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How East Africa Changed Me, One Market at a Time

Leigh Cala-or

The heart of East Africa: where healing begins in every exchange

I didn’t expect East Africa to heal me.

I went with a backpack and a tired heart, telling myself it was just a break. Just a few weeks of wandering, soaking in new places, maybe collecting stories. What I didn’t realize was that I was also collecting pieces of myself—pieces I hadn’t even noticed were missing.

I thought I was going there to explore, to get inspired, maybe even to escape a bit. But what I found in those colorful street markets, breezy rooftop cafés, and the gentle rhythm of everyday life was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time: clarity.

East Africa is more than a place you pin on a map. It’s more than travel blogs and Instagram reels. It’s a feeling. A hum beneath the noise. A daily invitation to slow down. A mirror that reflects parts of you you’ve forgotten to nurture.

I didn’t arrive seeking healing. But it found me—in the way a stranger handed me fruit with a smile, in the sound of drums echoing through alleys, in the sun pouring over rooftops while I sipped spiced tea in silence. Without fanfare or formality, East Africa became a quiet, persistent ally in my journey toward better mental health.

It didn’t fix me. But it reminded me I wasn’t broken.

It gave me space—to feel, to pause, to reconnect with who I am beneath the noise of schedules and survival.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re just going through the motions, craving something real, something grounding, this story is for you. Because sometimes, healing doesn’t look like therapy rooms or medication bottles. Sometimes, healing looks like a market full of strangers, a cup of chai on a rooftop, and a city that teaches you how to breathe again.

The Unexpected Therapy of East Africa Street Markets

Colorful spice market with vibrant turmeric, chili, and curry powders.
A feast for the senses—East Africa’s spice markets burst with color and tradition
Every thread tells a story—woven baskets in East Africa blend beauty and function
She smiled and said, “You need something sweet”—moments like this define East Africa

If you’ve ever felt overstimulated by your phone, overwhelmed by deadlines, or like your to-do list is screaming louder than your inner voice—you’re not alone. I was right there, burned out and numb. Then I stumbled into an East Africa street market, and everything shifted.

What’s so therapeutic about a bustling market, you ask?

Let me paint a picture.

There’s no pressure to buy. Just connection. And a sense that every interaction has a heartbeat.

Why the East Africa Street Market Helped My Mental Health:

So why did an East Africa street market—loud, colorful, unpredictable, and often chaotic—feel more like therapy than some of the quiet, clinical rooms I’d sat in back home?

Because it met me exactly where I was.

I didn’t have to talk about my past, need a diagnosis or a plan, or to explain why I felt stuck, empty, or tired. The healing didn’t come from analyzing my thoughts. It came from stepping into a space where life was happening—boldly, loudly, and unapologetically in the now.

Those markets didn’t wait for me to feel better. They just invited me in—dusty shoes, anxious heart, wandering eyes, and all. And somehow, in the middle of the noise, I felt a strange kind of stillness.

Because these markets did something my burnout couldn’t ignore: they brought me back to life, piece by piece. Here’s how:

1. Presence – My body showed up first, and my mind followed.

In the market, there’s no space for multitasking or zoning out. Your senses snap into focus—the scent of fresh pineapple mixing with the smoke of grilled meat; the sound of bargaining in Swahili, laughter, motorbikes whirring past.

Everything around you demands attention, not in an overwhelming way, but in a grounding one. I found myself noticing details I usually ignored—the texture of bananas, the patterns on a vendor’s scarf, the warmth of the sun hitting my face between stalls.

For the first time in a long time, I was fully there. My thoughts slowed. My breath deepened. The static in my brain softened.

2. Human connection – I felt seen without needing to explain myself.

In many places, especially during anxious seasons, I’ve felt invisible. Walk fast. Head down. Don’t bother anyone. That’s often the unspoken rule in big cities. But here? That rule didn’t exist.

