A small update from Swakopmund 🇳🇦

Today I took a taxi from Walvis Bay — the taxi stand didn’t feel very safe, but I made it here fine. Paid 50 N$ after the driver first tried 100.

Grabbed a latte at Ankerplatz, checked into my accommodation, and later met a travel friend I had met before in Lusaka and Livingstone. He’s only here for one night and invited me for Chinese food — really nice to catch up again.

After that just a quiet day: some rest, another coffee, ice cream, supermarket stop… and that’s it.

This is kind of my “normal” now after the robbery.

If you haven’t seen it yet, check my posts about what happened in Windhoek. I’m trying to rebuild and continue my journey — especially to redo parts from Zanzibar with photos again.

If you can, support or share 🙏
gofund.me/bc4dc48bc
Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/rubenstorm

#Namibia #Swakopmund #TravelLife #Backpacker #SupportNeeded

Robbed in Windhoek – Lost My Phone, My Data, and Part of My Journey

I never thought I would write something like this.

On the day I arrived in Windhoek, Namibia, I was robbed.

My phone is gone.
And with it, a 1TB SD card.

On that card were all my photos and videos from my journey—stretching from Zanzibar to Namibia. Months of experiences, memories, and moments I had captured along the way are now gone.

More Than Just a Device

For many, a phone is replaceable.
For me, it was my archive, my storytelling tool, my Wallet, and my connection to all of you.

Right now, I’m facing the reality that I cannot replace my phone on my own—I simply don’t have the financial means.

Trying to Recover

I’m doing what I can to recover and continue somehow.

If you’d like to support me during this difficult moment, I would truly appreciate it.

Support via GoFundMe

👉 gofund.me/95a0b8d4f

Support via Ko-fi

👉 ko-fi.com/rubenstorm

Every bit of support helps—whether it’s a donation, sharing this post, or simply sending kind words.

Thank You

Thank you for taking the time to read this, for your support, and for being part of this journey—even in moments like this. It truly means more than I can express.

— Ruben

Namibia Windhoek Robbery Travel Africa TravelIncident RobbedAbroad TravelSafety SoloTravel DigitalNomad LostData TravelStory RealLife Hardship Resilience Support HelpNeeded Community Crowdfunding Donation ContentCreator TravelBlog Vlog Storytelling NomadLife Adventure Backpacking LifeOnTheRoad TravelAfrica

The Hardest Day in Nine Years of Travel

Yesterday I traveled through Africa, from Lusaka to Livingstone.

This month marks nine years since I started traveling the world. In all that time I have experienced many things, but yesterday was the first truly bad day on this journey.

Before you continue reading, I want to give a small warning. What happened yesterday was not pleasant, and the story may create disturbing images in your mind. If you are sensitive to that, you may want to stop reading here.

It is not a nice story, but I feel I have to share it.

A Symbol of the Day

I created the image for this post with AI because I do not have a photograph that could express this day. I cannot capture the sadness and emptiness I felt in any other way.

The image stands as a symbol of the emotions that went through me after everything that happened.

The travel story of the day itself will come in a separate blog post.

The Accident

I was sleeping on the bus when it suddenly slammed on the brakes and woke me up.

Something had fallen onto the road in front of us. At first I thought it was just a jacket. But when the bus slowed down and passed it, I realized it was a child.

I wanted to jump out immediately, but the bus slowly drove around the child and stopped about 100 meters further down the road.

I jumped out and ran back.

When I arrived, many people were standing around the child. But nobody was doing anything. For a moment I thought the child was already dead.

I knelt down beside him.

It was a little boy, maybe two or three years old. He looked at me with terrified eyes and then blinked.

In that moment I felt a small wave of relief. He was alive.

He was lying on his belly, his head twisted to the side. I gently placed my hand on his back and spoke to him in a calm voice, telling him that everything would be okay, even though I knew it might not be.

Then he started breathing and coughing blood.

There was blood everywhere around his head.

His jacket had been pushed up around his head while his back was only covered by a T-shirt. I carefully moved the jacket aside so he could breathe better.

That was when I saw how badly he was injured.

His head had deep cuts. I could see the white of his skull. It was not just one wound but several deep cuts where the skin had opened.

In that moment I thought there was nothing I could do. The injuries were so severe that I feared he might die.

The little boy looked at me with pure fear in his eyes.

And I kept asking myself:
Where is his mother?
Where is the police?
Where is an ambulance?

Finding His Mother

I decided to look for his mother because in that moment he needed her more than anything else.

She was the person who brought him into this world, and she was the one who could give him comfort.

I asked the people standing around where his mother was. A woman pointed into the bushes and said:

"There, the one screaming."

I walked over there. I did not want to be the person who had to talk to a mother who believed her child had just died.

Another woman was trying to calm her down. I spoke to her and said:

"Where is the mother? Bring her. The boy is alive and breathing."

