Summit II: July 8 – July 15

I write to you in endless gratitude after a challenging and exhilarating week on Mount Kilimanjaro. The terrain became less forgiving every day, transforming from lush rainforest below the cloud line, to barren heath and moorland above 3000 m, all the way up to the glacial Uhuru Peak, which my team and I reached around noon on Friday, July 13th. I have never before relied more upon prayers or more powerfully felt the presence of loved ones from afar – I cannot find a more sincere and true way to say that you were with me the entire way. As promised I brought a list of names up to the top with me and thanked you, tears freezing on my cheeks, for giving me the strength to reach our goal. THANK YOU!!! I will report back with a final count on funds raised for KCA by the week's end, and remind you that it is never to late to join in this effort!



Chizme - or “Cheeseman” as we playfully called one of our nine faithful porters – woke me in my pup tent on Summit morning as he did every morning, with a plastic cup of hot, black tea and a bowl of warm water for washing. 4 am, and I shivered in delirium after another night of tumultuous slumber, fumbling for my daypack and dressing quickly. I uneasily stuffed down a small bowl of porridge, head pulsing a bit from the altitude (4600 m), stomach churning from a combination of swallowing malaria meds, pounding a liter of water, and easing tense nerves. 4:30 am, headlamp clicked on, lighting only a small patch by my feet, and we’re off: myself, Suzie and Liz, led by our guide Bongo and faithful Cheeseman.

After we had emerged above the cloudline after Day 1, at 3500 m, we were witness to delightfully freezing 6 am wakeups with the sun; she peeked over Kili, and as she rose, chased us up the hill on our daily ascents. We retreated back to our tents every night after a delicious meal of rice or pasta and vegetables, hot soup, and fruits, prepared by our cook Nesto, beneath a dazzling galaxy, every tiny star so prominent at this high altitude. Each day seemed more enjoyable than the last the farther away I hiked from Arusha, from work, from life. The ascents all seemed impossible at first glance, up toward Lava Tower, down into Karanga Valley, up and over Barranco Ridge – but with my second-hand bartered boots, warm thermals, cargo shorts, sunglasses, wide brim hat and trusty Red Sox tee, I waked for about 8 hours a day, uphill, one foot in front of the other, over and over. I was shocked at how whole and fulfilled I felt at the end of each day, as I normally thrive on multitasking and juggling responsibilities, deadlines and tasks. All I had to do was eat, sleep, and walk, for 5 nights and 6 days.

Day 5, Summit day, was the final stretch. The moon hung as a bright silver sliver, but up in that heaven, the entire sphere was visible, faded craters like dimples on her smiling crescent. In the harsh morning wind, I prayed that my poor circulation would not keep me from the top, and in those few early hours it was the warmth of those who were wishing me well that kept me distracted. I imagined Diana and Andrew sprinting across the field at MBC to dive onto a makeshift slip and slide; I thought of Leigh and the KCA crew laughing with Sandile and Simphiwe at Ikageng; I hoped Matthew, Katie and Erin were not letting the hustle of NYC catch them up and were enjoying the sweltering city summer. My body was clutching clammy rocks and maneuvering up a steep stone obstacle course, but my mind was reeling from soul to soul, and soon enough a fiery orb appeared on the horizon, spreading her flame across the ocean of cumulonimbus below. I had made it to sunrise, and although my blood began to defrost, our path was no longer hidden in the night. Kili towered above us as we approached the snowline, Uhuru Peak feeling farther away than ever.

This summit presented an entirely unique challenge. We walked past and were passed by fellow trekkers of all ages, sizes, and physical abilities. I think that anyone can handle the physical pressures of Kili. Summit Day is intense, aside from a relentless uphill hike where the peak seems to tease you and rise higher with your every step, aside from the shortness of breath and lack of oxygen, aside from thirst and aching. Because you can keep lifting your legs and digging in your walking poles, you can monitor and keep steady your breathing by singing or praying rhythmically and you can take a break. What makes it so intense is the mental fortitude absolutely necessary to reach the peak.

