climbing Kilimanjaro - of superhumans and summits

may 2021

03°04′33″S 37°21′12″E

a recollection of how i let myself be carried all the way to the top of Kilimanjaro.

table of contents

♦ prologue

♦ intro

♦ prep day

♦ day one - rainforest - Machame camp

♦ day two - moorland - Shira 2 camp

♦ day three - moorland - Barranco camp

♦ day four - alpine desert - Barafu base camp

♦ day five - summit

♦ epilogue

♦ gallery

prologue

“it’s likely going to rain. a lot”, my host would have suggested back in Dar es Salaam. but i was stubborn: in spite of endless bouts of bad luck, i still wanted to hike. i had already postponed my trip to Kilimanjaro twice, and could already count days to the end of my stay in Tanzania. slightly anxious and clearly annoyed - as if my host didn’t wish for anything but the best for me -, i retorted: “well, it will have to happen anyway.”

intro

on the 24th of may 2021 i found myself boarding a flight to Kilimanjaro airport. departure times had changed and i had spent many early morning hours in Julius Nyerere Airport Terminal 2. i’d lost plenty of sleep and was too tired to let my frustration known. not that doing so would have helped – i had learned that in Tanzania things just sort of... happened. or in some cases, they simply didn't.

air Tanzania had promised free coffee for anyone affected by the delay. several cups in, i felt pretty much the same. verily, no stimulant would have boosted my energy at that point and all that coffee did was to give me slight twitches. after all, i had gotten up three hours after midnight and had paid a very expensive taxi fare to get to the airport on time. for that price one would have at least expected to be driven straight to the airport – that had not been the case. instead, my driver had driven a couple of other people to their destination, tracing what could have been a comprehensive tour of Tanzania’s economic hotspot. even with absolutely no traffic (an unusual state of affairs for Dar es Salaam), it had been a two hour journey. imagine my disappointment when i realised it had all been for nothing.

the relief of boarding the aircraft was short lived too: the other passengers took little heed of the prevention rules brought about by covid and i found myself packed in with tens of other passengers, mostly unmasked. still, i fell asleep almost immediately and came to as the landing gear screeched across the runway at Kilimanjaro.

i may have painted a rather grim picture of the beginning of my trip – the reader forgive me for my negativity. in fact, i mostly felt impervious to external realities and eventually thought to myself: “gee, i must be taking myself too seriously.” indeed, over two months in the East African country had taught me to be patient and simply let things run their course.

it would have still been early morning when i boarded a bus to Moshi. having swapped the bus for a taxi driven by one Shabani, i was dropped off at the Zara Hotel, where i would spend the rest of my prep day.

*an excellent customer service experience at the Zara Hotel.*

prep day

one of the largest settlements around Kilimanjaro National Park is Moshi, which also serves as the capital of the region. administrative importance aside, i found little to do in Moshi other than rest up for the hike ahead, organise my gear and peruse the description of the trail. i was also paid a visit by Yesse, an incredibly fit looking gentleman looking to be not much older than i was. he’d been sent over with the express objective of checking on my gear, yet i suspect the underlying aim of the exercise would have been to plan accordingly should i prove to be a particularly difficult or unfit hiker. Yesse's anxieties would have likely been quelled as we meticulously checked my choice of layering. he did however suggest i rent out further insulation for my legs. i was also prompted to start microdosing on the altitude sickness medication i had packed all the way from Romania.

acetazolamide, otherwise known as Diamox, is what i used to prevent altitude sickness. Yesse had suggested i only use about a quarter of the normal dose, as the effects of a full pill would have likely kept me on a steady circuit between bed and bathroom throughout the night before my departure. i never increased the dose and continued dosing quarters all the way up to the summit.
avid travellers themselves, my parents had attempted a slightly different approach to dosing Diamox while walking the heights of Peru: maximum dosage on the day of the ascent. based on their account of what followed, this is suboptimal at best: not only did the altitude sickness remain present, but the acetazolamide seemed to push their bodies to absorb very little in the way of water.
ahead of my trip to Africa i spent a great deal of time researching the load necessitated by a hike on Kilimanjaro. though i am clearly out of my league claiming this, i would insist on taking any online “professionally written guide” with a boulder of salt – whether hosted on the website of an established tourism agency or the amateurish blog of a ragtag traveller such as myself, any piece of writing out on the web is subject to the vagaries of SEO. in other words, the monumental (and otherwise ridiculously expensive) lists of gear on the web should be interpreted through the lens of personal experience and quite frankly, common sense. a waterproof duffel bag can easily be replaced by a black bin bag; in lieu of a $600 windbreaker, one can simply add a layer of insulation over whatever they are wearing; your $100 hiking boots are unlikely to perform worse over the course of a week than a $400 pair; and the list goes on. as Yesse kindly endeavoured to teach me, smart gearing decisions and a large dose of positivity will likely trump thousands spent on the best possible equipment.

