Standing proudly for all to see, Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania boasts not only Africa’s highest peak at 5895M, but is also the tallest free-standing mountain in the world. Conquering it’s summit is on many a bucket list, but climbing to Uhuru Peak involves more than putting one foot in front of the other, stepping onto the mountain compels you to step outside of yourself, the conveniences of daily life are stripped away as you switch solid walls and reliable plumbing for canvas and an elegantly dressed hole-in-the-ground. Evenings are spent engaging in conversation with relative strangers rather than scrolling through endless memes on Instagram whilst half-watching the latest television drama. And there is a peace, a quietness of the mind as the endless hours of walking and the majestic scenery imbue a sense of serenity that is normally consumed by the humdrum of daily life.
My plans to climb Kilimanjaro were a result of reaching a birthday milestone, “I want to do a physical challenge this year…maybe a triathlon?!” I proclaimed to my boyfriend, Paaras, as we celebrated the start of my 30s… “we can do it together!!”. The triathlon suggestion was met with a big thumbs down, but we quickly landed upon the idea to climb Kilimanjaro, something we had briefly discussed years earlier when we were on safari in Amboseli National Park, trying to capture the perfect shot of an elephant with the mountain rising high above in the background. We set about planning the trip immediately and seven months later we were on our way to begin the challenge together. Memories that would last a lifetime were about to be made!
On our way to Tanzania we stopped in Kenya for a few days to attend a family wedding, and sadly, here is where Paaras’s Kilimanjaro journey came to an abrupt end. An energetic turn on the dance floor to the apt House of Pain anthem ‘Jump Around’ was to blame as he proceeded to ‘jump up, jump up and get down’. The alcohol that had been consumed did not make for a successful landing and his ankle immediately swelled up, a nasty sprain, and the end of his Kilimanjaro dream (for now)… At least we have the irony. Despite my many tears, the 2 days that remained before the climb began were not enough to render the ankle usable, and it was with sorrow…and still more tears, that I boarded the plane to Moshi alone, having decided that I would still make the trip and leave my lovely, and now wounded boyfriend behind in Nairobi.
Still feeling somewhat melancholy when I arrived at the hotel in Moshi, I was welcomed by a beaming smile and bear hug from hotel manager Innocent. As a British person this is not the kind of welcome I am accustomed to, but it was an instant shot of happiness to my soul. The following seven days continued in a similar vein as we were welcomed by our tour guides and porters with open arms, joyful dancing, singing and some playful mimicry. After just a few days we had become one big mountain family, all with a joint goal of reaching the summit…and drinking the essential 3+ litres of water a day of course! With the endless hours of walking there was ample time to swap stories from our lives back home, and with all of the water being consumed there were constant stops to ‘send a message’…the euphemism of the trip. We quickly moved from a group of strangers to friends, walking as a team and providing encouragement when needed. As I write this I wonder what encouraged this instantaneous friendship? Was it the adrenalin filled mountain air? Was it the liberation of knowing that we would never see each other again after the trip? Or was it the open embrace we received with every “Mambo” – What’s up – from the entire team of guides and porters all making our trip possible?
On the 4th day we ascended to Base Camp, 4673M above sea level. Until this point the walking had been relatively uncomplicated, but as we approached Barafu Camp it was as if we had passed through an invisible vomit inducing forcefield, my fellow hikers were dropping all around me, either trying to resist the urge to throw up or giving in and going with the ‘flow’. James, our ever-encouraging tour leader reassured us that this was a completely normal reaction to the high altitude. From here on in we needed to pull out all of the determination from our Kilimanjaro arsenal, and even if we threw up once, twice or three times, James assured us that we all could, and would make it to the summit. Thankfully my body coped quite well with the altitude but it was upsetting to see so many of my mountain family struggling with nausea when we should have been buzzing with excitement at embarking upon the final bit of the climb. As we queued up to sign into the camp some of the team were feeling too terrible to stand and the gravity of the task before us hit hard.