People looked me in the eye—not to sell me something, but to greet me. Conversations weren’t rushed. A tomato seller might ask where I’m from and tell me about his sister studying in Nairobi. A child might wave and giggle at my awkward attempt to speak Kiswahili.

I wasn’t just a tourist—I was part of a moment. And that genuine connection, no matter how small, reminded me I still mattered. That people still cared. And that loneliness can’t survive long where warmth is this contagious.

3. Color and creativity – Everything felt handmade, heartfelt, and alive.

Texture, color, and culture—East Africa’s creativity lives in every woven thread © Unsplash

The market was a gallery of everyday art. Woven baskets in bright oranges and blues. Hand-painted signs with misspelled English slogans. Rows of red chilies next to deep green avocados, each one arranged with care, not for aesthetics, but out of habit and pride.

I didn’t realize how dull my life had become until I was surrounded by so much vibrancy. And it wasn’t curated or filtered—it was raw, local, real. Even the way people dressed felt expressive—layers of fabric in bold patterns, stacked bangles, barefoot kids with handmade toys.

It stirred something dormant in me. The part that used to write poetry, doodle in notebooks, and sing out loud in the shower. That part stood up again and said, Hey. I’m still here.

Rooftop Cafes in East Africa: Where Stillness Lives

Stillness above the city—East Africa’s rooftops gave my mind space to breathe © Freepik

After the buzz and beauty of the East Africa street markets, I often found myself wandering upward—seeking quiet, sky, and a moment to exhale. That’s how I discovered 270° Rooftop Café in Nairobi. Hidden above the hum of traffic, perched over dusty alleys and sunlit avenues, these little havens became my sanctuary.

There’s something magical about being just high enough to watch life without being pulled into it. I’d sit with a warm cup of chai, elbows resting on a chipped wooden table, and just breathe. No rush. No screens. Just me, the sky, and the slow unfolding of a soft afternoon.

These spots aren’t just trendy—they’re tranquil, and deeply restorative in ways I didn’t expect. They offered something that felt increasingly rare: the permission to just be. And that alone was a kind of healing.

At 270° Rooftop Café, I found the perfect pause above the pulse of East Africa.

Here’s why these cafés meant so much to my mental health:

1. Open-air calm – Nature joined me for coffee.

There’s a kind of peace that only comes from being outdoors without being “outside.” These rooftops offered that sweet middle ground—a soft breeze brushing past, sunlight filtering through woven canopies, birds calling in the distance.

I wasn’t boxed in. My shoulders relaxed. My breathing slowed. The natural world wasn’t just something to admire—it became part of the moment. And when your mind feels crowded or noisy, that kind of sensory simplicity matters.

It’s hard to spiral when the sky is wide open above you.

2. Unrushed culture – No one timed my presence.

In many cafés I’ve visited elsewhere, the pressure is subtle but constant. A glance from the server, the silent nudge to clear the table, the unspoken rule that your time is up once your cup is empty.

Not here.

In these East African rooftop cafés, nobody rushed me. There was no pressure to keep ordering or to be productive. The atmosphere said: Stay as long as you like. That message—you don’t have to earn your rest—was radical to someone like me, who had always tied worth to output.

I lingered, reflected, and started writing again. Sometimes I just stared out at the skyline, letting my thoughts drift without judgment. And that unrushed stillness? It did more for my nervous system than any meditation app I’d ever tried.

3. Good food, good people – Nourishment that went beyond the plate.

The sizzle of simplicity—chapati cooking fresh in the heart of East Africa

It wasn’t just the food, though wow, the food. Something was healing about the way it was served—with care, with pride, with presence.

And more than that—the people. The baristas, the cooks, the regulars. They greeted me with warmth, remembered my name after the second visit, and asked me how my day was going, like they really meant it.

That kind of kindness sticks. Especially when you’re in a season of life where you feel unanchored or alone.

Some of my most profound journaling happened on those rooftops.

It wasn’t intentional. I’d just open my notebook out of habit, maybe jot a few things down. But the combination of quiet, space, and presence made it easier to hear myself. The real me. The one buried under burnout, perfectionism, and all the roles I thought I had to play.