day one

on the day of our departure, Yesse arrived in the company of several sinewy men, reminding me of the inhabitants of Mloka i had just visited. they proceeded to board the old bus i had found parked in the driveway of the hotel. months later, i am still struggling to describe the vibe of that particular morning – an unusual mixture of solemnity and celebration. it was as if i had been handed some sort of sentence which was yet to materialise. still, all those who were present, whether involved in the upcoming hike or not, appeared to experience little urgency. papers in order, my knapsack was put through preliminary checks and i soon found myself waiting around for the process to kick off. having gone through the motions - a customary group photograph, the signing of several documents, the locking away of valuables inside of hotel lockboxes - i ventured onto the bus, greeted the men and silently sat behind the driver’s seat.

a short drive to Machame Gate pushed my level of excitement to new heights. i had paid little attention to the porters i was accompanied by, even on the drive, as they spoke little english and mostly kept to themselves. in fact, they spoke very little to each other. to my confusion, one of the porters had been introduced as the “chef.” i didn’t question it, but had had trouble imagining how the chef would move around or meet us in the camps. too absorbed by the potential of the trip, i gave it little thought and focused inwards instead, steeling myself for five days of continuous precipitation.

by the time we reached Machame Gate, we had already ascended to an altitude of about 1600 metres and into the so-called “rainforest.” it wasn’t looking great - the entire area had been swallowed by a milky thick layer of mist. with dew drops hanging to his brow, Yesse explained the mist could be found in the area pretty much all year round. i found it difficult to articulate my worries - Yesse was absolutely bursting with positive energy, to an extent which rendered almost any fearsome query pointless. for once, i elected to let myself be carried away by the circumstances.

before anyone could set foot beyond the Gate, our collective load would have to be weighed. in the presence of a ranger and with the solemnity of a funeral gathering, each of my five companions carefully laid their backpacks onto the scales. to my surprise, they weighed mine as well, swiftly moving on to an assortment of canvas sacks and worn out coverings for what appeared to be the elements of a full blown campsite. the law stated that nobody was to haul more than 20 kilograms, in an effort to reduce (often fatal) injuries among hiking crews, but also ensure that as many porters as possible remained employed. once again, i was thoughtlessly expecting for some of the stuff to be left behind or magically make its way up the mountain by itself, yet i felt increasingly worried as all of it found its way into thick, large sacks instead. these massive containers were then hoisted by each porter on his back and the band of four silently made their way up the road. smiling baby wide, my guide stood behind and eventually asked me to follow. i was no longer in possession of my own backpack, aside from the photography bag i refused to hand over.

we would set off on foot, making our way through the extremely dense layer of rainforest. however, my fantasies of exploring the high wilderness would quickly be shattered by the condition of the trail - while i can see why the pioneers of old would have had trouble making it across the walls of vegetation, modern day hikers like myself are blessed with a beautifully manicured trail, with wooden steps and gravel passageways. i was relieved in a way, as i could comfortably focus my attention on the surroundings and keep moisture off my lenses.

to put things in perspective, the Machame trail – otherwise known as the Whiskey trail – is likely designed to be a compromise between length and difficulty. there are numerous ways of scaling the mountain, yet i understood from the get go that anything beyond a duration of six days would simply be out of my budget. nonetheless, the deal negotiated on my behalf had been more than favourable and the auspicious circumstance i found myself in certainly contributed to a unique Kilimanjaro experience. in hindsight, i was blessed to even be there in the first place – the pandemic had not only made it nigh impossible for the “level headed” to travel to faraway Eastern African countries, but it had also had the effect of robbing the locals of their livelihood, thus making it more likely for them to undersell their services.

