I’d Bless the Rains Down in Africa
There’s a part of me that has been dreading writing this blog. I knew from day one on Kilimanjaro that this wouldn’t be a typical article. It would be harder to write, emotionally. So I decided, in order to accurately describe my feelings during the climb, I couldn’t write it as a past tense narrative, as I have my previous entries. It just wouldn’t do the experience justice. My goal with this this blog, and on this trip, is to open myself up and be completely transparent about my experiences and feelings. So that’s what I’m going to do. Instead of simply recalling my week on the mountain, I’m going to openly share my innermost thoughts and feelings during the climb by transcribing the journal I kept every night, word for word.
For the record, this is not something I would normally do. Every instinct in me tells me to edit myself – go through the journal first and decide what I want to share and what is too personal. But for once in my life, I won’t do that. I’m going to let you – my friends, my family, my readers – into every thought and fear I had that week. In my heart I know that is the only possible way to fully and honestly share my experience.
However, before I get to that, I’ll give a quick overview of my first two days in Africa, before starting the climb. (I didn’t journal those days.)
I arrived in Kenya after two fairly long flights, Copenhagen to Istanbul and then Istanbul to Nairobi. My seat partner was this 12-15 year-old kid who kept trying to fall asleep on my lap. I had to keep tapping him on the head and saying “no”.
Unfortunately, landing in Africa didn’t mean the journey was finished. I arrived just minutes too late to catch the morning bus to Tanzania so I had to wait about eight hours for the one in the afternoon. Let me tell you, there’s not much to do for entertainment outside security at the Nairobi airport. I basically just read and people watched, for eight hours (while tired, greasy, smelly and a little cranky).
Eventually (even later than expected) my ride arrived and we began the six-hour trip across the border to Arusha, Tanzania, where I would meet my climbing group and head for the mountain in two-days time. I got talking to an American girl on the bus, Savannah, and it turned out she would be in my hiking group. It was great to meet someone I’d be spending so much quality time with over the next week. She was with two other people, her brother and his best friend, who would be meeting her in Arusha that night and the following morning.
We rode a few hours until we reached the Kenya/Tanzania border. I had all of my visa documents printed and ready. However, the one document I had forgotten at home was my immunization card and since Kenya is a Yellow Fever country, Tanzania requires proof of vaccination (which I am current on – as I am with more or less every possible travel-related illness.) Well, it’s Africa, and there’s always a solution. That solution usually involves money.
I told them that I was immunized but didn’t have my card. They brought me to a back room where a guy asked for 1,000 Kenyan Shillings (about $9) and fabricated a vaccination card for me.
Gotta love Africa.
After a smooth transition into Tanzania, we drove on. I was hoping to get a view of Kilimanjaro on the way (not even sure if we were anywhere near the mountain but I was still hoping.) Unfortunately, it got dark and started raining so that didn’t happen.
We arrived in Arusha around nine or ten that night and got to the hotel with little excitement. Once there, I was pleasantly surprised. It was the nicest, most spacious place I had stayed on the trip up thus far. I would be there for two nights before the climb and two nights after. It was nice to know I’d have a comfortable, clean and friendly place to stay when I returned from the mountain in need of some rest.
The next day my friend from college, Jared, arrived. We realized we actually hadn’t seen each other since college…twelve years!
My dad was supposed to meet me there for the climb. It was something the two of us had talked about for over three years. We climbed to Everest Base Camp together in 2012 and, on the way home from that trip, we started discussing our next adventure – climbing the highest mountain in Africa. When I decided to quit my job and travel to all seven continents in one trip, the first thing I did was ask him if he was still serious about it and if he was ready. He never hesitated. The Kili climb and Antarctica cruise were the two things I booked first when planning this trip. He paid his deposit and bought his flights with me. We were going to achieve another dream together.