Up there, surrounded by sun and stillness, I remembered who I was..

Slowing Down: The East African Rhythm That Resets You

One of the most soul-shifting things about East Africa? It’s rhythm.

Whether I was in Kampala, Nairobi, or a coastal town in Tanzania, life didn’t move in a straight line. It meandered. Like a song you hum without rushing.

I stopped checking my phone obsessively. I started waking with the sun instead of to a blaring alarm. I walked more, lingered longer, and learned to trust that things would get done. Just not at breakneck speed.

This slower pace helped my mental health more than any app or self-help hack ever had.
It didn’t promise quick fixes—it simply gave me space. And in that space, things started to shift:

Moments That Changed Me (Stories from the Ground)

Healing didn’t just come from the landscapes or the rhythm of the culture—it came through people. Strangers, really. People I’ll likely never see again, yet whose kindness lodged itself deep in my heart.

They didn’t know my name. They didn’t know about the anxiety I carried like a second skin. But somehow, in their small gestures and everyday grace, I felt seen in ways that even my closest friends back home hadn’t managed during my hardest moments.

Here are a few snapshots—fragments of connection—that still echo in my heart:

“Take the papaya, you need sweetness today”—kindness lives here © Unsplash

A fruit vendor in Zanzibar told me, “You look tired. Take the papaya. You need sweetness today.”

I hadn’t realized how drained I looked until he said it—not in a judging way, but in the way someone might say, You look like you need a nap or a hug or something good to eat. She held out the papaya with both hands, like a gift, not a transaction.

I took it, barely whispering thank you, and walked to the edge of the market to sit under some shade. The fruit was warm from the sun. Sweet, soft, dripping down my fingers as I ate it.

It tasted like a hug. Like permission to be tired. Like someone saw my exhaustion and said, You deserve sweetness anyway.

A street artist in Nairobi invited me to sit beside him while he painted.

Watching healing in color—no words, just presence © Unsplash

I’d been standing nearby for a while, watching him work—his brush moving slowly, confidently over a canvas filled with earth tones and bursts of gold. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know if I should. But then he looked up and simply nodded to the space next to him.

No pressure. No performance. Just… sit with me.

So I did. No words passed between us. Just colors, and calm, and the soft scratch of the brush meeting canvas. It was the most peaceful silence I’d experienced in weeks.

It was a moment that asked nothing of me—and gave me everything.

A café owner in Uganda let me play my Spotify playlist through their speaker.

I was a regular by then, stopping in every morning for ginger tea and sambusas. We’d made small talk, laughed about the weather, and talked about music. One day, he asked what I liked to listen to. I offered him one earbud. He waved it off, saying, “No, you play it for everyone.”

So I did.

My playlist—mostly mellow indie, soul, and a few nostalgic throwbacks—filled the space. Before long, someone hummed along. Then a small group clapped to the beat. A little girl started dancing, and I couldn’t help but join in.

We all danced—strangers, friends, family.

It was spontaneous. It was joy. And at that moment, I felt completely present. Not managing anything. Not thinking ahead. Just there, in rhythm with the room, smiling from a place that didn’t feel forced.

None of these people knew my story.
They didn’t know the sleepless nights, the inner battles, the quiet panic that used to grip my chest for no reason.

They didn’t need to.

Their kindness, their presence, their simple being with me—it did the heavy lifting. They offered healing not with words, but with warmth. And they reminded me of something I’d forgotten:

That sometimes, what saves you doesn’t come in the form of advice or answers.
Sometimes, it’s just being gently held by the world around you.

We danced to my playlist. No strangers—just soulmates in that moment © Unsplash

What Makes East Africa So Emotionally Restorative?

After weeks of wandering markets, sipping coffee on rooftops, and meeting people whose kindness left quiet imprints on my soul, I started asking myself: Why does this place feel so different? Not just visually, or culturally—but emotionally.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe:

East Africa doesn’t just accept you—it sees you.

