Published on January 23, 2007

Tanzania Travel Impressions

At the Top of Africa…literally

I couldn’t feel my feet anymore; the cold was piercing all my exposed skin, my mouth was as dry as the alpine desert I was surrounded by, and the shouts of the fellow trekkers had been drowned by the throbbing headache echoing in my ears. I was in a state of daze from the headache and exhaustion, collapsed on a volcano rock at Stella’s Point on the Kilimanjaro crater, the access point to Uhuru Peak (5896m). All I could think of was that I had to get off the mountain and start feeling somewhat normal again.

Our Porters Breaking the Camp at Machame on Kilimanjaro

Four days before, the trek seemed like it would be a piece of cake. We had six porters, one guide, one assistant guide and a cook…all just for Alina, Nick and myself. We were all suited up: hiking boots, goretex pants, freezing proof water bottles and matching walking poles. Our porters were sporting some knockoff sneakers and were dressed as they were about to take a walk through the park, and not the highest peak in Africa.

The first day we trekked 18 km through a smoky rain forest followed by another nine kilometer trek on the second day mostly in a cloud that drove us to joke around that Tino, the guide, was really taking us in circles on a hill since in the 48 hours we spent on the mountain we had not once spotted the peak.

View of Mount Meru from Shira Camp on Kilimanjaro

Once we reached Shira camp at the end of the second day and were above the clouds, we saw it was no joke and that neither the attempt to make it to the top would be. Uhuru Peak was up there, towering two thousand meters above our tents, two more days, fifty more kilometers worth of trail, and at least fifteen liters of water away. The next two days, the altitude effects were setting in and no matter how much water was passing through my system it was less and less effective against the excruciating headaches.

We reached the last camp, Barafu, on the fourth day around 4pm and I settled in my tent, drinking tea as if it was medicine and watching as the clouds above the lower Kibo Peak, across from us, were changing colors. I snoozed until 11 pm when our cook, Goodluck (no joke, that was his name) woke me up, put another cup of tea and biscuit in my hand and said “muzungu watch sunrise up Uhuru.” At least one of us thought I would make it to the top.

Kibo peak view from Barafu Camp, the last before the Uhuru Summit

We started climbing at midnight, going so pole-pole (slowly slowly) that I felt I was watching a video of myself in slow motion. Everything about our surroundings was so crisp that it seemed the sound of our walking poles against the pebbles might break something. No clouds, an almost full moon, and a blanket of stars made our headlamps useless, and as we were trudging along through the lunar looking landscape I was concentrating on the two steps between the guide and myself trying to forget that there were really twelve kilometers worth of two steps left to the top. Every step required more and more effort, more and more breaths.

Little by little, my feet gave in to the cold and eventually I couldn’t feel anything below my ankles. As I was wobbling along, I was trying to just mentally detach from everything around me, to lose track of time so maybe I wouldn’t realize when the top was within reach. By 4am, Alina and Nick decided to turn back as she was getting dizzy and afraid she won’t be able to keep to the path. Around 6am, I finally reached Stella’s Point only a 20-minute hike from the peak and thus won myself an extended 10-minute break.

Uhuru Peak, highest in Africa

For every step, I had to take three breaths and I was losing more energy breathing than walking. The morning was growing behind us as we reached the top, adding to the dramatic effect of the glaciers on our left. The ten minutes I spent at the top are in a daze, I remember a 40 to 50 meters glacier on the right side, the crater on the left, people screaming at others to take their pictures and just finally surrounded by lots of light and warmth. I snapped a picture in each direction, literally, not even looking at what I was capturing and started walking, or better said wobbling, back down.
Eventually I started to feel my feet again and two hours later I was back in my tent, dreaming that I reached Uhuru.

Uhuru Peak, and the proof I was at the top

It took us a little over a day to get down the mountain and reach the Marangu gate and I felt we reached civilization again. I was having my own MasterCard commercial while hiking down Kilimanjaro and so far I figured: Nights slept on plane – 2; nights slept in a real bed – 2; nights slept in tent – 10; meals ate at a real table – 3; meals ate with plate in lap using mostly fingers - lost count; showers taken in bathing suit and using cold bottles of water - about 10; proper showers taken - only 3 (no, I don't smell)... wearing my "I climbed Kilimanjaro" T-shirt with pride... PRICELESS.

At Marangu, I bought a coke and sat on the curb, waiting for our guides to finish all the formalities and took pleasure in the commotion around us. Except for the tourists, there were no women in the streets. Only men selling souvenirs, porters washing their clothes in the middle of the street, all filled with anticipation of the tips they were about to receive.

The tourists that had reached the peak were exchanging stories of the quest to the summit, quietly engaging in a competition of who had the most adversities to overcome. Tour company big bosses were honking their horns and shouting commands to get the gear packed up and their customers back to warm showers. All this commotion actually made me feel like I was at finish line, and I haven’t passed many of those, but I can tell it gives you some well-deserved butterflies.

I spend the rest of the day around Moshi, sending postcards, writing emails, letting mom and dad know I was ok, reading up on my next destination, the usual off travel errand day.