Sunshine, white sands, and a sexy stranger...

One night in Zanzibar takes a turn you don't expect

Hola amigos,

Feliz Lunes! I’m being annoying and speaking Spanish because I’m reporting live from Colombiaaaa where I’ll be based for the next few weeks. Whoo! I landed last week, and I had all these plans to create travel content and really get into my TikTok bag, but alas all I’ve been doing so far is eating amazing food at all the rooftop restaurants. My priorities are now to find a gym, but we move!

I’ve also been exploring the city and while doing so, I’ve been routinely running into Passport Bros. Have y’all heard about them? Ivy Locke from LEVEL describes them as, “a group of Black men who have traveled internationally with the intention of finding sex and love.” Which doesn’t sound too crazy, I mean places like Thailand and Brazil are internationally known for this. But the problem is this, as Locke continues in her article, “Rather than simply getting their little passports stamped while enjoying foreign women, it seems one of the top goals of the Passport Bros is to degrade and insult American Black women.”

Many of these men are red pill incels who, because they despise Black women, have decided that they must get away from us entirely and travel abroad to find submissive enough women who will worship their "high-value man” ideology.

It’s an icky topic, but I say all this to say that I was initially pleasantly surprised by the number of Black men I’ve seen here in Colombia. In all my travels, I’ve never even remotely seen this many. But then I went out to El Poblado, the most touristy neighborhood with prostitution in abundance, and I understood why they’re all here. Lo and behold ALL the Black men were there chasing and paying for prostitutes. Their eyes low and diverted from mine—whether out of shame for themselves or disgust for me, who knows.

Anyway, if you’ve been to Colombia and have any recommendations for ya girl, drop them in the comments or respond to this email. I’m trying to do it all.

Keep reading for this week’s story!

This Week’s Story

We have an Adventures Unknown story this week and I’m so excited for you to read it. Adventures Unknown highlights the travels and stories from Black women on the road, and this week, writer Masie Jones shares a sexy story from her time on a work trip in Zanzibar. And the plot twist at the end? I did NOT see that coming. This one is oh so juicy. Don’t miss it.

Enjoy,

Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Mag

Adventures Unknown: One Night In Zanzibar

by Masie Jones

There is an unwritten rule pertaining to women over 35 years old: whether single or divorced, mothers or well-educated female professionals climbing the ranks in the corporate world. That rule is: do not approach or be involved with these ‘untouchables’. As a so-called "untouchable" myself, I would like to believe this idea stems from a masculine primal fear of not being needed. I must say, not only is this rule archaic in its profiling of accomplished and experienced women, but it is also a view dangerous enough to make a confident woman like myself have doubts regarding my desirability and rights to claim love, joy, and peace. 

I confess I was unconsciously living by this unspoken rule. I minded my business, kept my head down when cat-called in the streets, and hid all the sexual desires and need to be loved that characterized my mid-twenties somewhere in a hidden compartment of my brain. I locked it away and forgot about it. 

What was acceptable for me, a divorced mother of two, were days characterized by morning routines with the kids,  working at my 9-to-5 job then heading back home in the evenings to help with homework, a little play time, dinner, and bed. Day after day, repeat. I was comfortable, but I wasn't satisfied. But you play the hand that you are dealt, right? 

It came at the perfect moment. An all-expenses paid trip to Zanzibar. An opportunity to radically change my whole routine, and have some alone time for the first time in over a decade, came up. The allure of travel to a new country,  a sabbatical from family, work, and familiarity became the moment I would come face to face with myself and my sexual curiosity. Here was a chance for me to rediscover the allure of my femininity.  

It started off as an invitation to a lunch date. This had been after a day of my exploring the new city, taking walks on the beach, and occasional dips into the Indian Ocean. Zanzibar is known for its sunshine, white sands, and bright sun— just what I needed to shake off the heaviness of an adult life constantly constituting responsibility and risk management.

The day started off with business training. I scouted the group to see if anyone sparked my interest. Back in the day, you would be able to lock eyes with that one person and know. Maybe my old-school style was one of the reasons I shied away from online dating which is all the rage today. There is something about a spark that emanates from being in the same room as someone, then you connect. But back home, I would never get the opportunity to actually doll up and be a seductress. In this moment, however, surrounded by eligible bachelors and an agenda to network set by the training facilitators, who was I to say no to intelligent conversations with attractive men? 

Then, I saw him. Our eyes locked at the very moment when someone in the group had loudly quipped that networking encouraged the discovery of unchartered territories. At that very moment, I knew he would be the object of my sexual fantasies in a foreign country. 

The build-up to a night of sensuous and sweaty lovemaking and vulnerable pillow talk was cathartic. I mean, this 31-year-old bachelor, several years my junior, who was well-accomplished and speaking so eloquently to me about how he loved my presentation gave me instant vibrations. He joked about how he could get me a meal made just like how we enjoyed it back home, as a reward for the effort that was clearly noticeable in my presentation. That was the moment I knew I liked him.