Not as a tourist. Not as a foreigner. Not as someone trying to escape something. But as a human.

And that alone is disarming.

In so many Western spaces, I often felt like I had to earn my place. I had to prove my value by how much I achieved, how fast I moved, how polished I appeared. Even in moments of pain, there was pressure to smile, to function, to keep up the illusion that everything was fine.

But in East Africa, I felt something different. Something quieter, more human, more true.

Eye contact is real.

When someone looks at you here, they see you. Not just in passing. There’s a presence in their gaze. It’s not transactional—it’s relational. A silent, I see you. You matter here.

Smiles are sincere.

Not the kind you give out of politeness or habit. These are smiles that reach the eyes, shared freely, even between strangers. Smiles that aren’t earned—they’re simply offered, like a warm breeze or a helping hand.

People take time to talk—to really talk.

Conversations aren’t rushed. They stretch out, naturally, like the afternoons. Whether you’re speaking to a boda driver or a grandmother at the market, there’s a genuine curiosity, a desire to connect—not just to get through the day, but to share it.

It reminded me of something I’d forgotten in my fast-paced life:

That being known isn’t about what you reveal. It’s about being received.

There’s a collective emotional intelligence woven into the culture.

It’s subtle, but steady. A quiet awareness that life isn’t always easy—and that’s okay. The beauty is in how people show up for each other anyway. There’s a softness, even in the struggle. A kind of communal strength that doesn’t deny hardship, but gently wraps itself around it.

No one asked me what I did for work. No one cared how “successful” I was. Instead, they cared how I was doing. How I was feeling.

And when the answer was “not great,” there was no awkwardness. Just nods, understanding, maybe a shared story or a wordless moment of sitting together in silence.

That kind of emotional safety? It’s rare. And when you find it, especially in unexpected corners of the world, it stays with you.

East Africa gave me that gift. A place where I didn’t have to perform wellness to be welcomed.
A place where being seen didn’t come at the cost of being real.

The Science Behind Why Traveling (Like to East Africa) Helps Mental Health

If you’re wondering whether this is just romantic storytelling or a case of glorified wanderlust—you’re not alone. I used to be skeptical too. Could a place really change how we feel, not just what we see?

Turns out, science says yes.

There’s a growing body of research that backs up what I felt so deeply during my time in East Africa: travel can heal. And not just in metaphorical ways—but in real, neurological, emotional, and physiological ones.

1. Novel environments stimulate the brain in powerful ways.

A study published in the Journal of Positive Psychology found that engaging with new environments—especially ones that activate our senses—can boost our mood and enhance cognitive flexibility (our brain’s ability to adapt, shift perspectives, and solve problems creatively).

Think about it: in a street market, you’re constantly interpreting sights, smells, textures, and languages.
Your brain isn’t running on autopilot anymore.

It’s awake. It’s curious. It’s alive.

That kind of immersion is incredibly grounding for people who feel stuck in repetitive, anxious thought loops. You’re no longer spiraling about your inbox—you’re trying to figure out how to ask for pineapples in Kiswahili. That shift alone can light up parts of the brain associated with emotional regulation and learning.

2. “Newness” triggers mindful awareness.

Psychologist Dr. Tamara Russell puts it this way:

“Newness forces our brain to engage more mindfully.”

When you’re in unfamiliar surroundings, your brain pays closer attention to details. You start noticing the weight of your backpack, the smell of charcoal in the air, and the cadence of local conversation.

This mindful engagement—being present at the moment rather than living in your head—has been shown to reduce symptoms of depression, anxiety, and even chronic stress.

And East Africa, with all its sensory richness and slow, intentional rhythm, creates the perfect conditions for that kind of healing awareness.

3. Social connection boosts serotonin and reduces stress.

We are wired for connection. And East African culture thrives on it.

From the daily greetings in the market, to communal eating, to random strangers offering help without being asked—it’s a place where interaction isn’t an inconvenience; it’s a way of life.

