Later that evening, we wrapped up the dinner meeting in style, toasting to 50 incredible years of UN Tourism’s work. The milestones were worth celebrating, helping nations build resilience, develop tourism products, and market their unique stories to the world. The usual post-event routine followed: clinking glasses, exchanging pleasantries, taking pictures, and sharing laughs. It was the kind of evening where connections felt genuine and the room buzzed with a shared passion for what we do.

For me, the highlight was the chance to strengthen bonds with fellow assistants from Africa who, like me, help their Ministers navigate the high-stakes world of global tourism diplomacy. Conversations flowed as smoothly as the wine, but duty soon called as we had to escort the Minister to her hotel.

Now, here is where things got interesting. Since I arrived late, I hadn’t done my usual checks on the car and driver, as protocol demands. Just as I was wondering if everything was in order, Mr. Jose miguel martin timon, a Close Protection Officer approached and declared, “I’ll be driving Malawi to her residence”. In government service, Malawi becomes your identity, so we took it in stride and followed him outside.

There, waiting for us, was a gleaming Mercedes-Benz EQS a masterpiece of German engineering wrapped in eco-friendly luxury. The car was a statement: cutting-edge technology, impeccable comfort, and compliant with Europe’s strict emission standards. Even the Minister, usually unbothered by cars, couldn’t hide her excitement. As for me, I was geeking out quietly, while our CPO dismissed the car’s high-tech glory because, in his words, it’s just a big battery on wheels.

The ride to the hotel was everything you’d expect, soft, smooth, and serene. But the real story began on our way back.

With the Minister safely dropped off, the atmosphere in the car lightened. Casual conversation flowed, and I asked the CPO about his family. He mentioned he was married but, surprisingly, only had a dog. That caught my attention. When he told me the dog was a Rhodesian Ridgeback, I lit up.

“No way!” I exclaimed. “That’s a breed native to my home country, Malawi!”

He looked surprised but intrigued, and we launched into a passionate exchange about the Ridgeback’s origins. I explained how our grandfathers and uncles used these dogs for hunting, calling them ”galu wamkota”the ultimate hunting companion. He shared how his dog, named Kimbo (apparently the closest thing to an African name he could think of), had become a beloved member of his family.

Just like that, a shared appreciation for a dog created an unexpected connection. In the heart of Madrid, miles from home, I found a piece of Malawi in a car ride with a stranger.

Sometimes, it’s not the big moments or the grand gestures that unite us. It’s the small, unassuming stories ”like a hunting dog from the warm heart of Africa finding its way into the life of a Spaniard. And for that brief moment, the world felt a little smaller, and a lot more connected.

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