When I was younger, eager to carve out my place in the tourism industry, I got what seemed like the perfect offer. Chimanimani Arms Hotel. Front office manager. Chimanimani; just the name conjured green mountains, mist, and untamed beauty. I thought I was heading to paradise.
Chimanimani is nestled in Zimbabwe’s Eastern Highlands, a land of rolling hills, waterfalls, and ancient secrets. The Bridal Veil Falls cascade gently like a curtain of silver, and the mountains are alive with legends. It’s a place where the air is crisp, the forests are dense, and the peaks whisper of adventure.
But when I arrived at Chimanimani Arms, my heart sank. The hotel was dilapidated, its glory faded. The dream I had of building my career there, maybe raising a family in those mountains, vanished. I couldn’t stay as it wasn’t the place I’d hoped it would be. But Chimanimani never left my heart.
Years later, as a guide, I returned with Baz and the group; the same travelers who shared a laugh with me at Chinhoyi. When we stood at Bridal Veil Falls, the water still fell in a delicate sheet, and the mountains still felt like guardians. But I was no longer the young hopeful, I was an experienced guide, sharing this place with others.
It felt like a full circle. I realized that, sometimes, a place shapes us not by giving us what we expect, but by showing us that our journey doesn’t end where we think it will. Chimanimani taught me that some dreams are seeds; they grow later, in ways we don’t expect. And even if I didn’t stay, returning to share its magic with others was a gift in itself.
