Trapped in Tanzania:The Escape No One Plans For

It all started after spending seven weeks travelling around East Africa.

I began in Tanzania, travelling through the Serengeti, then flew to Egypt, on to Rwanda and Uganda where I saw gorillas in the wild, before hopping over to Kenya to see even more incredible animals.

Finally, I flew into Zanzibar, just off the coast of Tanzania, hoping for a relaxing break before heading to Sri Lanka for a short reset before filming again.

Tanzania had been my favourite country on the east side of Africa. If I’m being honest, I was a little sad to say goodbye.

The hospitality had been incredible and, despite the hardships most people face day to day, all I ever saw was kindness.

I woke up early on departure day, excited to leave. It was a beautiful morning after two days of heavy rain, flooding, power cuts — I couldn’t have asked for a better send-off.

When I handed my keys over at reception, the first sign of trouble started to show its ugly head.

The receptionist couldn’t get signal to call a taxi. Neither could I. I assumed the local cell tower was down because of the floods. After a while, we managed to break through and get a local driver.

By now, I was running about thirty minutes late, and the stress started creeping in. I’d already missed a flight earlier in this trip due to the London Tube strikes. I couldn’t afford to miss another one.

I desperately tried to open Google Maps, but nothing would load. The driver’s maps wouldn’t load either. As he stared at his phone, distracted, I looked up and shouted, “STOP!”

He braked sharply.

An armed truck swerved in front of us, heading towards Stone Town.

The driver spoke calmly:“It’s election day. This is pretty normal here.”

Six miles from the airport, something felt wrong.

Shops that would normally be open were shut tight, metal gates pulled down. The streets felt abandoned.

We pulled up at the airport. I tipped the driver and thanked him for rushing me there.

Inside the terminal, stale air hit me. I looked for my flight on the screens — but nothing. Every screen was down.

I double-checked my booking. I was definitely in the right place.

Just queues, Questions, Confused passengers.

I asked customer assistance where my flight was.

“It’s cancelled.”

Okay. How do I book another one?

She shrugged.

I snapped, “Isn’t this your job?”

“I don’t know.”

At that moment, panic really set in. I tried to look up flights online but couldn’t get signal or internet. I was meant to meet Tess in Sri Lanka and had all the booking details saved online.

I managed to send one message:“I fucked up.”

As I typed the next message with all the important information, it stuck on one tick. It hadn’t gone through.

I asked when the internet would come back.

She shrugged again.

I walked away. Clearly, I wasn’t getting help here.

A local policeman told me that if I waited for the next flight, they might be able to check me in.

So I waited....

Six hours later, I reached the front of the queue. After some back and forth, the man at the desk said bluntly:

“You missed your flight.”

“Yes, because it was cancelled.”

“Well, that’s your fault.”

I walked out defeated.

Zanzibar Airport 6 hour wait

I managed to get a taxi into Stone Town and found a hotel for the night. The first thing I did was try to connect to the Wi-Fi.

That’s when I was told the whole country was offline. No signal. No internet.

I set an alarm for every hour during the night to check if it came back.

It didn’t.

I barely slept. I was stressed, exhausted, and completely cut off from the outside world.

In the morning, I checked out and went for a walk. I didn’t have much cash left and hoped I could find an ATM. Turns out, ATMs also need Wi-Fi.

I headed towards the beach to try and lift my mood.On the way, two police trucks drove past. When I took a second look, I noticed the men standing on the back.They weren’t wearing police uniforms.No riot gear.Balaclavas.

They were holding machetes.

I turned around immediately and went back to the hotel.

I tried to find somewhere that would accept euros — all I had left. No luck.

Police In Balaclavas

Back in the lobby, one of the receptionists told me his WhatsApp was working.

I was over the moon.We walked to a small house nearby. In the corner of a living room, crouched awkwardly, I used his phone.

My first call was to my dad.

“Dad… Dad, I’m stuck in Tanzania and I need help booking a flight—”

The call cut out.

Data gone.

Now I had to convince my parents that it was really me, messaging from an African WhatsApp number.

Dad replied:“Spell dyslexia.”

“Fuck off.”

He laughed.

