Almost three weeks ago, I found myself back in Moshi, a place I’d grown fond of during my travels. Initially, I planned to stay for just two weeks before moving on, torn between heading east to Tanga or west to Arusha. Both destinations are still on my list, but something about Moshi held me back. I decided to extend my stay by another week, soaking in the relaxed rhythm of this charming town.
During this time, I revisited familiar spots, enjoyed local dishes, and indulged in the simplicity of life here. Walking through the streets, I admired everyday scenes — like a man doing pedicures for women on the roadside, a makeshift beauty salon under the open sky. The food was a delight, from oversized chapatis to crispy fries, known locally as “chips.” I even stopped by a mall that surprised me with its modernity, feeling like a piece of home in the heart of Africa.
But not every moment was idyllic. One evening, I ventured out after dark. The streets can be unpredictably uneven, and in one particularly poorly lit stretch, I tripped and stubbed my toe on something hard. The pain was immediate and intense. Back at my accommodation, I cleaned the wound as best as I could, but without proper supplies, all I could do was bandage it and hope for the best.
That night, sleep eluded me. By morning, the pain was worse. I hobbled to a pharmacy, spent 15,000 TZS on supplies, and attempted to clean and rebandage the wound. The pain was so sharp it felt like needles piercing my skin. I lay on the bathroom floor, overwhelmed by the sensation, my mind wandering to past travels, memories, and the comforting thought of a little girl’s smile — someone dear who seemed to bring solace even in her absence.
When Pain Demands Action
As the day wore on, the signs were unmistakable: the toe was hot, swollen, and throbbing. I decided to stop trying to handle it alone and headed to the hospital. Walking there was an ordeal, but upon arrival, I was met with curious stares as the only foreigner. The staff were professional and efficient, guiding me through the initial check-in process: weight, blood pressure, and a quick consultation.
The tire shop I passed, where some locals were rude
The doctor examined my foot and confirmed what I feared — it wasn’t looking good. He needed to cut and clean the wound immediately, but there was a catch: no anesthesia was available. The procedure would have to be done raw. I braced myself, gripping the bed as the doctor worked. The pain was excruciating, and I screamed with every cut and cleanse. At times, I screamed at him to pause just so I could catch my breath. After what felt like an eternity — though it was only about 20 minutes — the procedure was over.
Despite being offered painkillers, I declined. Somehow, after enduring that ordeal, I felt I could manage the aftermath without them. The doctor handed me antibiotics and sent me on my way.
Reflections in the Aftermath
Walking back to my accommodation, I moved at a snail's pace, every step a reminder of the ordeal. That evening, I sat quietly, scrolling through old photos, thinking about the people who mattered most to me and how their memories brought comfort even from afar.
Today, my toe hurts more than before, as the doctor predicted. I still refuse painkillers, trusting my instincts to monitor the pain and let it guide me. Tomorrow, I’ll return to the hospital for a check-up, hoping for good news. My budget has taken a hit with unexpected medical expenses, but that’s the nature of travel — it’s full of surprises, both good and bad.
Through it all, Moshi remains a place of charm and resilience. This little accident, though painful, has reminded me of the importance of listening to my body, adapting plans, and sometimes, just slowing down. Hopefully, my next chapter here will be less eventful — but just as memorable.
The picture above: Immigration office in Moshi
The image above showcases the beautiful and modern mall, while the one below features the Union Cafe.
The picture above shows a woman walking away from the market. I'm always impressed by how they transport their goods.
The photo above shows the spot where I bought the oversized chapati. It might not be the cleanest place, but I didn’t get sick from it.
The photo above shows someone selling fruit on the street near the market. The picture below is of another cafe I visit sometimes.
The photo above shows the hospital I visited. The building doesn’t look much like a hospital. The photo below is of the street leading from the train station to the hospital, though I didn’t walk that route. After leaving the hospital, I went up the street on the left.
The photo above shows Kilimanjaro hidden behind clouds, taken before I went to the hospital. The picture below was taken after I returned from the hospital, showing Kilimanjaro emerging from the clouds.
The picture above was taken at my accommodation while I was having a coffee, contemplating whether or not I should go to the hospital. Later, in the bathroom, I made up my mind to go right away.
The photo above shows my foot after I cleaned and bandaged it for the first time. Looking back, I realize I should have gone to the hospital right then, not waited until the next day.