Science backs this up:

So when I say I felt emotionally safer in East Africa, I’m not exaggerating. My nervous system was responding to the rhythm of the culture around me.

This isn’t “feel-good fluff.”
These are biological shifts that happen when we change our environment, open ourselves to connection, and engage with the world in a way that’s curious instead of controlled.

So if your mind has been feeling foggy, your heart heavy, or your soul disconnected—it might not be that you’re broken.

It might just be that you need something new.
Somewhere that reminds your body what safety, aliveness, and belonging can feel like.

For me, that place was East Africa.
And science says—it makes perfect sense why.

Tips if You’re Considering an East Africa Trip for Soul-Soothing

Interested in your own reset? Here are a few tips:

1. Visit Local Markets

Start your day in a local street market—early mornings are best. Talk to vendors. Try the passionfruit. Buy something handmade.

2. Find Rooftop Cafes

Every city has a few gems, and its 270° Rooftop Café in Nairobi. Look for places with views and take a journal. Order something local—ginger tea, chapati, or biryani.

3. Ditch the Rigid Itinerary

Let your day unfold slowly. Some of the most beautiful moments happen when you don’t plan them.

4. Engage in Small Talk

Say hi. Ask about someone’s day. You’ll be surprised how many doors this opens.

5. Pack Light, Mentally and Literally

Leave the “shoulds” behind. Travel with openness, not just luggage.

So, Why East Africa Matters for You and Your Mental Wellness

Maybe you’re reading this from a city apartment, a coffee shop, or somewhere in between work shifts, wondering what a market in East Africa has to do with your life.

Here’s the thing:
You don’t have to fly across the globe to experience peace—but you can learn from places that live it out loud.

Because what I found in East Africa wasn’t just a new landscape—it was a new way of being. A gentler rhythm. A deeper presence. A culture that doesn’t separate healing from everyday life—it weaves it into daily rituals, conversations, meals, music, and movement.

East Africa taught me that:

Healing doesn’t have to look like therapy or medication (though those are incredibly valid and life-saving tools).

It doesn’t always require a clinical diagnosis, a self-help workbook, or a structured plan. Sometimes, healing happens in the in-between spaces—when you’re laughing with strangers, tasting food made with love, or walking through streets filled with color and chaos that somehow make you feel more grounded than ever.

Healing can be organic. Unscripted. Messy, soft, surprising.

Sometimes, healing looks like market smells, shared meals, and rooftop sunsets.

It’s in the sensory. The simple. The slow.

Those moments may not fix everything—but they remind you that life still holds beauty. That you still hold beauty, even when you feel a little broken.

You don’t have to be “better” to be worthy of rest, connection, or joy.

This was one of the hardest lessons for me. For so long, I believed I had to earn rest. That joy came after achievement. That connection was only for the healed, the whole, the emotionally polished.

But in East Africa, no one asked me to prove anything. I didn’t need to “be okay” to be welcomed into someone’s story, their kitchen, their dance, their silence.

You are allowed to take up space exactly as you are.
Tired. Tender. In progress.

And that truth? That’s something you can carry with you—no matter where you are in the world.

So yes, my story unfolded in East Africa. But the message is universal:

Sometimes healing isn’t about going somewhere new—it’s about letting something new into your life.
A new pace. A new way of noticing. A new permission to rest, connect, and be.

Let it in. Even just a little.
Let the world meet you where you are—and remind you that healing is not only possible…
It’s already reaching for you.

Ready to Explore East Africa That Healed Me?

If you’ve been feeling disconnected from yourself, overstimulated by life, or just… lost, maybe what you need isn’t more control—it’s more color, more connection, quieter.

East Africa gave that to me.

And maybe, just maybe, it can offer something to you too.

Take the first step—Google a market in East Africa. Watch a video. Read about the culture. Let curiosity lead you into calm. And if you’ve been there or dream of going, tell me your story. I’d love to hear how East Africa touched your soul.

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