Our trip to Africa has been a truly amazing experience. Words cannot paint snow-capped mountains, or endless planes dotted with zebras. They cannot sing the tribal songs of the Massai or recapture the drum patterns that are as relentless as heartbeats. Although I know I can't share the feeling of Africa with you, I'm going to try, because as with other travels, it's become so much a part of me.
Kilimanjaro (5,895m) is one of the seven summits, with Everest in Asia being the highest. It is a truly majestic mountain. As the highest free standing mass in the world, it towers above its harsh volcanic surroundings with a mastery that makes you shiver. In the early morning sunlight the glaciers towards its peak glimmer as you look towards their precarious height with a sense of dulled apprehension.
By midday the mists roll in, transforming the sunlit clarity into something more mysterious. You sense the mountain walls huddling around you and the boulders and trees loom like strangers in the shadow. By night the brittle clarity returns as the mountain basks in the moonlight. It is only these views that make hastened toilet trip in the -25 degree air worthwhile. I spent the whole trip mesmerised by the grandeur of this mountain.
It was amazing being part of an expedition group again. I've only known these people for the shortest period of time, and yet during it, I entrusted my life to them. Once again, I was the "baby" of the group, but at altitude, age means nothing. We also had three Danish siblings, children of an explorer who, two weeks before climbing Kilimanjaro, was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. He attempted the mountain nonetheless, but only made it to Stella Point.
He was carried back to base camp where his body and mind had deteriorated to the point where he needed someone else to take off his boots, put him in his sleeping bag and let him recover for the next thirty hours (the maximum amount of time that you are allowed to stay at that high altitude). The three of them came on the trip to claim the summit for their father.
I'll skip to summit day, because it is this moment in time that the entire trip built up to. We arrived at high camp at 6pm. We were anxious because it was late. We had walked slowly over the ridges that day as many of our team had succumbed to altitude sickness. I opted for sleep over dinner, as my body was desperately exhausted. I spent the night in fitful rest, with the peak of the mammoth heavy on my mind.
After five hours, I was woken by the unzipping of my tent, and a cup of boiling tea was thrust into my hand. By midnight we were all huddled in the messy tent, forcing down sugary biscuits and measly mouthfuls of porridge.
Trails of head torches illuminated the mountain like yellow glowworms, as people weaved their way in the dark. We walked at a death march pace, yet the mountain was resonating with the sound of the guides singing. It is one of those indelible memories – a void of utter darkness filled with tiny, flickering lights and reverberating humming.
I spent the first hour trying to stop my hands from trembling with the cold and excitement, but to no avail. After that all I could do was stare at the boots in front of me, as if the entire world depended on them. I spend light years concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other, accompanied by a desperate gasp for air.
At 4am when the temperature dropped, so too did the spirits. I could no longer feel my fingers. Still, I had this sense of sheer adrenaline, something unmatched by anything at sea level. We climbed extremely close to one another, like a single organism, pushing each other along. Soon, Leo began to panic. He already had a head cold, yet was convinced that at this altitude it had turned into cerebral edema, and was gasping for air. Convinced this was not the case, the guides pushed him onwards.
Illuminated by the stream of my torch, faces appeared. People, collapsed in on themselves and shivering, huddled next to the rocks at about 5,456m. The image was haunting. Their inability to cope with the altitude meant that their bodies were too far gone to go up or down the mountain. As we continued, we discovered four or five of them, their expressions blank, despondent, empty.
In angry bursts of Swahili, Samuel screamed at their guide to get them carried down. Then we continued upwards, each step stripping us of oxygen.
At 5:30am the skyline erupted, painting the mountain red. All around, all you could see were clouds, rippled and endless, like the Pacific Ocean. I can only describe this moment as sheer freedom. It is only describing that feeling that I understand why I was restless being forced to sit down and study again last session.
The winds picked up just before we reached Stella Point. Once there, Mia sat down and sobbed. She had spent the whole trip thinking about what her father would have been thinking and feeling walking the same path. Rik collapsed, claiming this was as far as he could make it. Leo huddled against a rock, begging us to just leave him. Soon, all of us just stood up and walked, as if that was all we were programmed to do.
Walking around the crater to the summit is an out of body experience. You are elated and exhausted at the same time. Your brain vaguely takes in the magnificent glaciers, the rising sun, the empowering boulders. And then you're standing there, your arm resting against a sign that says "You have reached the highest point in Africa", accompanied by the Tanzanian flag.
Almost everyone cried. We made it. But more importantly, we all stood at the summit together. All I felt was pride for the people standing around me. They had conquered so much to make it here. It was incredible to see one of the toughest members of our team lying on the summit, without even the energy to prop himself up, sobbing out of the exertion of it all.
Standing on the rooftop of Africa was humbling. You appreciate man's insignificance in the scheme of things, and your own limitless power and utter smallness at all the same time. You recognise the intricacy and beauty of the world. We walked for eighteen hours that day.
And we made it, together!
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