Packing for an international trip is a little like playing Tetris… blindfolded… under pressure… with a very unforgiving weight limit. When you have to fit two and a half weeks of your life into a 50-pound suitcase, every item suddenly feels essential. Do I really need five pairs of shoes? (Yes.) Do I really need five jackets? (Also yes.) Do I need to accept that something — possibly common sense — will be left behind? Absolutely.
Things get even more interesting when your travels take you somewhere truly remote, like Antarctica or on safari in Kenya and Tanzania, where luggage restrictions aren’t suggestions — they’re commandments. On those trips, our carry-ons had to weigh less than 11 pounds. Eleven. Pounds. That’s not a suitcase, that’s a moderately filled tote bag.
At that point, packing becomes an emotional exercise. You find yourself staring at your belongings asking life-altering questions like: Camera or underwear? Extra socks or sunscreen? Do I really need pajamas? (Spoiler: yes… but you also want photos.)
And just when you think you’ve mastered the art of packing light, Africa gently laughs at you.
When we flew from Kenya to Tanzania, we weren’t boarding a commercial jet with overhead bins and forgiving flight attendants. We were climbing onto a 12-passenger plane with very limited storage and exactly zero tolerance for “just in case” items. Hard suitcases were officially banned. Wheels were judged. Zippers were under scrutiny.
For that leg of the journey, everything had to fit into a soft-sided duffel bag, and the maximum weight was 33 pounds. Thirty-three. Pounds. For safari. In multiple climates. With dust, layers, and the optimistic belief that you might want clean clothes more than once.
At that point, packing becomes a philosophical exercise. You stop thinking in outfits and start thinking in versatility. Shirts must multitask. Pants must forgive wrinkles. Every item must earn its place. Strict weight limits meant I packed like Garanimals — mix, match, repeat. And somehow, inexplicably, that duffel bag still feels heavier every time you pick it up.
But there’s something oddly freeing about it too. When you’re flying over the African landscape in a tiny plane, with nothing but the essentials beneath your feet, you realize how little you actually need — and how much richer the experience becomes when you travel light, both in luggage and expectations.
In the end, every trip teaches me the same lesson no matter how carefully I pack I always bring too much of what I don’t need and just enough of what I do. The weight limits force you to let go — of extra shoes, back up outfits and the illusion that you can plan for every scenario. What you’re left with is space: space for wonder, for laughter, for stories that matter far more than anything in your suitcase. and if I ever have to choose between underwear and a camera again, well…at least I’ll have the pictures to prove I was there!
From Juju with love 💙✈️
From JuJu with Love 
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