July 18-23
On my way out of Nairobi, I couldn't help but laugh when I passed multiple signs outside of the University and government buildings saying, "Corruption Free Zone." In fact, I heard on the radio that the Nairobi police are among the top 5 most corrupt 'organizations' in the country. The city's nickname "Scare-obi" is making more and more sense.
As for my Kilimanjaro climb- for those of you who want the gist of it:
I did not make it to the top. But I did make it to hell on earth, which is located at precisely 4750m above sea-level, in the middle of Tanzania. Here's the full story...
I arrived in
Moshi, about 40minutes from the
Marangu Gate of
Kilimanjaro National Park, on July 18
th, excited and anxious to begin my climbing adventure. On the way from Nairobi I met another climber,
Rebecca, a kiwi nurse who has been working in London for the past four years.
Rebecca and I
exchanged worried looks as we bumped along a rough dirt 'road' in the slums of
Moshi, but we were both pleasantly
surprised when we pulled up to the clean, comfortable
Springlands Hotel- the Hilton by African standards.
That evening we had a briefing for all
Kili climbers- which is where I met Tim, a Queen's '07 grad. Very small world. Solo climbers are assigned a full entourage consisting of one guide, one cook, and two porters. I met my guide, Gabriel, a 35 year-old, born and raised in
Marangu, the tiny village from which the
Marangu Gate was named after. Gabriel and I went over the itinerary of my climb, and sorted out the additional gear I'd need to hire.
When I asked Gabriel if he carried a mobile phone up the mountain, he said, "You,
sistah?"
"No... do YOU carry a phone?" I asked, showing the typical sign for a telephone. Gabriel just kept smiling. I tried again:
"In an emergency, if someone.. say... breaks their leg," I described this by showing a chopping motion at my lower leg, "Do YOU have a telephone... or radio?"
To which Gabriel replied,
"Ah, yes
sistah, you need warm pants."
Things were shaping up just dandy. I did finally manage to decipher that, in the event of an emergency, a member of the entourage would run to the nearest hut to notify a ranger, who would then arrange the
neccessary aid.
Over a tasty dinner with both returning climbers and those still to climb, I was quickly brought up to speed on the reality of the challenge ahead of me. Stories of vomiting,
diarrhea,
dizzyness, and headaches, all symptoms of altitude sickness, became alarmingly frequent. I absorbed the advice and information of returning climbers, while my head was taken out of the clouds and my expectation of making the summit rattled.
I was realizing that age, fitness level, drive, stamina... none of that would matter if I found myself to be one of the unlucky who experiences serious symptoms altitude sickness.
On the morning of July 19
th Tim,
Rebecca and I loaded into the shuttle to head for
Marangu Gate. We were all equally anxious to get on our feet and start heading up. We had heard so many different accounts of the climbing experience- we were ready to see it and feel it for ourselves. Hiking poles in hand, we were on the trail by 11:30am and trekking through the lush
rainforest, with our guides repeatedly reminding us to walk 'pole pole' (slowly). And by slowly, I mean slower than you could ever imagine. It was my first taste of life as a 95 year-old.
As the three of us ascended that first day, we lost our breath at times- but that was more due to our incessant chatter and storytelling than due to the increase in altitude. We climbed for 1.5hours before stopping for lunch, where we were joined by mongoose and massive crows, while hearing more summit tales from climbers on their way down. We were keen to hear about each person's experience- to give us a better idea of what to expect.
We met fat, skinny, tall, short, fit, unfit, experienced and inexperienced climbers- some had been successful and others not. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to who made it to the top and who did not. The three of us took on a very realistic mindset-
recognizing that although we were young and fit, it was entirely possible that we wouldn't make the summit. I left my pride at the bottom of the mountain, and from that point forward I celebrated each leg of the journey as a success.
We made it to
Manadara Hut at 2700m after another two hours of climbing, and checked in at the camp reception. Tea and biscuits were waiting for us in the dinning hall before we took a short stroll to a nearby
volcanic crater. The camp was huge- with over 80 people buzzing about the triangle huts and muddy trails. Dinner was my first taste of the massive meals to come- absolutely loaded with
carbs. For the next 4 days, meals weren't the nice relaxing time I normally look
forward to, but instead became a drawn out task of eating as much as I possibly could.