Unfortunately, life happens. Last summer my dad – the guy who runs eight miles a few times a week – the guy who acclimatized better than me in Nepal and pushed me through my rough patches at high altitude three years prior – had an unexpected heart attack. We were fortunate and blessed. He was at home, my mom was there with him, the ambulance arrived in minutes and he arrived at the hospital quickly. Because of his health, he was released and recovered quicker than expected. However, it was hard to convince a doctor (and my mom) that climbing a nearly 20,000-foot mountain, in the middle of the Serengeti, in six months was a good idea. As much as it broke my heart, I was in agreement. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Fortunately, my old friend Jared was living and working in Malawi and Zambia, not too far away and was actually considering doing the climb over Christmas. When he found out there was an open space, deposit already paid, he was able to join the group.
Back in Arusha, Jared arrived the next morning and we spent the day catching up, preparing for the climb, getting some supplies and packing. We ran into Savannah in the lobby and met her brother, Tyson, and his friend, Nikket. There were still two others in our group we hadn’t yet met.
We got up bright and early the next morning, gathered our gear and met the whole team and the tour operators downstairs to talk about the week to come and head for the mountain. Once downstairs, we met Rob and Sam, our remaining teammates. I immediately knew we had a good group. Seven of us in total and random that we ended up all being Americans. Savannah is in her early twenties, living in San Francisco and working in software design. Tyson and Nikket are both in their mid-twenties. Tyson lives in Chicago and is also a software designer, like his sister. Nikket is living in Seattle and working on his PHD in mathematics, or one of those fields that totally impress me but go way over my “creatively-minded” head. Rob is around my and Jared’s age and is an anesthesiologist from New York City. Sam is in his 50’s and one of the most interesting people I have ever met. He is from the old Soviet Union but is now an American citizen. He’s an OBGYN and spent most of his career working at one of the biggest hospitals in New York, delivering the babies of the rich and famous. He is now in the Peace Corps in Malawi, teaching and helping the women of Africa. I absolutely love his life story…and his actual stories. He literally had a joke for every possible occasion. “Oh, we’re talking about frogs, I have a joke about frogs”. They were usually dirty and always hysterical.
We packed our stuff into the van, took a “before” team picture and we were on our way to the highest mountain in Africa.
First, a couple disclaimers…
1- To any grammar police out there. I normally try to abide by the laws of correct grammar including run-on or fragment sentences, not starting a sentence with “And” or “But”, not writing in passive voice, not ending a sentence in a preposition, among others – although I do make exceptions to all of those from time-to-time to make the blog conversational. However, this is transcribed from a journal of free association. So, please, bear with me if I offend your sensitive sense of grammar.
2- If I ever sound crazy, not with it or over emotional, blame the altitude. In fact, the only things I have revised are some badly worded sentences and spelling errors, on which I also blame the altitude. It sounds like an excuse but it’s true, it really effects one’s mind. For example, one night I was trying my hardest to describe the noun form of miserable. I could not, for the life of me, think of the word “misery”. It wasn’t till I was on the way down, lower on the mountain that, out of nowhere, it came to me.
Saturday, January 16th, 2023
Kilimanjaro – Night 1
Forest Camp – 2,821 Meters Above Sea Level (Approximately 9,250 Feet)
Today’s Trek – Approximately 3.5 Hours and 5.5 KM (3.5 Miles)
Well, I’m here. Once again, starting a high altitude trek. Once again, at the beginning of what I know will be a hard, arduous, joyous, beautiful and rewarding journey.
I do have some nerves about getting high again, but no fear. I know I can do it. But I also know the pain that I have to go through before the triumph. That’s where the nerves come in. There’s nothing very enjoyable about being over 17,000 feet. I know this going into it this time. But more importantly, I also know what it feels like to reach that goal. Therefore, I know I can make it because the goal will push me past the pain.