some armchair experts would probably argue that tourism is subject to the laws of supply and demand as much as everything else, yet i still find my own attitude towards the matter edging on the inexcusable. drunk on my status as a reasonably well off european, i had cast away humbleness and had instead taken the experience for granted. nonetheless, the above are nothing but the long overdue apology of an overgrown child. within the moment, all i had in mind was a solid set of photographs… at any cost.

the first day of the Machame trail only focused on crossing the thick, permanently wet layer of rainforest at the bottom of the mountain. i can't see why anyone would have any issue reaching the first campsite – low altitudes, impressively well kept trails, along with spectacularly beautiful scenery would keep just about anyone afloat. nonetheless, we must have been the only crew on that side of the mountain and nature itself opened up as we stopped for lunch in one of the area's designated camping spots. the place did not appear deserted and had certainly not been left in a state of disrepair over the long months of lacklustre tourism leading up to the day of my arrival. yet it did appear as if few humans had frequented the area. i was told that Kilimanjaro had become a very significant moneymaker and no longer would the chosen few try their endurance at reaching the summit. in fact, the experience had become streamlined, with tourists of all ages and degrees of physical ability successfully snapping selfies at the top. this could only mean that never again would i be afforded a chance to explore Kilimanjaro the way i did in May 2021; however, this would only sink in with my meeting of a very particular inhabitant of the rainforest.

having sat down, lunchbox in hand, i was still and Yesse did little to disturb what would have likely been a meditative stare into space. my peripheral vision warned me something had started making its way through the bushes nearby, yet i thought little of it as i started rummaging through the generous lunch the hotel staff had packed for me. shortly after, i once again noticed the rustle of leaves and i immediately reached for my camera, leaving the exposed food to spread its delightful vapours into the forest air. i instinctively knew that whatever was lurking in the foliage would eventually muster the courage to try its luck at getting some of that food.

*a (rather goofy looking) serval did eventually emerge from a nearby stump.*

***

it did not take too long for us to leave the misty rainforest behind. it was unexpectedly unceremonious - the thicket of mossy branches just ended, as if someone had traced its borders by hand. i had a bit of trouble discerning what we were walking into, as the clouds from below still dragged overhead. a signpost eventually materialised from the mist, marking our arrival at Machame camp, a little over 2800 metres above sea level.

*where the clouds stopped, the rainforest did too.*

it felt familiar. i had done sufficient hiking back in my home country to feel at ease among the clouds. the wooden outpost where rangers were stationed echoed the very same familiarity, with its sticker-covered windows and firewood heating. the porters had already pitched two tents by the time we got to the campsite. within the rainproof chamber right outside the “bedroom” of my tent, a foldable chair and table had been set up. my backpack had also been tidily placed right next to a mattress i would sleep on. sitting on a fishing chair felt surreal, to say the least.

as i went through the photos of the day, i found that the porters had warmed up towards each other. i was later told that they’d in fact been a crew for a very long time, yet the pandemic had had them hang around at home for the better part of the year. some had taken up other activities, such as subsistence farming and, if i understood correctly, had done odd jobs around their villages. my anxieties eventually started ramping up at their discrete chatter - had i done something to upset them? Yesse later clarified they were just happy to be working together again, after their long hiatus.

the ritual surrounding every meal felt over the top for me. not that i disliked it, not at all, but hiking the Carpathians, the sort of expedition i am used to, usually involves tins of luncheon meat and other similarly appetising non-perishable foods. now, this was different: one of the men would bring over complex, two-three course meals I had to consume, whether i was hungry or not. this happened twice, even thrice a day. Yesse insisted i stuff my face as much as possible; “most people lose appetite at higher altitudes”, he explained, and one would best “fatten up” ahead of the last two days of the ascent. i humbly agreed and played along.

day two

as i saluted the warm rays of the sun over the second day of our ascent, i felt blessed. what truly dawned on me was that i was completely safe under the watchful gaze of my guide and all of the gear which constituted our portable camp would miraculously materialise somewhere close to the spot where we’d hunker down later in the evening. even the strange, oxygen-deprived dreams i’d had the night before did little to spoil my mood. i had very little to worry about – to me, hiking had usually translated into full independence in terms of decision making, but also taking full responsibility for my actions. in the company of four porters and a guide, i felt little pressure: i would have to do little packing, food would simply be brought to me, and i'd be spoon-fed interesting facts every leg of the journey. i was only left with the enjoyment of blissfully putting one foot in front of the other.