Just like my
overlanding days, when you're without electricity, there isn't much to do past dark. We were settled into our 4-bed hut by 8pm, where we were joined by Trudy, another kiwi who works as a teacher in Dubai. I spent my first night on the mountain repeatedly awoken to the side effects of
Diamox, my altitude sickness pills, by having to pee every 2 hours. Breakfast was another hearty meal, featuring 4 complete courses.
We were back on the trail by 8am, where the landscape transitioned from the wet rainforest to the grassy shrubs of the moorelands. I climbed for 6 hours on day two, reaching Haumbo Hut which sits at 3700m. Having picked up bits and pieces of Swahili on my travels thus far, I was keen to learn more and used Gabriel as not only a mountain guide, but as a language instructor.
The temperature fluctuated throughout the day- with the sun out it was upwards of 12 degrees, but when the clouds creeped up on you, the temperature would quickly drop to below 6 degrees within seconds. Harumbo Hut is a junction of multiple routes up the mountain so was an even busier site than Mandara, with the construction of a second dining hall in progress. Dinner that night was monumental. I was served a platter of food sufficient to feed four people.
I woke on Day 3 eager and ready to tackle the biggest part of my climb. As the clouds briefly cleared after breakfast, I was able to catch my first real glimpse of the peak that morning. The next hut was Kibo, at 4750m, where I was to arrive between 3-4pm. From 4 until 6pm I would sleep, then eat as much dinner as possible at 6:30pm, and then sleep again until 11pm. Climbers begin their 7 .5 hour summit attempt between 11:30pm and midnight, ideally reaching Uruhu Peak at sunrise.
Rebecca and Tim had booked a 6-day trek, so they were staying back at Harumbo for their acclimatization day. Trudy, myself, and a Swedish couple set off around 8:30am, with another 1050m ascent ahead of us before we reached Kibo Hut. The mooreland landscape became increasingly barren as trees and shrubs were replaced by boulders and dusty plains. The temperature was slowly decreasing, averaging about 8 degrees as between Harumbo and Kibo. Although we were covering the same distance as on Day 2, the thin air was having an effect and we were forced to move at a slower pace. I still felt great, having consumed nearly 6L of water each day and stretched my stomach to its limit with high-energy foods.
We arrived at Kibo Hut by 3pm, where I can explicitly remember saying to Gabriel,
"This is great! I'm at Kibo Hut and I still feel fantastic!" I even had the nerve to joke about heading for the summit then and there.
I shuffled into the stone hut to have some hot water and biscuits (tea and coffee weren't options since they might have kept me awake when valuable rest was needed) before curling up for my afternoon sleep.
It hit me like a ton of bricks as soon as my head hit the pillow- I was going to vomit. I stayed in the warmth of my sleeping bag, hoping the feeling would subside, but to no avail. Before long, I realized I had to get outside or I'd risk vomiting all over the floor, so I jumped from my bed in my longjohns, threw on my shell and boots and trudged down the hallway and out the door as fast as I could. Since I hadn't really gotten a feel for the layout of the camp yet, I had no real destination- an appropriate place to vomit. Feeling the rush, I bolted to the left, and my stomach emptied itself, a mere five feet from the door. I quickly kicked some gravel and dust over the pile and moved to the side of the building, where the bulk of my breakfast and lunch were laid to rest.
I was shivering in the cold air, hovered over, and watched a crows swooped in on my mess. Disgusting.
My body was shutting down- I could feel it- and that was the beginning of the end. Altitude sickness was taking over at 4750m.
I stumbled back inside, desperate to get back into the warmth of my sleeping bag. I crawled into bed and again, waited for the intense nausea to pass. I drifted back to sleep and woke 1.5hrs later to Gabriel,
"Sistah, Bonita, welcome to supper time."
I explained my vomiting incident, and from the look of devestation on his face, it was clear he was just as troubled by my sudden onset of symptoms as I was. I had felt just fine less than 2 hours ago! As we discussed my symptoms, I bolted upright mid-conversation and dashed out the door again.
Overcome with another wave of nausea, I found myself back at the side of the building, violently vomiting. I stood outside, bent over, heaving in the cold air. As my stomach used what little oxygen I had in each breath, I could no longer hold myself up, and I collapsed to the ground on hands and knees. My stomach was wrenched in knots, and I was gasping for air. The scarce amount of available oxygen was rushed to my core stomach muscles, which were clenching and heaving in an attempt to empty absolutely everything.