Once again, I know I will need to rely a lot on the Lord. Prayer was one of the only things that got me through the hard times in Nepal (prayer and Coca Cola) – asking God to pick-up where I left off – where my body and mind failed. He carried me. I know I will need that again and, the truth is, I’m craving that intimate experience with Him right now. I desire, more than anything, to feel that again. There’s something about these journeys, when I travel outside my comfort zone and push myself beyond my own self. I meet God. Those encounters are addicting. We were created to desire that and it’s easy to get distracted and forget that we even need it in everyday life. These experiences are a reminder of how much I need Him and not just when I’m climbing a mountain.
I’m excited for what this week holds. I want to get there, now, but I also know we have to go “Poli Poli” (Swahili for “Slow”). One-step-at-a-time. I also don’t want to spend so much time dreaming of the summit that I fail to cherish the climb. Life is about the climb. The summit is just the icing on the cake.
Sunday, January 17th, 2023
Kilimanjaro – Night 2
Shira II Camp – 3,875 Meters Above Sea Level (Approximately 12,700 Feet)
Today’s Trek – Approximately 8 Hours and 10.5 KM (6.5 Miles)
Night two on the mountain – well we’re technically not on the mountain yet but we finally got a glimpse of her today. In fact, we’re camping directly in her shadow. The clouds were covering when we first arrived but, soon after, the sun came out and we got an almost unobstructed view of her. Wow. I’m once again amazed by the beauty of this world. But seeing her, in front of me, finally put this climb in perspective. Looking at the summit in person – it’s daunting to think of getting there. But I’m also energized at the idea of getting closer and higher.
Physically, I feel great. I feel better than I did at this elevation in Nepal. My appetite is even okay, maybe even too good, considering how well they are feeding us. I may be the first person to gain weiguht climbing a mountain!
Emotionally, I feel great too. My spirits are very high. Other than the fact that I miss A desperately, I feel amazing. I’m having some crazy Kasi fears that he’ll realize he’s over me after a week of no contact. I know in my heart that what we have is stronger than that but my brain has a Pavlovian response to caring about someone. I just automatically think the worst. Normally, when I can see or talk to him, my fears are easily eased by his affection. But on my own, on a mountain, in Africa, with no contact for a week, my crazy fears are free to roam. I can only focus on his assurance, pray for comfort and believe. For the first time in my life I will choose to believe it will be okay, rather than prepare myself for the worst. A has earned that. He’s given me no reason to doubt him.
I did have one rough moment today. It was right after lunch and it had been raining for the last couple of hours. I was wet and cold. After lunch, we still had another four-and-a-half hours to go of a ten-hour day. It stopped raining while we were eating and, sure enough, as we geared up, it started again. I wasn’t necessarily tired or in pain, but I was cold and wet and just didn’t want to do it any more. It was my first low point of this climb.
Fortunately, it lightened up and, while it spritzed a little here and there over the next couple of hours, it never truly rained again. I felt better as soon as I started moving and warming-up. The prize at the end of the day was the awe inspiring view of the highest mountain in Africa. That made it all worth it.
If just seeing Kilimanjaro can take away the pain of the day, I can’t imagine how much more standing on the top will make all the pain – and all the missing A – worth it. There is no greater reward for hard work – this side of heaven – than standing at the finish line of a race well run.
That is living.
Monday, January 18th, 2023
Kilimanjaro – Night 3
Barranco Camp – 3,984 Meters Above Sea Level (Approximately 13,070 Feet)
Today’s Trek – Approximately 8 Hours and 10.7 KM (6.5 Miles)
Today was a really great day. Our whole group is acclimatizing really well. Our blood/oxygen levels tonight were all 96-99. Mine was 98. (The average at this altitude is low 90’s, sometimes even lower.)
We climbed high today to the Lava Tower at 4,640 meters (over 15,225 feet). That’s higher than anything in the continental US. Even there, our blood/oxygen levels were 88-92. Mine was 88. There, our guide said its common to be in the low 80’s. So, it’s fair to say, our team is pretty bad ass.
