I can remember every single time I’ve been camping. Not because there were so many, in fact, I can count them on one hand. And let me tell you—every single trip came with a moment

On my first camping trip at 9, I went on a rock-climbing trip where my abseiling partner couldn’t hold my weight. She lost her grip, and I plummeted a terrifying few meters before an adult swooped in to save me. Trauma? Check.

More recently, a camping trip to Tobermory pushed me to confront my deepest fear: slugs. No amount of preparation or googling could have told me that Tobermory was basically the slug HQ of Ontario. One of those slimy bastards found its way into my shoe, and let me just say—sliding your foot into something soft and squishy before coffee? Life-changing. 

Don’t get me wrong—being outdoors doesn’t phase me. Fresh air, starry skies, the soothing sound of waves lapping at the shore? Unbeatable. Growing up in Kenya, frequent trips to our rural village taught me how to “make do” with what’s available. Popping a squat or building a fire isn’t what holds me back.

So, what is it?

When I moved to Canada, I didn’t see myself as a camper anymore. It wasn’t intentional, but somewhere along the way, I absorbed the unspoken message: Black girls don’t camp. People who look like me don’t just head into the woods for fun.

And let’s be honest—the cost of camping alone could make anyone rethink the idea of “roughing it.” Gear, permits, gadgets—it’s a whole thing. When there are so many beautiful places in Ontario to visit, the barriers to entry can make camping feel less worth it.

So why, despite all that, did I partner with a couple friends to start a company dedicated to getting people to camp?

Because I know there are others like me—people who hesitate, who feel out of place, or who just don’t know where to begin. With Campa, my hope is to make that leap easier. We’ve spent countless hours building a service so you don’t have to pretend like you know what you’re doing. 

Here’s the thing: none of my camping trips have been without challenges, but maybe that’s the point. Those experiences—slug incidents and all—are unforgettable. They’re core memories I’ll carry for the rest of my life.

If you’ve ever thought, “Camping’s not for me,” I get it. But maybe it’s worth giving it a shot. Because those memories? They might just become some of your favorites.