I flipped my knotless braids back, exposed my neck, and leaned in for a laugh. I told him I was hungry and loved his idea for a good meal. Who was this girl, telling a handsome man she was hungry and wanted to be fed? He quickly obliged me and we headed to the restaurant, amapiano music was playing on the stereo with light banter and an easy silence zoned me out. I was present, having a good time with this man I barely knew in a foreign country, and high on the success of my presentation.

I started opening up to him. Like any woman who has been through a divorce and put up defensive walls most likely would, I unraveled from the intimacy that lacked in my past. There is a moment in life when you feel safe enough to share your deepest regrets and pains with an overflowing tidal wave of words needing escape and release to a total stranger—with no fear of judgment.

I had survived the kind of toxic relationship that had the power of water to erode and wear down a rock over time, and he was that first drink of pure cool water after a parched marriage of 10 years.  In no way had I ever thought that my failed marriage would make me a vulnerable woman in the dating pool to such an extent that I felt it was not ok to fall hook, line, and sinker over good conversation, feeling good, and actually being treated right. 

The jolt from the car as we parked at a waterfront beach for the promised reward dinner brought me back from my reverie and switched up the mood to fun and playful. He came to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I smiled up at him in an effort to hide the stomach jump that I felt at that very moment.

How dare I fall in love so quickly?

I would not dare give recognition to the responses the rest of my body organs were giving me at that moment. When he reached out for my hand we walked hand in hand, I began to think he too had longed for such a moment. He was gentle yet authoritative, leading the way to a table for two situated towards the end of the seating area, overlooking the ocean skyline and dotted with silhouettes of boats and yachts bobbing in the waves.  The gentle jazzy music playing in the background was the soundtrack of a seduction taking place, and I was all for it. 

The early evening was a sequence of picture-perfect moments of thoroughly enjoying a  succulent seafood platter for two, refreshing mocktails, and finished off with lots of pictures and an intimate Q&A session about why we both felt this need to get our bodies closer.  He told me about how he noticed my vulnerability, how I was a good woman full of grace, and how someday I would meet the guy who would make me happy. I told him he was refreshingly different in his gentleman’s demeanor, alpha male confidence, and enigmatic sense of humor.  I was smiling like a schoolgirl, and yes, I was anticipating the climactic end of this wonderful night. Forgive me if having sexual expectations as a woman is unbecoming. He had ticked all the boxes. 

Consent is an important issue that I advocate for, and I am glad that this young man understood that assignment. Just as we drove back into the city and our evening winding down while discussing how all participants would be busy with preparations to leave the next day. It is in between this banter that he boldly told me he was interested in exploring an intimate encounter with me whenever I was comfortable to do so. I said yes, of course, and that I found him attractive too. There was no need for me to tell him how my last intimate encounter had been eons ago, and from a situation, I felt pressured. This time, I was owning my emotions, expressing my desires, and reveling in being wanted by this specimen of a man.  Sis had hit the jackpot. 

The ‘not’ Jilt Trip

So, like the love-struck kitty, the panties came off on the second date and after such an extended period of celibacy, it was bittersweet. Sweet in that Mr. 31 knew his way around my body and navigated his way to uncharted territories. Bitter in that as soon as we had cuddled up for the night in the early hours of the morning, he told me he had to go and sleep in his own room as his long-distance girlfriend would be calling and the time difference meant he had to video call for at least 2 hours with her every day. 

Yes, that gut-wrenching feeling you can never imagine literally happened to me. The flip from fairytale to nightmare the moment the nut was bust. I didn't know what to think or say. My body was still flooded with endorphins. I didn't know whether the shudder I felt was from the great sex, or the blood pressure rising from my brain confirming I was a fool. Of course,  he tried to soften the blow and said he was sorry. 

Just go, I said, like a sulking baby who just had candy taken away, I watched him leave.

Before, I would have slipped back into a blanket of shame and self-loathing’ thoughts of being loose and unworthy of love. I was not going to allow myself to self-destruct this time. From the very moment the whole encounter had started, I knew I was being hunted, and I had handled myself like a gazelle wanting to be trapped and then saved. This time, however, I chose to fight and win over the voices in my head. Enough judgment from people had already stolen my peace and fueled my fear to let myself be. I no longer was going to allow someone else’s behavior to cloud my own emotions and determine what I felt about decisions I had rationally made. I was no longer going to be apologetic for being a single mother, a powerhouse at my job, or flaunting my sexy past the early thirties stage. The cookie crumbs from all my sexual encounters and self-reflections lead to this one truth I will not ever again trade; I am a woman and I can be. 

As I flew back to my home country and reflected on my escapades from the past few weeks, I realized that I had needed this one-night stand encounter. I realized  I needed to shake off the lie that I could no longer be desirable or wanted, or never enjoy intimacy again because I was damaged goods. I remembered that I needed to love myself enough first to realize what everyone else loved about who I was. I could not allow myself to continue being chained to past mistakes, unfulfilled dreams, and shattered realities. I was still a woman with needs, and there was no shame in fulfilling them, even if I now had children.

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Masie Jones is a Zimbabwean-born global citizen who loves travel, food, and connecting with people. She works in communications and is a full-time mother, daughter, and friend. When not cooking up a storm, Marie loves an afternoon nap after a good read.