Today actually started off on a slightly low point. We woke up to rain pouring down and I got really discouraged. I prayed a bit and and just asked, not for no rain all day, but to at least start off dry to get us off to a good start. By breakfast, the rain had stopped. We had a little spritzing throughout the day but we even had some warm sun during lunch at the Lava Tower. I think I even got a little sunburn on the way down. We walked into camp and about five minutes later it started raining. The timing was definitely an answered prayer. After such a great day, I feel energized for the next four days to come.
Speaking of, we have two short, mostly easy days ahead. Then Wednesday, we get to camp around noon, rest and sleep all day and wake before midnight for the summit push. It seems so close and yet so far. I know the pain and discomfort that stands between myself and my goal but I am undeterred. I am hopeful.
“I know you didn’t bring me out here to drown.” – well Lyrics from a “Lifehouse” song that I dreamt of when I was sick in the Himalayas and have since used as inspiration for my collection of tattoos.
Tuesday, January 19th, 2023
Kilimanjaro – Night 4
Karanga Camp – 4,040 Meters Above Sea Level (Approximately 13,250 Feet)
Today’s Trek – Approximately 6 Hours and 6 KM (3.5 Miles)
Although it rained a bit earlier, I got in my tent looking out over the valley and seeing the lights of a few small towns beneath the slope we’re on. It’s beautiful beyond words.
Today was a great day. Probably my favorite part of the climb so far. We started off climbing the Barranco Wall. It’s nicknamed the “Breakfast Wall” because it’s at the beginning of the day and by the time you get to the top your breakfast is worked off. The top of the wall is at about 4,600 meters above sea level (approximately 15,100 feet). I’m a bad judge of height, but I would guess the wall itself is a few thousand feet high. Looking up at it from below was daunting but once on it, it was kind of fun. We actually got to do some light boulder climbing – not quite on a sheer cliff but close to it. It was fun and exhilarating, which made the time go fast. The frequent stops and starts, while waiting for the others to climb over obstacles, helped with the breathing too. I think our whole group enjoyed that part.
After that, we had another couple hours of a lot of ups and downs (geographically, not emotionally). The approach to camp was a pretty steep climb that got me pretty winded. It rained as we got to camp and again, after lunch. I stayed warm and cozy in my tent till dinner when it cleared up beautifully.
My fears right now are getting the best of me. My body feels great. My blood/oxygen was 98 tonight. My appetite is even still intact. I have no signs, so far, of any altitude sickness – not even a mild headache. So why do I fear summit day so much?
I know the way I felt at 18,000 feet before. I don’t relish returning to that feeling. It’s going to be a long, cold, hard and miserable day. Close to eighteen hours total, including a rest back at base camp. Probably 12-15 hours of hiking, 6-7 hours of rough uphill climbing, the rest downhill. So seven hours of pain and discomfort for a lifetime of triumph. I know I can do it if I keep my focus and just go one-step-at-a-time.
Wednesday, January 20th, 2023
Kilimanjaro – Night 5
Barafu Hut (Base Camp) – 4,681 Meters Above Sea Level (Approximately 15,350 Feet)
Today’s Trek – Approximately 4 Hours and 3.5 KM (2 Miles)
I can’t take much time to write right now as I need to sleep as much as I can in the next four hours.
Four hours till I get the knock on my tent saying it’s summit time. Four hours till a very long stretch of misery. Four hours till I do what I came here to do.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared or dreading what’s ahead. But all I can do is give everything I have and pray for the rest of what’s needed. Pray for peace. Pray for good weather. And pray that God carries me when I can no longer carry myself.
The path ahead will be hard and painful. But it’s a place nobody can get me to other than myself and my faith. Places like that are the ones worth going.
Thursday, January 21st, 2023
Kilimanjaro – Night 6
High Camp – 3,700 Meters Above Sea Level (Approximately 12,140 Feet)
Today’s Trek – Approximately 15 Hours and 12 KM 7.5 Miles)
Well, the longest day ever is over. All seven of us made it to the top safely and with the most unbelievably beautiful weather imaginable. At dinner, beforehand, it was sleeting and the weather report looked like it may stay that way through the morning. But when we woke up at 10:30 pm, we were all shocked to see perfectly clear skies, city lights beneath us, and the most majestic view of Kilimanjaro’s peak I could imagine, lit up by an almost full moon and a sky full of bright stars. I was no longer tired or scared. It was time and I could do this.