The walk from Barafu Camp to Uhuru Peak is without a doubt the most intense part of the climb, setting out in the pitch black of midnight, bundled up in more layers of clothing than you have ever worn before in your life (unless you’re from Canada perhaps), you embark upon an eight hour journey, lead by a boundless zigzag of lights belonging to the hikers ahead of you. The peak out of sight. The wind was blowing a chilly minus 15 degrees celsius for the majority of the first 6 hours, relief only coming when the rocky formations of the mountain were kind enough to grant us some protection. Walking in single file it was the first time the group fell silent, sharing only a few perfunctory words when we stopped to take a rest break. Heads down, the only thing to do was walk, keep walking and try to maintain mental and physical strength. Sharing the hike with us, our trusty guides and porters who had our backs the whole way, sometimes quite literally, carrying bags and providing physical support to members of the group who were struggling the most. Despite having 3 pairs of gloves on there was a point around 4 hours into the climb where I could no longer feel my fingers and pain was setting in as they continued to be battered by the cold wind as I clung onto my walking poles. I started to worry that I would end up with frostbite…I wasn’t prepared to risk permanent injury for bragging rites to the mountain, and so I frantically started trying to shove heat pads into my already overstuffed outer gloves. My mind became more anxious by the minute, thinking that I was going to lose fingers. I’m not really sure if my hands were cold enough for a serious injury to occur but, thankfully I didn’t need to find out as one of our guides shoved his pair of thick gloves into my hands and demanded I put them on. It may have been this act of kindness that means i’m sitting here typing this now with all 10 digits – we shall never know.
The sun rose as we were around an hour away from Stella Point, the spot which marks the end of the steep ascent. As the sun bathed us in its orangey glow the wind dropped and it was the first time we could stop to take in the panoramic views that stretched out before us and perceive how far we had climbed. But, by this point we were tired and few words were exchanged, we still had another hour or so of steep uphill walking to go and so we picked up our rucksacks once more, turned our back on the rising sun, and continued with the final big push.
Reaching Stella Point was arguably as triumphant, if not more so, as reaching Uhuru Peak. After 7 hours of relentless hiking with little but the chill wind to distract us from our thoughts and the unrelenting feeling of nausea, we were truly exhausted. I think I can say in all sincerity that I have never seen such a breathtaking view as the one that I saw as I reached the rim of the crater. Glimpsing the snow covered crater at Stella Point with the newly risen sun twinkling and bouncing off the vast white carpet before me, tears welled up in my eyes once more. Mine were tears of relief and exhilaration at reaching the (almost) top, tears at the humbling majesty of the landscape in front of me and tears for Paaras who should have been by my side, gasping in awe along with me. Tears sparkled in the eyes of the others too, I believe they were experiencing similar emotions but we didn’t discuss it, each of us in silent contemplation at what we had just achieved and the greatness of the snow covered crater and towering glaciers that stretched out before us. The moment was both shared and at the same time, each our own. I’ll never really know why they were crying.
Renewed by what we had found at the top of the mountain we mustered the energy to walk for a further hour around the crater’s edge, steadily rising to reach Uhuru Peak, the summit of this mighty mountain and ‘The Roof of Africa’. Reaching the summit was a momentous occasion, getting to have our photograph taken in front of the famous Uhuru Peak sign to mark the achievement. But the joy wasn’t just in reaching the top, it was in the journey that we had taken to get here, the privilege of being granted a pass through these ancient volcanic landscapes, places where little else grows, a part of our planet that is both hostile and incredibly beautiful. We were just visitors passing through, marvelling at the magnificence of nature whilst all around us we saw the cliff edges of glaciers, reminding us that we are ultimately at its peril – the mountain far too mighty to be ‘conquered’. Instead, we had successfully navigated our way to the top, and were rewarded with privileged vistas and a sense of humble achievement and wonder that will hopefully serve as something to reflect upon for years to come. To look back and remember that we were one of the lucky ones to experience this place.
If you are looking for an adventure and a challenge consider planning your own trip to climb Mount Kilimanjaro and you won’t be disappointed. You’ll face your physical and mental weaknesses and walk all over them, there may be tears but the emotion you experience as you round up onto the edge of the Kibo Crater is nothing short of euphoric. After 7 days on the mountain I returned to Moshi with a feeling of accomplishment at reaching my first of the Seven Summits, but it was more than this, the experience had created within me a renewed sense of gratitude and respect for nature and the kindness of others, an inner calm and a chance to reflect on life from a different perspective.
Little Ship Green 