My hands were pressed into the sharp, cold gravel as I tried to brace myself for the heaving convulsions. My head began to pound and I started to see spots. I was feeling helpless- as if something was squeezing and punching my stomach at the same time, while simultaneously depriving me of oxygen. Just as tears began to roll down my cheeks, I was jerked upright. Gabriel was behind me, and jabbed his fists just under my ribcage- ceasing my stomach convulsions and pulling my upright to open my airway. It was like he had hit a secret button- flicking the vomit switch to off. The pressure from his hands jabbed into my upper stomach was by no means pleasant, but it was an immense relief to feel a sense of control over my stomach and breathing.
The strain on my core body and depleted supply of oxygen to my head had left me with a pounding headache, as I tried to take deep breaths, sucking the oxygen from the thin air. My muscles felt incredibly weak and my hands were shaking from the pressure of bracing my upper body. I began to feel a chill- all I had on was longjohns and a sweater, and it was just below freezing. Gabriel walking me back inside to warm up and regain my strength. Even though just the thought of food made me want to be sick again, I knew I would have to eat something if I was to attempt the summit.
Gabriel had my cook prepare some plain pasta, cabbage, and bread- dry, high carb foods. I had a few skimpy bites, but my stomach still felt very, very unsettled. I managed to keep the food down, along with some tea, but it wasn't long before I was rushing to the bathroom to empty my stomach from the other end. By that time my headache had become an intense pulse, and I couldn't get far without swaying from dizzyness.
By this point I was worried. Recongizing that my body wasn't able to keep any fluids in, let alone food, I knew that I was setting myself up for serious dehydration. I went back to bed and forced down a few bites of a protein bar, hoping that I would feel better after 5 hours of sleep.
The dorm room woke at 11pm, with climbers gearing up in their warmest layers to attempt the summit. My condition had yet to improve, but I was determined to gear up and step outside to see how I felt in the fresh mountain air. To my dismay, that fresh mountain air still lacked the oxygen I needed, and I nearly collapsed outside the door.
I looked up at a spectacular African sky, stars and moon lighting the rooftop of this incredible continent. The peak of Kilimanjaro was glimmering as if it were on stage, but I wasn't going anywhere near it. The mountain face was dotted with climbers' headlamps slowly zig-zagging upwards. Despite my overwhelming feeling of... well... death, I was awestruck by the beauty of this remote place, and felt so proud to have made it to that point.
I took three wobbly steps forward, determined to try, and was hit with yet another wave of nausea. I keeled over, throwing my body weight onto my poles and heaved as the little bit of water I had in me came right back up. My stomach was clenched again and I began to sway as Gabriel rushed over to hold me steady.
"Sistah," he said, "I think maybe that we should go to Horombo, please."
"Ndiyo samahani, harraca" I replied . (yes please, quickly)
So that was it, and instead of climbing up, we began to make our way down the moutain in the early hours of July 22nd.
That walk down showed me some of the most incredible landscape I have seen on my travels so far. My headlamp light the way across the dark, barren plains, while behind me, the moonlight reflected off the snowy peaks of Kilimanjaro. The air was still, cold, and very quiet, and I glanced back at the mountain that had beat me.
Fortunately I was too delirious to feel ashamed or disappointed. As far I was concerned, I just wanted the rocks to stop moving all over the place, appearing as though there were hippos or lions approaching the path ahead of me. We made it back to Horombo by 3am, taking half the time it took to climb up. I slept until 5am before waking for some tea and biscuits. Ideally we were to descend to Mandara (the first hut) as quickly as possible, but my symptoms weren't showing the improvement that is normally seen after descending 1050m. I was able to sleep through the dizzyness and disorientation, so I decided to spend a few more hours resting before resuming the descent. We finally made it back to Mandara on July 22nd around 1pm, after a long, slow trek down. I wasn't able to keep breakfast down that day, and lunch didn't leave my stomach feeling settled either. My headache had drastically improved, so we decided to allow for more rest at Mandara Hut. I spent my last night on the mountain at Mandara and descended to Marangu Gate this morning, taking deep breaths of the oxygen-rich air.
Now that I'm back at Springlands Hotel feeling much better, it's difficult not to look back on my time at Kibo Hut and wish I could have just pushed myself a little bit further. I am disappointed I didn't get the satisfaction of reaching the summit, but I am proud of my willingness to leave the challenge behind in exchange for a my health and safety. There is no doubt that I will tackle Kili again one day... it's now a permanent item on my "Things to Do" list.
**I will hopefully be able to post photos from the airport in London, on my way to Morocco**