We lit our headlamps and started up the slope – watching a snake of climbers above and below us, all willing to climb through the night to reach the sky by morning.
One-step-at-a-time. I was trying my hardest to focus on my breathing and on my steps, knowing if I looked up I’d get discouraged by the long road ahead. Yet, I couldn’t resist it at times. I knew I’d never be here again. I couldn’t waste my view of the world, at that moment, on my feet alone. So every now and then I let myself stop, look around and take it all in. Recognizing the pain but not letting it control me. Not letting it steal those precious moments looking out into the African night sky.
Up there, the world is silent. The world is good. Worries are gone. The only pain that exists is the physical pain of getting up the mountain. The only thing to concentrate on is the summit. There is nothing else but silence and beauty.
Hypnotizing myself to the rhythm of my breaths and my steps – looking out at the lights under us, up at the peak and even higher up at the most unobstructed night sky I’ve ever seen – blissfully listening to our guides singing their native Swahili songs as we climbed. That is the definition of peace – the peace I had asked for two nights before – given in an unexpected and beautiful way.
Six hours of one-step-at-a-time (which now feels like a weird vivid dream) and we finally reached Stella Point. Only 143 meters to Uhuru Peak. 143 mostly level or only slightly sloped meters. We were almost there.
From Stella Point, we watched the sunrise over the now cloudy sky beneath us – the sun beginning to shine on us like a secret it didn’t want to share with the rest of the world. The cloud layer separated us from the world below. A moment shared only between us, the mountain and the sun. Blues, pinks and purples like I’ve never seen. It’s like a sunrise gets more beautiful the closer you get to it.
With the sun finally warming our frozen faces, we walked on. Passing people coming from the summit with the most exquisite smiles. Strangers cheering each other on. It’s like everyone on the mountain was one team. And this morning, we gained a 5,985-meter teammate.
We finally saw it. The sign noting not only the top of a mountain but the top of a continent. The rooftop of Africa. The highest freestanding mountain in the world. As I approached, I thought of my Dad and how he should be sharing this moment with me. But in a very special way, he was.
I never would have taken this on without the belief that I can do anything I set my mind to and that is a gift from him and my mom. I never would have tried this had I not already climbed Everest Base Camp and the 18,000-foot peak near it, Kala Patthar, something my dad pushed me through moment by moment. So while he wasn’t standing next to me, he was there, because I wouldn’t have been without him. I had to stop thinking about that though because I was tearing-up and my glasses were fogging!
Instead, I focused on the 360 around me. Kilimanjaro’s crater on one side, it’s giant glacier on the other, clouds surrounding us all. I had originally hoped for a cloudless day, to look at the savannah below, but this was even better. It was the most beautiful form of solitude. It was like there was nothing else, just us and the mountain. For those few moments, that’s all there was in the world. The mountain was ours.
The sun warmed us as we took our pictures on the summit and, before we knew it, our time in the sky was up. We did what we came to do. Now we just had to get down.
Getting down. Almost as hard as getting up. Easier on the lungs but harder on the body. Almost three hours later I limped into camp. It was 10:00 am. I had been going for ten-and-a-half hours. Now, I had one hour to rest and then head down again. After a way-too-short nap, we packed and headed out. The dreaded rain finally started but I didn’t care. I was too grateful for the weather all morning and at the summit, when it really counted.
The only thing keeping me going at that point was my very sparse adrenaline reserves and fantasies about my warm and dry tent. Two or three hours later I arrived at camp, slept, had dinner and am now ready to end one of the longest, hardest and most rewarding days of my life.