*enjoyment, without the cost of packing my own gear.*

nonetheless, the distances we would cover every day i still found unusually short – an average of ten kilometres would only add up to about sixty by the end of the hike. i later understood that the purpose of the exercise would have been to sleep at increasingly higher altitudes and prevent sickness along the way. by the fourth day it was presumed that most hikers’ bodies would have had sufficient time to brace for the shock of the summit, with those unable to carry on coming to be in the know before leaving the base camp.

having gobbled down a torturously large breakfast, we made a start through copses of short coniferous trees. our pace had been strong, but in no way rushed. unsurprisingly, the porters overtook us around the one hour mark and i was met with the very same determination and sternness in their eyes. load at the backs of their necks (and hanging to their backs), they carried on steadily and hardly acknowledged me as i pointed my lenses their way.

*unbelievable abilities, exceptional stamina - catching up to me and Yesse (left) had likely been a fluke for the porters.*

miles upon miles of coniferous trees could be observed on either side of the trail. a tall boulder made for an excellent vantage point and i observed the layer of clouds we left behind: from a distance, it had the texture of pillow stuffing and very rarely would openings within make the lands below visible. as we hiked to higher altitudes, the dense forest turned into patches of similar, yet somewhat taller trees, all covered in moss reminiscent of torn cloth. the trees i would later observe at the campsite were very similar, yet distinctly shaped by the direction of strong winds. the camp itself rested on a plateau hemmed in by a steep descent, where the undercurrents sculpting the trees' distinctive shape likely originated.

as the second evening progressed, one could tell that the men had become comfortable towards me. the laughs and chatter had become more audible. i was glad that was the case. though i knew i could have never positioned myself as “one of the boys”, i wished i could make them feel at ease during their first outing since the beginning of the pandemic. i spoke little swahili, they spoke little english; however, i knew they understood i wasn’t going to make their job harder than it already was. they also knew, as much as i did, that my ascension had little to do with my own ability. instead, it was theirs which propelled me all the way to the top.

as our pace had been unexpectedly brisk, we made it to our destination - Shira 2 Camp - much faster than planned. having added a few windproof layers to my attire, i found a boulder close to the ridge and just… took a seat. looking around and taking in the details, i became acutely aware of the increasingly alien landscape that surrounded me - the hard shrub, the wind-sculpted trees, the pineapple-shaped flowers, even the moss-covered volcanic rocks. all a result of unforgiving temperatures, harsh sunlight, perhaps erratic rain patterns, and a general lack of oxygen, the environment had certainly not evolved to be hospitable to humans. the turkey-sized crows appeared particularly ominous too. with all that time on my hands, i spent a few good hours sitting on my boulder, watching the clouds roll over mountainous ranges in the distance.

*false beatitude or not, there’s something very special about watching clouds from above.*

my host in Dar es Salaam had suggested i’d be able to effectively live stream my Kilimanjaro hike - provided i had sufficient power. honestly speaking, i had not been convinced, yet i still hoped they were right. they partially were - though inconsistent, reception isn’t the worst up on the mountain. it may be that the geographical features of Kilimanjaro (i.e. its almost perfect conical shape) facilitate signal travel up the slopes. using a Vodacom SIM card i would receive messages in batches as i hiked; similarly, most camps had a good spot, close to ridges in particular, usually facing the bottom of the mountain.

when talking about gsm reception on Kilimanjaro, one would also have to factor in the weather: i was blessed with clear skies all days of the trip, which had likely helped.
furthermore, vodacom, my operator of choice, may not be the best in terms of coverage. this was echoed by my time spent in southern Pemba, where vodacom would rarely get reception. Yesse, with his dual-sim handheld, would sometimes receive messages and make phone calls in areas where my phone would get absolutely no reception.

as it got darker - not that it ever truly did, as the light of the moon made pretty much everything discernible - temperatures dropped sharply.

