Climbing Kilimanjaro [p.2]

Unfazed, thanks to various reports of late and lost luggage, Tai filed the report on our bags. The luggage clerk’s concern over the disappearance of our bags was equivalent to that of a cat coughing up a fur ball. C’est la vie. If our bags come in, they’ll be delivered to our hotel. Thankfully, we’d packed our hiking essentials as carry-ons. We found our driver in a receiving line of drivers holding dry-erase boards with their passengers’ names scrawled in bold marker. He mumbles hello and we step outside into the warm, night air. I took a deep breath and felt a little sticky. Odd. It was dry and humid all at once. We shared a van with a German couple and an American girl named Charis. Jason had flown in a day earlier and we’d meet up with him at the hotel. The airport shuttle was courtesy of the Springlands Hotel, all a part of a package we’d booked with Zara Travel.

It is Tanzanian law that you must have a guide if you are going to attempt Kilimanjaro. It’s not a day hike, not the type of trek you grab a couple of your beer buddies for on a Saturday afternoon. There are a number of outfitters that offer an array of packages. We chose Zara because it’s the only local Tanzanian outfitter. When in Tanzania, why not go Tanzanian-owned and operated, right? The other companies are either Dutch or British-owned. We wanted to put ourselves in the best possible situation to summit and we figured having a Tanzanian guide would somehow work in our favor with Kili (our affectionate nickname for the mountain that would unleash its fury on us).

There are certain notable facts I came across in my research of Kili. The most disturbing fact was that people DIE on Kilimanjaro. There are many reports of people dying en route to the summit, at the summit, and on the way down from the summit. Reading the personal accounts of the deaths was sobering. Rockslides, acute mountain sickness, and heart failure were leading causes of death.

Acute mountain sickness (AMS) is altitude sickness. It affects your nervous system, lungs, muscles, and heart. Typically, people are affected above 8,000 feet. The likelihood and severity of altitude sickness increases with the rate of ascent, higher altitudes, and higher levels of exertion. Hmm, sounds like a trip up to 19,340 feet over a span of four days (the total trek would be six days with two days of descent) would be sufficient cause to worry about AMS. The scariest part of AMS? Your lungs can start filling up with fluid leading to pulmonary edema. Your heart expires and you die with watery lungs. How would those last moments feel? Would you breathe in the fluid? You also face the chance of falling into a coma or cerebral edema. Any kind of edema is not a good thing. Still, over 30 percent of the climbers make it up to summit safely, right? Looking back, I’m surprised that was enough to sustain our drive.

These are the thoughts that filled my mind when I went to Africa. This is what I’d prepared for; but as with any trip, there’s always room for the unexpected. I didn’t expect the silence and stillness of Africa. I didn’t expect anything. I’d spent months planning the hike and had not thought much of the land itself. From JRO Airport, we’d drive just a bit outside of a town called Moshi. I tuned out the other passengers and searched the darkness outside our van’s windows. Very occasionally, I thought I’d hear a dog bark. For the most part, there was nothing but silence. We passed by a few scattered shanties. Most of the little shacks were built from a hodgepodge of materials. Every now and again, there would be a person or two sitting on a porch, staring out into the darkness. Were they waiting for someone? Did they just hang out and watch the occasional car cruise by? Hard to tell. All around us was a dark profile of a mountain. After surveying its size, which I thought to be pretty massive, Tai dismissed it. “That’s not Kili, too small,” he said. We never quite figured out what mountain it was; but it definitely was not Kili. My idea of massive was about to be re-defined.

At the hotel, Jason greets us with a muffled, “Jambo!” It’s Swahili for “Hello!” A red bandana covers half his face; it’s a guard against the dust that abounds in Africa. I’ve never seen Jason so happy to see us. He’s had his own adventure in the day and night he’s spent all alone on a continent halfway across the earth. Jason tells us that he’s glad to be amongst friends. Our room is a triple, three twin-sized beds complete with mosquito netting that hangs from rings on the ceiling. There is a layer of dust that covers everything in the room. It’s not that they don’t attempt to keep it dust-free. This is impossible to do in Africa. Dust is an entity in and of itself. We would spend two nights here. It was Thursday night. We’d left Texas on Wednesday morning.

Despite the fatigue, I didn’t sleep well. I’m restless and tend to have difficulty sleeping. I watched the walls and listened to the sounds of the night. Every now and again, I heard what sounded like a lonely baby goat. There was the occasional lizard on the wall. Seems common in the tropics. I’d seen them in Viet Nam, Costa Rica, and even occasionally in Austin. Both Tai and Jason fell into a deep breathing rhythm. I won’t say they snore, but I do think the little sleep I was able to catch had to do with the exhaling patterns made by my roommates. All else was once again, still and silent.

The next morning, we woke to the sounds of children. From our balcony, we could see the local children on their way to school. They were adorable. Singing and walking with the carefree gait that comes with innocence. One of the boys noticed us watching and immediately stopped. They all froze. A few of them ran away, out of sight. Two of them stayed behind. They started pointing to us, shouting, “Pen! Pen!” Tai went inside and found a couple of pens and tossed them to the kids. Our friend Slade who’d been to Africa on mission trips, had enlightened us on the popularity of pens. Perhaps, they too believe the pen is mightier than the sword? Tai is a big sports fan so we asked around to see what type of sports the kids might play. Slade told us that the kids scrunch up scratch paper to make balls. It’s so basic and simple. Roll up some paper and kick it past your friends. We’d brought 16 balls of all shapes and sizes (deflated to save space) and a hand pump to give away. All our gifts were packed in our luggage, which arrived later that day.