Nuns and Princesses
I never knew there were so many ways of wearing a head scarf, but after more than a month in Zanzibar–people watching on dala dalas (public buses), at the beach and in Stone Town–I think I may have seen all of them.
Writing archive
New writing lives on Substack — essays, notes, and the conversations I’m having now. This page is the Vagabondess Blog Archive: articles published August 2012 through March 2024.
Walk along Miami Beach in a string bikini, and you’ll fit right in. Opt for boy shorts, and you’ll probably feel overdressed.Now, do the same thing in Zanzibar, and unless you are on a truly private beach, chances are you’ll feel very uncomfortably exposed.
Sometimes We Don’t Take Pictures: Camping on the Beach and Other Undocumented Adventures — an adventure essay from the years when every piece still lived on this site, not Substack.
This blip of time back in the U.S. has offered me some perspective on both Kenya and my home country, and a chance to reflect on how the two compare. So I had myself some fun and made this chart.
Piles of fruit in Malindi, Kenya.***I’ve always scoffed at the concept of culture shock.I go somewhere; there I am. Great.Depending on where you go, toilets smell worse or better. Still, I maintain: What’s the big deal?We may be creatures of habit, but we’re also highly adaptable.
For those of you who have been following recent events in Garissa, Kenya, and who were aware of the proximity of Lamu and Kiwayu Island (my location this past week) to the Somali border, you will be happy to know that I am back safe in.
(All photos taken yesterday at the Gede Ruins and nearby beach in Watamu.)***Before the rains come, the air grows thick—Cough syrup thickWool hat thickToffee thick—and clings to me like an extra layer of skin.

The journey from Diani Beach (South Coast, Kenya) to Kilifi (North Coast) by public transport is long, sweaty and chaotic. (Indeed, going just about anywhere in Kenya is all of these things.) It involves a matatu(bus) to the main road, and another to almost-Mombasa.
I love when people ask me, “Are you an artist?”These days, it happens often as guests and staff at the Distant Relatives Ecolodge in Kilifi pass by my public work spaces: an outdoor pizza oven and a formerly-blank wall in the communal kitchen.
Kilifi in Words — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
Embracing Syncretism — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
[The following is an adaptation of a piece I recently published at elephant journal, “Facing Fear in Handstand.” Or maybe the piece in elephant is an adaptation of this, as this is a near exact excerpt from my travel journal.
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