I imagined Mom and Dad at either side of me, lifting me up, and whether it was mild altitude sickness or true answered prayers, I became lighter, and I kept marching up. I heard my Papou bragging about his granddaughter who made it to the top (“She gets her athleticism from me”), I heard my Yiayia telling me to be a “tough cookie”, I heard Dee Dee’s questions that always transform my trips into adventures, I whistled through pursed, chapped lips like Pop Pop used to do. I kept going.

The hours dragged on, the terrain a monotonous blinding snow (from which I sustained my only ‘injury’, a wind and sun burnt face, exposed below the cheeks). Liz stopped to heave and vomit, Suzie to nurse a pounding headache. I breathed with a religiously steady pace and thanked Bruce Calvert and dearest G for demanding such breathing diligence through years of swim practices and chorus rehearsals. I found myself the only one of the trio to have kept my health at this altitude, now over 5000 m, and assumed position at the back of the line, trying to soak up some of their struggle with every breath in and channel out positive energy with every breath out. The crew collapsed at Stella Point, an hour’s hike from our final destination, where many hikers call it quits from altitude sickness and are forced to retreat. But Bongo bolstered our spirits, and step after step, a last grueling uphill stretch, chanting an Agios o Theos out loud and imagining an army of loved ones pushing me from behind, shoving with the wind…we did it.

A continent spread out below us, but all I could do was thank you for helping me reach this height. Twenty minutes of rest, during which Liz spun into further delirium and Suzie into fatigue, and we were off the peak, and all to suddenly my journey seemed to have come to a close.

The mad scramble down to give the girls proper altitude to recover before their condition worsened was a mix of concern and comedy, slipping and sliding through pebbly alpine desert dirt, practically skiing, avoiding boulders at all costs. Gravity was almost a nuisance, pulling me down so forcefully – sure, I was getting to my destination faster, but I had no time to absorb the beauty around me, no mind space to think beyond my next quick step. I immediately preferred the natural gravity that existed between the peak and my heart, so full of loved ones all helping me ascend. It was a force I had a large part in creating and although it was more difficult, I had to find energy, focus, and determination in faith – it was infinitely more fulfilling.

I couldn’t help but think the entire 5 hour descent on Saturday (5 days up, 5 hours down!), how much this necessarily speedy descent twirled me back to my transition back from Ghana last year – the same fears, confusions and discomforts emerging as I planted foot after foot with effortless momentum, pounding my toes painfully into my boots, which as my feet de-swelled from altitude, had more room for banging around. I started thinking about work. About the insane amount of calories and carbs I had consumed in the past week. About silly things that did not matter when I had my goal, my journey so clearly on the horizon. I felt distracted, alone, and unmotivated. I slid and slipped down, disheartened.

We finished a day ahead of schedule and had the option to return home to Arusha on Saturday night. Liz took the offer and rode off in a 4x4, but I needed to stay and sort myself out. How could I allow my mentality to change so quickly? I let myself fall into confusion last summer, but I refuse to do this again!

I woke up to a pattering of rain at 3:30 am and read another chapter in my book Nouno gave me by headlamp light. Nesto prepared a final breakfast of fruits and porridge for us, but Suzie and I looked at the line of women and children waiting to load construction supplies onto their head at the park gate, getting maybe 6,000 Tanzanian shillings ($5) for this day’s work, sloshing uphill in this rainy mess sans boots or raincoats. Our stomachs dropped in unison and our hunger disappeared. We asked Bongo if we could give all the rest of our food to these workers and he helped us distribute the meager portions out to grabbing hands. Suzie and I bit our chapped lips, trying to not let useless tears cloud our last visions of Kilimanjaro. But we were back down from heaven, back into reality, and now had to handle this injustice in our minds (“Justice delayed is justice denied”, rings through my head from Nairobi) as well as with our hands. I realized what a vacation from reality Kili was, allowing me to build my strength – my calves and my patience – to develop focus and concentration, to prove that persistence and prayer does produce results. There is still so much work to be done.

6 weeks left in Arusha, the last 5 dedicated to carrying out the HIV Outreach Programme with volunteers who arrive this weekend. I feel reenergized and full of potential, and incredibly thankful for the help up. I know I can accomplish nothing without the energy of others, many others, and I imagine how our secondary students in Arusha and British volunteers can mutually benefit from this small partnership in public health. On this steady breath I look forward to the Programme ahead, looming like Kili on the horizon.