Kilimanjaro 2019

The view from this tower, 19341ft above mean sea level (Mount Kilimanjaro)

Three weeks ago, I was overcome with severe bronchitis. Last week, still hacking up pieces of lung, I headed east alone. Hurting for succor, towards the House of God, towards The Snows of Kilimanjaro, bidding for the summit. And like Hemingway's Harry, maybe I am already dead.

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Day one, sounds: Crickets, stray dogs, and the endless, rhythmic broom-scraping by a fastidious worker seemingly hellbent on expunging every mote of dust from the small area in his charge.

Back in Africa again (Himo Town)

The heavy rains began like a bad omen, the moment we stepped through Marangu Gate. My guide Robert and I trek the next four hours of cacaphonous downpour in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Why are we here? What validates uncomfortable plane rides, fitful slumber, and exhorbitant costs? What inner machinations drive us to choose our goals? And then to endure the hardships integral to achieving them? I wonder what deep thoughts pass through Robert's mind, I glance over. He's browsing TikTok on his phone.

Robert ostensibly live-tweeting our entire hike. Ayyo, how many RTs we got?

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Day two, smells: Cigarettes from an unstoppable horde of ultra-friendly, middle-aged Koreans. Unrecognizable scents from unrecognizable trees which seem to only have German names. Local honey. Instant coffee.

Old Korean crushers. Maybe the key to conquering anything is group calisthenics.

The sun is a flirtatious bastard. Flitting in when you lose interest and playing hard to get when it has your attention. I alternate between basking and shivering.

"Wow, you climbed Mount Kilimanjaro?" Well... er... no. My porters Ben and Hashim pretty much climbed it for me.

"I don't wear this dag nam hat and commit to this rural character so you can eat for free while you come of age!"

Before long, the deluge begins again. The next five hours are spent robotically putting one foot ahead of the other. Chills grip the spine and hypothermia sets in. Sluggish fingers struggle to zip up waterlogged clothes. Doubt coalesces into a mischievous imp and sets to work unraveling my mind.

Like a jester with a painted frown, the gladiolus mirthfully and unconvincingly commiserates with my plight.

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Day three, sights: So, so, so many stars. A blood-red sunrise and a murder of ravens. Omens have a way of stacking up. In the distance, an eland gazes at me in pity.

A local caws at me inquisitively, "but you knew this was the rainy season, didn't you?"

I meet Ayaa from Uganda and Munya from Zimbabwe, on a mission to inspire their continent to achieve its dreams. Allegedly, it is rare for African nations to tour within their own land.

The colours of the celeste frame their subject like a pair of cherubs. The dreamer's first time seeing snow and blue and gold.

In good company at Horombo Huts (Marangu Route)

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Day four, tastes: A metallic tang graces every cough. My bronchitis is thriving in the thin air. Chugging hot tea to stay warm scorches my tongue, now all flavours are behind a curtain. Mangos, bananas, watermelon, and papayas labouriously hauled up by the porters all taste like their LaCroix counterparts.

If you look closely you'll be able to tell that I am in this picture.

I've been routinely dining by invitation with the Koreans. Authentic, soupy comfort food flown over from Seoul is an absolute godsend and I hold no illusions that my potentially successful bid for the summit tomorrow will be in part due to them.

Soldiering on through the foggy high desert.

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Day five, feelings: Dizziness, anxiety, headache, intermittent nausea, muscle weakness, dry mouth, sore throat. I am medication side effects incarnate. Apprehension, anticipation, adrenaline. It is time to dig deep.

Muskets at dawn at Kibo Huts (Marangu Route).

If you like hiking and are okay with altitude, I truly believe Kilimanjaro is a piece of cake. Sadly for me, I'm weak at both, unable to rest or eat when we reach base camp. We depart at midnight and I begin the bid for the summit on 18 hours of no sleep and a few biscuits.

Who put this sign here, giving you false hope that you reached the actual summit? (Gilman's Point)

I ascend at half the speed of which a boulder rolls uphill when coaxed by a gentle breeze. Each breath a protracted negotiation between lung and leg. I stare at my trudging steps because it's the least amount of effort to hang my head. I begin to hate the glitter of the snow reflecting my headlamp.

The light lazily caresses the horizon as we bag the peak.

The sun sails across the sky. The air is crisp and the wind blustery. My heartbeat is loud and full of vitality. I sit at the summit; a throne of ice. My frozen mittens are iron gauntlets on a victorious king. We make it all the way up just to start making it back home. But in the meaningless, I find meaning. I suppose I am content.

Hey Robert can you pretend to be at least a little bit winded? Uhuru Peak (Mount Kilimanjaro)

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Day six, thoughts: Diamox, a diuretic to treat altitude sickness, is a hell of a drug. In the freezing nights, I pee into a bottle to avoid the chill outside. At best, the need to go literally right after you've just gone is starkly perturbing. At worst, watching the level in the bottle rise alarmingly close to the top while you're committed to the act is an absolute panic.

The gang all together back at Mandara Huts (Marangu Route)

Today is the last day of the trek. We spend 1.5 days to hike down the same path we took 4.5 days up. My knees rattle with each step; my knees rattle their sabers in mutinous discontent. As we descend down the high desert, through the moorlands, and into the lowest area, I joke to Robert, "Let's hope today the rainforest zone is simply a forest zone, eh?" He helpfully responds that 'rainforest' is the accurate full name of the ecosystem. And like an eager entertainer on cue, the familiar pitter-patter picks up again. Asante sana Bruno, Robert, Hassan, Ben, Hashim.

Mount Kilimanjaro Summit Path - Marangu Route
November 24, 2019	Marangu Gate to Mandara Huts	6165 to 8924 ft
November 25, 2019	Mandara Huts to Horombo Huts	8924 to 12205 ft
November 26, 2019	Horombo Huts to Zebra Rocks	12205 to 13780 ft
November 27, 2019	Horombo Huts to Kibo Huts	12205 to 15430 ft
November 28, 2019	Kibo Huts to Uhuru Peak	15430 to 19341 ft
November 29, 2019	Horombo Huts to Marangu Gate	12205 to 6165 ft

Let the photo dump commence.

Snaps of different life (Mombasa Highway Bar)

Ugali, typically eaten with the hands.

No Tanzanian trip would be complete without a safari (Tarangire National Park)

Maybe the real treasure of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro is the friends you make along the way. Well, that, and climbing Mount Kilimanjaro :P Thanks Josh, Svetlana, Ericka, Irina.

A starling patiently waits for a chance to steal your lunch (Ngorongoro Crater)

When you're the queen of the jungle, Jeeps and humans don't really register on your radar (Ngorongoro Crater)

Shenzi taking a bath after a hunt (Ngorongoro Crater)

A weaver shows off its good side (Ngorongoro Crater)

The perfect end to the trip. Six years gone. Let's pick up right where we left off. Meeting an old friend, lost in Amsterdam on a layover (The Netherlands)