Hanuka Matata: When “Wellness” Doesn’t Feel Well
Wellness tourism is having its moment—and rightfully so. In the rush of modern life, who doesn’t dream of coming back from vacation not just rested, but renewed? I’ve always believed travel should help us return home feeling better than when we left—energized, grateful, and more alive.
Over the past several years, I’ve been blessed to travel across the globe—often solo—seeking experiences that deepen my understanding of culture, connection, and self. My journeys were always a balance of exploration and comfort; as a woman traveling alone, I often chose beautiful hotels and resorts that felt safe and familiar. My philosophy was simple: if I cultivate wellness in my daily life, why not carry that same standard with me wherever I go?
Then came Africa.
This summer, my fiancé and I spent several months traveling across the continent—a journey that was as humbling as it was expansive. Each day opened my heart wider, revealing lessons I could never have learned from books. When our work led us to Zanzibar, we decided to pause and take a true “wellness break.” Yoga, ocean swims, community connection—what could be better?
What unfolded was not the kind of “wellness” we expected.
We stayed on the southern part of the island, where our first welcome was the island’s raw truth: limited water and electricity, brackish water from a shallow table, and eventually, bottled water baths. Stepping outside our walled Airbnb, we found children running through piles of burning trash. The air carried both smoke and sorrow. I remember standing there thinking, how can we be well in a place where so much around us is unwell?
It was a hard truth to witness—the kind of truth most wellness retreats carefully hide.
As we traveled north, the contrast deepened: immaculate white beaches, luxury resorts, and carefully curated experiences that seemed worlds away from the realities just a few kilometers south. The island’s beauty was undeniable, but so was its inequality. The song that followed us—“Hakuna Matata,” meaning “no worries”—felt less like an expression of joy and more like a mantra for survival.
Later, I read an article about Tanzania seeking investment to expand the Zanzibar islands for more tourism. My mind went back to the children, the trash, the water. I couldn’t help but ask: what if the next wave of wellness tourism wasn’t about escape, but about engagement?
True wellness isn’t just about yoga on the beach or organic meals by the ocean—it’s about the well-being of the communities that host us, the land that sustains us, and the systems we choose to support.
Perhaps the most important “wellness journey” is the one that opens our eyes.
Because sometimes, to heal the world, we first have to see where it’s hurting.
