I’m a sucker for tacky travel buys. But I went too far with this purchase

I wasn’t exactly a rookie traveller. It was my first time visiting East Africa, though. All those David Attenborough-narrated wildlife documentaries I’d watched over the years sprang to life as I went on safaris in Kenya and Tanzania and stayed in five-star lodges overnight.

It was a glorious 10 days, a trip I’d dreamt of doing. And at the end of it, I felt that a fitting memento would help remind me of all the good times I’d had after I returned home.

A souvenir shop in Arusha, Tanzania.Credit: Getty Images

To that end, I searched through a backstreet market in Arusha, at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro, where I came across all sorts of ornamental knickknacks that would look great in the inner-city terrace I shared with a friend.

Masks, jewellery, textiles, artworks – all were on display. And I was on such a high at that moment that I could have bought the lot of them. Everything appealed to me.

Then I saw him. A tall, slender man made of wood, draped in a blanket that was tied over one shoulder and with a bow and arrow slung over the other, he was tucked away along a sidewall.

I immediately pictured him back in my home, standing in a corner, lording over my lounge room.

But my problems were twofold. Being timber, would he pass through customs back home? Even before then, how would I get him there? He was as tall as me.

What sealed the deal was that he would cost me only $50. It was a small price to pay for such a handsome keepsake. Worth the risk, was my way of thinking.

Buying that huge souvenir might seem like a good idea at the time … Credit: Jamie Brown

I wrapped him inside my sleeping bag then coiled packing tape around him to help cushion him against the inevitable blows inflicted by careless baggage handlers. At the airport, I checked him in with my luggage, then prayed like hell that he wouldn’t snap a limb during the flight home from Nairobi.

Miraculously, he survived the journey intact. Even more surprisingly, he was waved through after I’d alerted customs officers on my declaration card. He even managed to squeeze inside the boot of my taxi home from Tullamarine, still padded and warm inside his downy cocoon.

It wasn’t the last time I brought home an unusual souvenir. Some people collect snow domes or spoons. I’m a sucker for tacky gifts that make me smile. Anything lampooning Chuck Norris will do the trick. Failing that, either of North Korea’s Kim Jongs will suffice.

A pocket-sized tin of “Dear Leader Mints” is emblazoned with pictures of a bespectacled, Centaur-like Kim Jong-il sitting atop the body of a horse, brandishing a magic wand and declaring: “One can live without candy, but one cannot live without bullets.”

A Saddam Hussein cigarette lighter on an office bookshelf contains flashing bombs in different colours whenever the lid is flipped open.

In the French mountain town of Lourdes, I purchased “holy water” that had been drained from a fountain and packaged inside a plastic mould in the shape of the Virgin Mary.

It looked like the sort of frozen, sugary drink container that I’d suck on when dental fillings were a regular part of growing up. But when I jokingly gifted one to a reverent co-worker, a tear welled in her eye, catching me off-guard. Just like my Maasai man does to me when I look at him and remember Africa.