Climbing Kilimanjaro [p.5]

The three of us decide to take a test hike to acclimatize. Climbers acclimatize by climbing up to a higher altitude and coming back to a lower altitude to sleep. It sounds counter-productive, but it’s necessary to let your body acclimatize to the conditions. At the summit there will be way less than 50 percent of the oxygen our bodies are accustomed to getting.

The view is astounding. Mawenzi sits across the saddle (a long stretch of dry flatland) from Kibo. My knee is inflamed and I’m limping. I’ve taken three Advils and am contemplating a triple dose of Ibuprofen tonight. The boys are concerned that the knee is the end of it for me. We hike for 1000 feet and have to turn back around because my knee can’t take the strain. Back at camp, we have four hours to rest before our climb.

Peter roasts popcorn and peanuts for us. We can’t have a heavy meal before the climb. Benjamin berates me for not eating enough carbohydrates for energy. I think he’s on to me about my eating habits. They think we’re all vegetarians because we told them early on that we don’t eat meat. We don’t want to offend them. I devour the oranges at every dinner. We were told by our travel nurse that oranges, anything we could peel was safe. We shouldn’t eat anything cut with metal blades for fear of contamination. It’s starting to feel like we’re living in some post-Apocalyptic world where we can only eat tasteless mush out of bags. I wish I had brought more Tabasco. Peter and Isaack have gone to great lengths to find another group to trade for oranges. I’m hoping they traded away those eggs that I’ve seen Saaidi carry for the last three days in the blazing heat. Salmonella, who? Peter comes in with a big smile on his face and presents me with a plate of artfully SLICED-UP oranges. Yes, sliced, no peel. Oh, it was heartbreaking because Peter was so excited about finding something I could eat. As soon as he leaves, I force Jason and Tai to hide the orange slices in their pockets so we don’t hurt Peter’s feelings. We squeeze the juice into glasses, stash the pulp, and leave the rind on the plate. Orange pulp wrapped in a napkin in your pocket makes for wet pockets. Wet pockets in freezing temperatures make for cold thighs. Good to know.

Back in our tent, we lay down and focus on our heartbeats to try to sleep. Who needs sheep when your heart is thumping at 130 beats a minute? We suspect it’s the dose of Diamox that we overlapped. It’s supposed to help with altitude sickness. All three of us are anxious. We don’t know if we’re going to make it. At 11 p.m., Benjamin comes to our tent. I have seven layers of clothing on as well as a balaclava on my head. We have headlamps to guide us since the sun’s still asleep.

The porters start packing up. The ascent to the summit will be just us and our two guides. The porters will go down to Horombo Huts and set up camp. They wish me good luck and, “Pole!” “Pole!” That’s the Kili mantra; it means “Slowly! Slowly!” You have to zigzag slowly up to the summit. You can’t rush it and overtax your body. The effects of altitude are hard to gauge. We’ve made friends with the porters despite the language barriers. They’re a sweet bunch of guys. That’s universal of all the people in the world, really. At heart, we’re all a sweet bunch of folks, aren’t we? We’ve shared beef jerky and cranraisins and chocolate. I’ve often hiked with headphones and sometimes would stream it into the air for them. Nelly and Usher have quite the fan base in Africa. Not surprising, perhaps, but I was pleasantly surprised to wake up one morning on Kili to a small radio playing strands of “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5. Say what they will about us, but the world moves to our beats! How ethnocentric of me. Yes.

The moon is full as we climb up Kilimanjaro in the dark. It’s beautiful and again, silent. I get a little dizzy and decide to focus on my breathing rhythm. Two breaths in, one breath out. Short breaths. At 16,400 feet, I hear someone chuck his cookies. It’s Jason. Tai’s in front of me, behind Benjamin. We’re going single-file with Saaidi bringing up the rear. Tai and I sit and lean up against a rock while Jason recovers. He’s leaving Chef Boyardee Spaghetti-O’s on Kili. It’s 4 a.m. and we note the altitude. This is higher than any of us have ever been. The highest peak in America is Mount Whitney at 14,505 feet, with most ski resorts being between 9,000 feet and 12,000 feet. We’d made a pact that we wouldn’t decide for each other whether or not someone should move on, and we wouldn’t push. After 10 minutes, Jason forges onward and we follow. At this point, I can’t decide if he’s of steely resolve or stubborn insanity. He looks so intense, I decide not to ask. Our breaths are shorter and shorter. My knee is numbed up on painkillers. Tai seems to be holding steady until he veers off-course and we realize he’s been sleepwalking. We rest at Hans Meir Cave. We’re all exhausted. There are two hikers there resting. I try to make small talk, but they just double-over. They move on for a bit; but we see them come back and descend after 200 feet. We’ve passed a few girls coming back down. These are the first men I see going down. I forge on for the womenfolk.

The moon has been kind in lighting our way, but eventually she goes to sleep and the sun awakens. We’re still hiking. We see a metal rod that marks the summit. Jason gets excited and Tai says not much farther. Still not as close as you’d think. We stare at the rod for hours until finally, we’re there. Benjamin lets out a whoop and does a little dance. The three of us just stand in silence and stare. It is beautiful. It is silent. For the first time, I truly understood Stephen Crane when he wrote: “A man said to the universe: ‘Sir, I exist!’ ‘However,’ replied the universe, ‘The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.’”

As we stood atop Mount Kilimanjaro, the climax of a dream, it was apparent that the challenge we had answered had been issued by a voice within ourselves. It had nothing to do with the mountain. The mountain was there, as it is now, as it always was, and always will be. All its majesty spread out for the world to see. It didn’t go out of its way to work against us. The challenges we faced to summit were merely the limitations of human beings. We took pictures, hugged each other, and began our descent.