear turning point at the time.

Just a series of small yeses.

Stay at that house.
Try that thing.
Make that phone call.
Take that lesson.

And suddenly, I'm on a completely different path.

Zanzibar was never meant to be more than a stop but it became a beginning. I lived there off and on for the next 6 years. It was where I became an adult in many ways besides just turning 18.

It was the first place I chose my own life and stood for what I wanted.

It was the first place I had a machete held to my neck while being robbed.

And yet, it was also the first place I felt free.

A reminder that sometimes the things that shape your life the most are the ones you never planned for—the ones you almost miss, the ones that don’t make sense yet.

The ones that ask you to trust something before you understand it.

That island gave me the wind.

And following that wind led me to Todos Santos where I found a new part of me in art.  

And for the second time in my life: I completely changed my story. I re-wrote my path and dove deep into a new and exciting life across the world in Mexico. 

The first parts of this story found below:

Leaving Home Alone at 17: The Return to Africa Part 1

Climbing Kilimanjaro: The Return to Africa Part 2