Mum wasn’t convinced.

She asked, “When you were eight, what did I throw out of your bedroom window?”

Now we were really going down a rabbit hole.

To explain that, we have to go back to 2007. Every Sunday, I kicked off about going to church. My older brother loved winding me up. One morning I had a better idea — I took my belt off and chased him up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door shut. I smacked it three times.

To my horror, I saw the marks I’d left.

“What have I done?”

I turned around and my mum was standing there, staring at the door.

She grabbed the nearest thing — an Oxford dictionary — and started smacking me. I dropped and rolled into a ball, which you’re meant to do for a bear attack, but what followed definitely doesn’t appear in any wildlife documentary.

She ran into my room, grabbed my box of Lego, and threw it out the window.

I spent four months collecting every single piece.

To this day, we still call it the Lego bush.

“Lego,” I typed.

“Okay,” she replied. “It’s you.”

They booked me another flight.

Signal cut again.

I had to trust them.

The next morning, full of nervous excitement, I went back to the airport. I hadn’t eaten properly in nearly forty-eight hours.

I waited.

Eventually, the Dubai Air desk explained there was a curfew on the island. The plane couldn’t land.

Cancelled....Again.

My heart sank. I was back to square one.

Another airport worker looked at my booking and quietly said, “If you can get to the mainland, you might still make your flight.”

“How do I do that?”

“Come with me.”

He walked me out of the terminal and into a small hangar.

A tiny prop plane. Two propellers. No bigger than a minivan. It could maybe fit fifteen people. It looked like something a cartel runner would use.

“If you pay €150 cash, you can get on one of these.”I nodded and walked toward the plane.

I prayed.

Thirty minutes later, we landed.

Relief flooded in.

Zanzibar from Prop plane

I started walking towards the terminal when a van pulled up.

“Hop in. It’s not safe to walk — and it’s two kilometres.”

Inside were other tourists. On the way, the driver explained that most taxis were refusing airport jobs because they were scared.

“Two police stations were hit last night. Four dead.”

Army patrols were everywhere. Smoke rose in the distance. People moved quickly through alleyways and doorways.

We arrived.

I tried to tip him.“No,” he said. “It was my pleasure. Please come back.”

Inside the airport, the screens lit up to my Horror they read.

CANCELLED.

Almost mocking me at this point, That was it..my last roll of the dice.

That’s when I met Sam. He was originally from Jamaica but lived in London. He’d been stuck for days trying to get to a wedding in India. Violence near his hotel had got so bad he’d been told to stay inside the airport for his own safety.

As we talked, I noticed a family crowded around the Uganda Airlines desk.

Curiosity got the better of me. It was the only flight leaving Tanzania.

Two seats left,Cash only,Visas required.

Sam had no cash We needed €850.

I held my breath and serched my bag , I had €900.

I handed it over… and quietly added a €50 note, dose that visa work?

The agent winked and printed our boarding passes.

We waited.

With no internet or radio contact, airport staff had to use binoculars to spot the plane.

To pass the time, I chatted football with the Ugandans around me. Arsenal (me), United, City, even Chelsea. For a moment, it felt like being back home in the pub with the boys.

Then headlights appeared.

The plane arrived,I boarded and nearly cried.

They handed me an Ugandan whisky.

I have never tasted anything sweeter.

When we landed, I clapped — the only time I ever have.

Straight through arrivals. Straight onto Skyscanner.

Sri Lanka and booked the next flight.

I called Tess. She was annoyed, relieved, and already there waiting for me. The only message she’d ever received was:

“I fucked up.”

She had waited 3 days for me without a plan or so much as a booking. I felt so terribal but what could I do? How do you plan for a civil unrest?

Sam!

Final Thoughts

I was lucky.

Internet and signal stayed down for another week. Hundreds of tourists were trapped. Worse still, during that time it’s estimated that between 1,000 and 6,000 Tanzanians lost their lives protesting their government.

I can’t comment further due to the nature of my work and the risk of being permanently banned, but I urge people to look into what happened.

Tanzania is still one of the most beautiful countries I’ve ever visited. The kindness of the people will stay with me forever.

Duran.