All that’s left is a four-hour hike tomorrow and Kilimanjaro will be in my past. However, the triumph of today, the feeling of standing on the top of a continent and the beauty of that moment, I will carry with me every day. l will forever consider it one of my life’s greatest blessings.
Well, that concludes the journal. After the climb, I was emotionally and physically drained and I didn’t discipline myself enough to write more, so I’ll quickly condense the events and my feelings of the last day on the mountain.
Let’s just say, the climb down the next day wasn’t just the hardest four hours on the mountain but it was quite possibly a few of the hardest, lowest hours of my life.
You might think that sounds strange. The day and night before I had spent nearly fifteen hours climbing up and down a steep mountain, reaching an altitude of almost 20,000 feet above sea level. Why in the world would climbing down, for just four hours, from only 12,00 feet be worse – physically or emotionally? I’ll try to explain.
I work really well when I have a goal. It’s actually something I always use in my workout regimen. I learned this when I ran my two marathons and when I triend in Kung-Fu. I was more motivated than I ever had been, physically, because I always had a goal – an upcoming race or that next belt. If I’m doing something – anything – with no goal in site, I’m the first to admit I can find it hard to stay motivated. Since then, I’ve made hard-set goals a focus of my fitness routines. Whether triathlons or personal best weights and workout times, setting goals has kept me on track and made me stronger.
Therefore, throughout the entire week climbing, I focused solely on my goal – the summit. There were hard parts, there were moments and days I struggled, but the thought of the summit somehow clouded the pain and the discomfort.
The way down was the opposite. I no longer had a focus to keep my mind off the pain. In fact, I had no goal at all. All I wanted was to get off that mountain, take a shower and sleep in a bed. It was like all of the pain my adrenaline and determination had kept away for a week was flooding toward me in an overwhelming deluge. Physically and emotionally, I felt the pain and exhaustion of the entire climb.
Not only that, but the way down is actually harder in a lot of ways. Climbing up is hard on the lungs but not so hard on the bones. While climbing down, every joint and every bone is impacted with every step. I have two bad knees to begin with and, after Nepal, they weren’t quite back to normal for a few months. It wasn’t just my knees this time either. My feet were sliding in my boots (something I hadn’t experienced in any of my hikes before in Nepal, Peru or Iceland – my hiking boots fit well and are probably one of my favorite possessions.) However, this time, it was as if they were too big – maybe I wasn’t wearing thick enough socks. My feet were sliding and jamming my toes into the fronts of my boots with every step. It got to a point where I had to stop every five or ten minutes to shake out my feet. I was nearly (or completely, at times) in tears. I fell close to twenty minutes behind the rest of the group and my spirits were lower than they had been the entire week. (By the way, over a month later, my toenails are still purple. Glamorous, I know.)
I was in pain. I felt alone. In fact, it was the first time in three weeks of traveling solo that I actually felt alone. Nobody could get me through this but myself.
I just climbed one of the Seven Summits – without crying once or being in too much pain at all – and now, a short four-hour hike down was about to break my spirits.
I pushed, I prayed and, quite honestly, I cried a little. However, I knew I was almost done. It was a low but life isn’t just about the highs. We might live for the highs, yes. It’s the highs that give us hope and inspiration. Yet, it’s the valleys – it’s the lows – that give us strength. I’m thankful for the highs. I’m so grateful for the moments in my life that have inspired me but I’m equally as thankful for the lows. They make the highs so much more meaningful, so much more beautiful. Nobody has ever climbed a mountain (physically or metaphorically) without going through a valley or two.
Those moments were my valley I had to tread that day. I pushed through and eventually saw the light at the end of the tunnel (actually, it was a sign and a parking lot but I swear there was a light from heaven and I heard a choir of angels). And then, just as it had begun, by journey was over.
I wasn’t the same. Literally – I was a lot smellier, dirtier and in a lot more pain than I was a week prior – and figuratively.
The summit of Kilimanjaro was something I dreamt of for years and now it’s something I will remember even longer. The beauty of those moments is something not a soul on earth could give me and not a soul on earth can take away.
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