She looked at me in disbelief and asked:

"He is alive?"

I told her yes, he was alive and breathing, and she had to bring the mother.

Back at the Road

When I returned to the boy, someone had covered him with a sheet.

I pulled the sheet away from his head so he could breathe.

His frightened eyes looked at me again.

Then I saw the other side of his head and face, and the injuries there were even worse. There were deeper cuts, and pieces of skin were hanging loose.

A woman told me she was a nurse. When I heard that, I stepped back.

I walked over to a police officer who was standing nearby in shock, just staring.

I told him he had to call a doctor immediately. The boy needed help fast.

The officer took out his phone and began to dial.

Leaving

As I walked back toward my bus, it had already started to move.

I ran and jumped back inside.

There was nothing more I could do.

A Hope

I truly hope that the little boy reached the hospital quickly and that the doctors were able to save him.

I hope that despite everything that happened yesterday, he was lucky.

And that somewhere right now, as I write these words, he is recovering.

Overland from Moshi to Lusaka — 2500 Kilometers South

This journey was not about comfort.
It was about continuing forward, even when the road was rough, the weather unfriendly, and energy low.

From Moshi in northern Tanzania to Lusaka in Zambia, the trip covered about 2500 kilometers by land — buses, waiting halls, border crossing, and long hours of movement.

Departure from Moshi

I left Moshi in the late afternoon heat. The bus was large but already crowded. The air inside was warm and heavy, and the road vibrations started almost immediately after departure.

At first I had space. Soon more passengers entered, and my backpack ended up on my lap. From that moment, movement meant adjustment — shifting shoulders, protecting space, balancing the bag.

The road stretched into darkness. Stops came and went. At night immigration checks slowed the journey, but after explanations the bus continued south.

The ride was loud, uneven, and constant.

Arrival in Iringa — Rain and Recovery

We reached Iringa early in the morning. The bus station toilets were flooded and difficult to use. Someone poured liquid over my hands — I thought it was water, but it was soap. Eventually rainwater from a barrel helped rinse it off.

The hostel looked abandoned from outside but inside it was clean and calm. After the long ride, simply lying down felt like a reward.

Rain followed me through Iringa. Streets turned muddy, shoes became soaked, and nothing dried properly. I stayed two nights to recover and regain energy.

South to Mbeya

The next bus continued through hills and long stretches of road. The ride to Mbeya was rough and slow. Seats were tight, the bus shook constantly, and hours passed without comfort.

By arrival my body was worn down. Mbeya was cloudy and quiet. I stayed in a simple hotel near the station to rest and prepare for the border crossing ahead.

Toward the Border

From Mbeya the route led to Tunduma. After a short bus ride and a tuk-tuk transfer, I walked from a busy roundabout toward the border facilities.

Walking meant noise, pressure, and constant offers from sellers and transport agents. Some followed closely. Some grabbed my arm. The only strategy was calm refusal and steady movement forward.

At immigration there were forms, questions, and waiting. Eventually Tanzania stamped me out and Zambia stamped me in with a 30-day entry.

Crossing on foot made the transition feel very real — one step at a time between two countries.

Nakonde — Waiting Through the Night

In Zambia, buses are not allowed to travel at night. That meant hours of waiting at the station.

The building was cold. People rested wherever they could — benches, floors, bags as pillows. I found a sofa near a charging socket and stayed there.

Sleep came only in short moments. The focus was simple: keep belongings safe, keep the phone charged, wait for departure.

Eventually, while it was still dark, boarding began.

The Long Road to Lusaka

The bus departed in darkness. Sunrise arrived hours later, slowly lighting villages, roadside activity, and the long route south.

The ride included checkpoints, short stops, and one moment when workers inspected a tire beneath my seat after a burning smell appeared.

In Mpika there was a short stop and a paid toilet. Then the road continued, kilometer after kilometer.

By the time Lusaka appeared, the journey felt both long and strangely distant.

Arrival in Lusaka

Arrival was quiet rather than dramatic. A shared taxi carried me across the city to a familiar backpackers hostel.

Late in the evening I found a simple meal before resting. After days of buses, waiting, and movement, a bed felt like stability again.

The journey that began in Moshi, on February 8, ended in Lusaka, on February 14 — not as an ending, but as a pause before continuing onward.

Costs of the Journey

Food and daily meals are not included here. Only major transport and accommodation.

