If you took a flight into Moshi, Tanzania, you may notice this massive land formation that juts out-like a lump growing out of level skin. Capped with white substance draining and dissipating at its sides, this singular figure is hard to miss. This elaborate mass is Mt. Kilimanjaro, home to UHURU Peak, the highest point in Africa, at 5896m above sea level. Colloquially referred to as the Rooftop of Africa, it Is also the tallest free-standing mountain in the world, no small distinction.
Mt. Kilimanjaro is the pride of a nation. It is apparent because when you enter the Mt. Kilimanjaro National Park, you are met by an abnormally large poster of Mt. Kilimanjaro, with the not so subtle phrase written across it — “Mt. Kilimanjaro is in Tanzania”. This bold staking of a claim is necessary because of the mountain’s closeness to the border of Kenya. So this polite reminder is for the avoidance of doubt. But more than that, it is the fact that all conceivable commercial products in Moshi (the town where Kilimanjaro is situated) have no qualms about sharing the brand name. Kilimanjaro: Tea, Beer, Coffee, Cigarettes, Hospital etc. The reverence for Kilimanjaro is absolutely unequivocal. Fortunately, it’s matched by the locals’ eagerness to share the glorious Mountain with all comers.
Out of 6 possible routes to reach the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro, our merry band of hikers chose the Marangu Route, also called the Coca-Cola route on account of its less arduous inclines. The first three days take you from the thickly forested base of the mountain, with gradual climbs through a well-managed trail that leads you to areas with progressively thinning vegetation. Eventually, the stony paths begin to irritate the knees. This, coupled with ever increasing altitude, ensure that the climb, though manageable-remains slow and deliberate. The third day is dedicated to acclimatisation which essentially means training your cardiovascular system to exert itself at high altitude where the oxygen stocks are very significantly restricted.
Throughout, a full night’s sleep is impossible to manage, what with several night trips for secretion that are further complicated by the relentless cold and the many layers of clothing one must rummage through to successfully ease oneself.
Day 4 is the day long trip to base camp- Kibo at 4700m above sea level. An otherworldly place that belongs in a medieval thriller a la Lord of the Rings; Kibo is devoid of colour and bone crunchingly cold.
Here, the cadence of life slows down. It is clear that natural life is ill-suited to survive in this place. Gravel and rock dominate the landscape. The humans look down as they move, contemplating the self-inflicted misfortune of being here-contorting their bodies inwards to generate warmth that will never come. The glare of the white mountain cone stares down intimidatingly, the elusive object of our desires, the harsh mistress. To claim the summit, time has come, but to complete the cycle, time must come- to pass.
However, in the here and now, Time is a dimension through which we are travelling in a cyclical never ending loop. There is no end or beginning, only the large middle where we are floating-stuck. An anxiety that cannot be appeased or regulated. We are in the Frozen Section of Hell.
Summit
Kibo, on Mt. Kilimanjaro consists of three peaks, Gilman’s Point, Stella Point and finally Uhuru peak. Summit day begins at midnight, after a failed attempt at gathering less than 4 hours of sleep, in freezing conditions. Teams are bundled by their handlers, their nervous energy palpable, reciprocated by the artificial grunts of “good morning”.
Single files are formed, and torch light from head lamps bounce around, but not enough to meaningfully penetrate the thick blanket of night.
For a brief moment at the start, there is misguided optimism that mountaineering experience and good vibes will lessen the hurt. Like I said, misguided. The zig-zagging is supposed to mask the steepness of the ascent but it is having minimal effect. The air is getting thinner and the leg muscles are starved of energy. It is unhelpful that day packs filled with supplies to keep the body in forward motion, plus the many layers of clothing add extra weight to this difficult undertaking.
A cup of ginger tea brings a smile to McB’s face
However, once the mental and physical adjustments begin to take shape, following the acceptance of this burdensome mission, the mind, body and soul surrender to the task at hand and ready for combat.
It takes us 10 energy zapping hours to summit, amidst an unforgiving blizzard that relents only when we reach the final Uhuru Peak, wherefrom we collect the prize. The recognition of the scale of this accomplishment is not lost on any one of us. As much as is possible, we communicate our elation by making videos for loved ones, and, passing around sincere and victorious bear hugs. Against great odds, we have made it. Mountain climbing is without a doubt, best rendered, as a team sport. It was our camaraderie, collective grit and encouragement that saw us through.
Reminiscence.
The grueling aspect of scaling Kilimajaro was mildly traumatic, so much so that the overwhelming instinct was to feather our caps and swiftly return to our pampered urban lives. But, we know that flight from the past freezes people in endlessly repeating time, robbing them of any chance of a life that may be lived with a modicum of freedom- Ergo, you have to look back, however agonizing, and or despite it going against your deepest impulses. This is necessary if you are to have the slightest hope of getting to a new stage. Claim the past, for the future to emerge. For this reason, Reckoning is essential.
What gives place its authority — Displacement. In a different place — the body deserts you and your embodied knowledge, mastered over years of sensory experience is immediately questionable. Displacement doesn’t always mean automatic admission to a new place. There is purgatory — the labyrinth in between. The market for trading places is imperfect.
Running, my primary refuge (in any place) — is denied me by a bum knee, which makes this place remain unfamiliar. Purgatory still.
Why.
For my friends and I, summiting Uhuru peak was an ode to living. And not just living, but living free, the kind that entails a principled resistance to the weight of the knowledge of our impending expiry. Living is an affront to dying. In this, I am reminded of Dylan Thomas’ poem “Do not Go Gently Into the Good Night” where he advocated for an active resistance to dying. He tells us to ‘rage, rage against the dying of the light’. This process brought us to a new threshold of intentionality in the exercise of living and in so doing, dampened the spectre of assured death. We did a hard thing which bent us out of shape, but rather than break us-it gave us a new lease on life.
Dedication.
“Live for the nights I cant remember, with people that I wont forget “ -Drake
To my allies
in this expedition –Dr Matthew — Mr Mind Over Matter, Muss- Steady Right Hand, Vi -Energy Store , and of course McB the thread that ties it all together.
Hongera Sana!!!
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