day three

on the evening of my third day on the mountain (a mere two nights before the summit), i found myself observing the Barranco Wall from its eponymous camp. it had not been a particularly strenuous day, yet i clearly remember feeling particularly unmotivated to leave my tent - there still were a few shots i wanted to take. in hindsight, the atmospheric pressure had started messing with me in subtle ways. to compensate for a general scarcity of oxygen within my body, my brain had started finding remarkably creative ways of justifying sloth; as much as i wanted to push back, i barely could: so deeply affected i had been that i even found it hard to argue with myself. nonetheless, i mustered the energy to (partially) lace my boots and head out for a quick walk through the most fascinating forest i had ever seen - an agglomeration of water holding cabbages (dendrosenecio), grown among dark, volcanic boulders.

in true “climb high, sleep low” fashion, our camping at Barranco meant we would not sleep at the day’s tallest point. that had been the Lava Tower at around 4600m, while Barranco stood at an altitude of 3900. our progress had been steady - we had left Shira 2 Camp early in the morning, with a view to crossing a most impressive section of the alpine desert. i had observed the gradual thinning of the shrub along the way and by the time we reached the Tower, a frightening expanse of black rock had swallowed up almost any trace of live vegetation. though it is estimated that Kilimanjaro had had its last eruption hundreds of thousands of years before, one could still discern the flows of molten magma. slightly eroded, but no less frightening, the rocky floor had soaked in all the sunlight it could and emitted that heat back at the skies. having walked past several castle-like magma formations, which almost looked freshly laid, we reached the Lava Tower.

it must have been close to noon, as the sun beamed down mercilessly, leaving my face chapped. surrounded by innocuous debris such as planks or tent nails, the formidable formation stood out in the dark-coloured landscape. to my oxygen starved mind, the area appeared taken right out of a Western film, shot somewhere in the North American desertscape. the two ravens overseeing whoever crossed the semi-circular enclosure surrounding the Tower did exceptionally well to strengthen that feeling.

as we carried on towards Barranco Camp, water holding cabbages eventually started peppering the rocky expanse. i’d been very excited to see them in their natural habitat; as such, i would take frequent breaks along the way, possibly testing Yesse’s patience. eventually, i was told that a much better sample of dendrosenecio awaited close to the campsite.

nonetheless, much later that day, the cabbage empire right outside my tent did little to boost my level of energy. i kept on sleepwalking for the rest of the evening.

*ironically, i regained some of my stamina long after nightfall. looking at that sky, can you really blame me?*

day four

by the fourth day i became acutely aware of how complex my morning ritual had become; indeed, the tasks i would have to fulfil had been building up: get up; leave the sleeping bag before you become aware of how freezing cold your tent is; immediately wrap the batteries in your sleeping bag while it’s still warm; check the charge levels on your gear and pack everything up; use any momentum you have left to get dressed before unzipping your tent. i still performed the ritual with utmost discipline - having no gsm reception kept distractions to a minimum too.

a quick search reveals that most li-ion batteries operate (i.e. discharge) normally between 0 and 35 °C. in other words, one wouldn’t typically have to worry about abnormal battery behaviour under regular conditions. even more reassuring is that most devices get sufficiently warm under use, preventing unintentional discharge under low temperatures. smartphones and cameras are no exception.
in my camera bag, which i kept glued to me at all times during the hike, i had packed four action cam batteries, three nikon en-el15b batteries, an anker 20k mah power bank, as well as an iphone. strapped to my wrist at all times i kept an apple watch.
none of the above acted out during the day, when temperatures would rarely drop below zero, if at all. however, it would get freezing cold during the night and i was advised to keep all my batteries wrapped up in socks and inside my sleeping bag. further, to ensure my gear would be reasonably reliable when attempting the summit, i kept it all flush against my body, underneath my windbreaker; close to Uhuru Peak, temperatures can even drop below -10°C.
for those using electronic devices sparingly, i’d say packing fewer batteries would be preferable. based on my own experience of using all devices heavily over the course of the trip, i claim i would have been able to fulfil my photographic needs using a usb-charging mirrorless camera. i even made it back with a full nikon battery and some charge left on the powerbank.