Tanzania

• Moshi → Iringa bus: 50,000 TZS (≈ 17.86 €)
• Iringa → Mbeya bus: 20,000 TZS (≈ 7.14 €)
• Mbeya → Tunduma bus: 5,000 TZS (≈ 1.79 €)
• Tuk-tuk to border: 1,500 TZS (≈ 0.54 €)
• Iringa accommodation (2 nights): 14.71 €
• Mbeya accommodation (2 nights): 40,000 TZS (≈ 14.29 €)

Tanzania total: ≈ 56.32 €

Zambia

• Nakonde → Lusaka bus: 500 ZMW (≈ 17.24 €)
• Taxi in Lusaka: 100 ZMW (≈ 3.45 €)
• Lusaka accommodation (2 nights): 14.00 €
• Booking fee: 2.61 €
• Dinner on arrival: 120 ZMW (≈ 4.14 €)
• Toilet stop: 2 ZMW (≈ 0.07 €)

Zambia total: ≈ 41.51 €

Total journey cost: ≈ 97.83 €

Reflection

This trip was not defined by scenery or comfort.
It was defined by persistence.

Wet shoes.
Crowded buses.
Waiting halls.
Border lines.
Long distances.

But each stage moved the journey forward.
And sometimes that is enough.

The road continues.

Support the Journey

If you enjoy following these overland travels and want to support the road ahead, you can help here:

⚡ Lightning: rubenstorm@coinos.io
☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/rubenstorm

Every bit of support helps keep the journey moving forward. Thank you.

Good morning from Iringa, Tanzania 🌧️ – a town with fascinating German history and ancient rock paintings that date back to prehistoric times.

Today, if the weather allows, I plan to explore the historical sites, get a ticket, and continue my journey tomorrow. I love discovering how history leaves its mark in unexpected places, and Iringa is full of stories waiting to be uncovered.

If you enjoy following my lifestyle, feel free to follow me or support my travels:
☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/rubenstorm
⚡ Lightning: rubenstorm@coinos.io

Even if my nomadic lifestyle isn’t your cup of tea, you can still support me — it helps me cover essentials like a place to stay, visas, and keeping the journey going 😉

Stay tuned, follow along, and see where the road takes me next. Life is a series of small adventures, and I’m sharing every step of the way.

#Iringa #Tanzania #TravelLife #NomadLife #Adventure #TravelBlog #DigitalNomad #KoFi #Lightning #History #Exploration

Swimming With a View of Kilimanjaro

Today I went to a swimming pool in Moshi — a pool with a direct view of Mount Kilimanjaro. And I have to say: that view alone already feels surreal. Snow-capped, massive, calm. One of those moments where you stop and just look.

Unfortunately, the place itself didn’t quite live up to the scenery.

The pool area was poorly maintained. There were no lockers at all, the changing rooms were a mess, and the showers were dirty. No privacy, no hooks, no shelf — nowhere to put your clothes or your bag while showering. You’re basically standing there, exposed, hoping nobody walks by at the wrong moment.

The toilets were… something else. Very open, very public. You say hello to everyone passing by while they can literally see you poop. On top of that, they weren’t clean — there was still poop left inside from previous visitors. That alone makes you reconsider a lot of life choices. I didn’t even want to use the toilet, but after swimming I had to use the shower, despite the lack of privacy and hygiene.

The entrance fee was 7,000 TZS, which isn’t cheap for me — I could expect basic cleanliness and maintenance for that amount.

The pool itself looked old and worn, as if it had seen much better days and was slowly falling apart.

Still, the weather was perfect. Warm, calm, relaxed. And that view of Kilimanjaro fixed a lot. Not everything — but enough to make the visit worth it in its own strange way.

Sometimes travel is exactly that: imperfect places saved by extraordinary surroundings.

📍 Moshi, Tanzania

#Moshi #Tanzania #Kilimanjaro #MountKilimanjaro #TravelNotes #NomadLife #SlowTravel #RealityOfTravel #Africa #OnTheRoad

Moshi, Tanzania — Walking Under Kilimanjaro’s Clouds

Today unfolded at a gentle, unhurried pace. After breakfast, I lingered over another coffee, letting the morning breathe before heading out for lunch. Street food came to the rescue — fast, simple, and perfect for the day.

I wandered into the supermarket, grabbed a tea from the bakery, and filled my basket with a few essentials. Then it was back to the hostel to drop everything off before setting out again.

The next mission was the gas station — or so I thought. After a long walk, I discovered there was no booking office there. Instead, it was at another station, right between the bus station and the supermarket… a place I had just passed. So I turned around and walked it all again.

On the way, I passed Kibo Palace. It was getting late, and I decided to head up to the rooftop to check on Kilimanjaro. The mountain was hidden behind clouds once more, but I still took a few photos — proof of the moment, even without the view.

At the right gas station, I finally found what I was looking for: bus times, routes, and prices. With all the information in hand, the day felt complete.

I ended the evening back at the hostel with a Coke, a cup of tea, and a slice of chocolate cake from earlier — tired legs, calm mind, and that quiet satisfaction that only comes from walking through a place instead of rushing past it.

#Moshi #Tanzania #Kilimanjaro #TravelDiary #NomadLife #Fediverse #travelphotography #travel 👁