an early start at such an altitude also meant i would have to deal with even more unforgiving temperatures outside of my tent - i had a plan to take the men’s photos before crossing the Wall. having had a particularly consistent breakfast, i felt increasingly colder; perhaps the pressure had truly started affecting the inner workings of my body. by the time the sun had assumed a favourable position on the dome, the men had already packed the camp. in the meantime, i had resorted to jumping around while holding on to my gear. sunlight made a dramatic difference in temperature; in fact, this happened to such an extent that i had to peel off some of the layers i had been wearing, altitude notwithstanding.

looking from the very bottom of the only pathway crossing it, the Barranco Wall appeared much smaller than it did from the spot we had spent the night. i wasn’t particularly worried about my ability to make it to the top, yet i was somewhat concerned the climb would challenge the porters’ physical abilities. i was wrong.

the men had little trouble navigating the narrow and rocky pathway, their faces expressionless as they breezed past the so-called “kissing” and “hugging” rocks not unlike mountain goats. the latter are nothing but particularly narrow portions of the trail, where one would effectively be forced to kiss, respectively, hug the wall to pass without risking to be pulled back by their load and crash to their deaths. the very top of the Barranco Wall revealed a rocky plateau. given its moniker, i had envisioned a slightly different outcome to our climb, thinking we would have to make our way back down on the other side. that certainly wasn’t the case, as the altitude kept increasing. the landscape had changed markedly: no longer could i spot water holding cabbages. the sole category of coarse vegetation which still thrived in the pitch-black volcanic “soil” only did so in the shadows of rocks, sometimes accompanied by patches of hard snow. in fact, the scenery had changed to what i would imagine the surface of a faraway planet would look like: covered in large, dark, jagged rocks, all reminders of an old, yet devastating volcanic eruption. it did not take a scientist to realise we were walking on the results of a volcanic event, the frightening extent of which had not been masked by layers of decomposing organic matter or human intervention. the very same magma-scarred landscape would have presented itself to the skies, hundreds of thousands of years ago. i later found out that the sudden transition from sub-zero temperatures during the night to the scorching heat of the sun would be so sudden that some stones would break into neat slices.

the perceptive reader has already noticed this is my second mention of magma and volcanic landscapes - while impressive in shape, the Lava Tower and its surrounding formations had been but a taster of what higher altitudes had to offer. as we soldiered on, short gusts of wind sometimes stirred up fine dust between the rocks and the (deceptively comforting) sun beamed down onto us. the unexpected rush of heat invited unknowing hikers to bear their skin, yet that would equate to significant burns over a very short period of time, unless shielded by robust sunscreen.

we had walked into the true alpine desert.

day five

for the sake of narrative rhythm, i have chosen to collate the end of the fourth day with the start of the fifth; i hope the reader will forgive me.

“we usually get up at midnight. but we can get up at two, we’re fast enough” Yesse proclaimed. i was flattered.

the base camp was perched atop a rocky ridge, at an altitude of around 4600 metres above sea level. by that point i had become more than comfortable with the environment - the dosage of acetazolamide i had been taking, Yesse eventually explained, walked a thin line between placebo and a real chemical solution for altitude sickness. yet there were signs of my body struggling to adapt to the sudden change in elevation; though i did not lose appetite, my stomach would arbitrarily rumble and it must have been that i had a much harder time digesting the generous amounts of food i was being fed.

the base camp had the charm of a lunar rocket launch pad. the ridge it sat on was relatively narrow and a wooden cabin serving as a semi-permanent ranger outpost was surrounded by antennae and scrap metal. however, the air appeared to be perfectly still - the sort of silence only an altitude of 4600 metres can bring about.

naturally, the area carried the very same geological features we had been surveying above altitudes of 4000m - the neatly “sliced” rocks, the greyish, dark sands, the same lack of vegetation, as well as the jagged, saw-like teeth of magma remains.

as expected, i hardly got a wink of sleep before the clock struck 1:30. already geared up, i simply laced my boots and was presented with breakfast i would later regret. i have no qualms conveying how cold i felt as i dragged myself out of the tent, though the environment made it easy to simply dissociate from whatever was happening. i can no longer recall whatever unusual, lovecraftian dreams i had had as i lapsed in and out of consciousness in my sleeping bag, yet i woke up with a distinct feeling of not belonging. i will boldly claim that getting up for a 3am flight would make anyone question the trip; i had woken up at 2, at an altitude of over 4600 metres, in preparation for a climb of another 1400.

the ascent proved to be no more than a test of patience and focus. even with our relatively late departure, i realised that Yesse had accounted for numerous breaks on the way. we took none and instead carried on to Stella Point, braving the lunar-like dust our boots would stir up with every step. i felt no need to rest or drink, or even breathe. the latter i would engage with in a calculated manner, inhaling and exhaling consciously, in tune with the cadence of my steps. i did little in the way of documenting during the ascent; my attention, for once, was riveted to the sudden air of strangeness the entire affair had taken. i had found myself walking up a tall mountain in the dead of night, in absolute silence. we eventually left behind the seemingly unreachable rim of Kilimanjaro’s snowcap.

*walking on the surface of a faraway planet.*

i vividly remember reaching Stella Point (5756m) much earlier than we really should have. i was not feeling tired at all, yet that would have been a result of my numbness. i shall always recall my first sight of Stella - the snow-covered mouth of a volcanic crater in the dark, lit only by a star-studded indigo sky. i became acutely aware of how much the temperatures had dropped and started shivering uncontrollably, yet carried on through the snow. though i was wearing numerous layers and a reasonable pair of hiking boots, the ice-encrusted snow chilled my soles right through.

truly, the landscape had gone beyond the mere definition of an “alpine desert.” the land was inhospitable and devoid of any life. in the (relative) dark, the scenery felt ever more astral and i understood i did not belong where i was. humans did not have a place at one of the ends of the world. i was in pretty bad shape - functioning under the atmospheric pressure of such altitudes, i felt fine, yet my instincts had started sounding all the alarms. Impatiently, i waited for the sun to blast me with its lifesaving rays, as temperatures had most likely dropped below -15°C.

*ancient glaciers, volcanic rocks, little else.*

i met Uhuru Peak minutes before the crack of dawn; looking over what could have been one of the most inhospitable environments i will ever set foot in, i felt very little excitement. by the wooden sign i found bits and bobs - coins, sticks, a doll’s head, photographs of families unknown.

in a word, there was… nothing.

epilogue

as we made our way down the slopes nearing the summit, my bodily functions returned to normal. indeed, the shock had been significant, yet i am grateful altitude sickness had not done me in. i was later told of questions i had asked Yesse on a variety of topics - average temperatures, summit success rate, the age of the glaciers. i have no recollection of such questions.

Yesse had previously shared the story of an elderly gentleman who had chosen to reach the summit in the company of his sons. topless and wearing nothing but sandals, he did reach Uhuru, yet at the cost of his life. naturally, the guide would have panicked, seeing how one of his clients had just passed. the sons would have promptly reassured the guide his passing had been part of the plan from the very beginning. i struggled to find plausibility in the story at the time it was recounted; however, i do understand now. perhaps the elderly gentleman understood there was nothing physical at the top. perhaps he wanted his hand held for as long as possible before he went. the aggressively inhospitable environment of Uhuru Peak had likely made for the perfect liminal passageway: a tunnel from earth to the heavens.

half an hour away from the basecamp, we were met by two of the porters. one of them offered to carry my bag - i refused, feeling perfectly fit for another 30 minutes of walking. with a stern look on his face, Yesse very firmly suggested i hand the bag over - the porters had come all the way from the camp to meet me. disallowing them to fulfil their role would translate to a significant affront.

there would be no use in recounting our way back. however, as we walked the final stretch of land ahead of the rainforest, i casually pointed out the mounds of stone laid by the side of the trail. many of these stood along the trail, leading me to think they would have been an environmentally friendly variant of scribbling one’s name on the side of a tree. i asked Yesse about their meaning. he chuckled and impersonally told me those were impromptu gravestones for porters who had died of hypothermia.

for those working as guides and porters, this is work, their career even. for the rest of us, the experience may vary: for the elderly gentleman, the summit would have been a liminal passage; for me, merely a feat of strength. however, in telling me the following, Yesse must have spoken to an entire generation of young hikers, eager to prove their worth: “the trail is for the soul; the summit is for the ego.”