We were ordered to sleep for 2 hours before dinner. Unfortunately, I have yet to master the art of sleeping on demand and all attempts were futile, so I ended up just staring at the back of my eyelids, willing time to go faster. The anticipation was killing me. We were roused to eat, so we all glumly choked down a few mouthfuls of food, aware that every one would count on the climb, then were ordered back to bed for 3 more hours of no sleep, where I lay pondering whether I should carry my water bag inside my jacket so it wouldn't freeze? Front or back? Maybe on the outside of my jacket between my backpack. How many socks can I fit in my boots? My camera in my bag or in my pocket? How many energy bars should I pack? How much water? Bandana or hat? How many Tanzania shillings to a dollar? What's the capital of Uganda? (It's Kampala, by the way)... I JUST started to drift off to sleep when came the knock on the door. Within seconds the room was alive with everyone busily getting their gear in order. Before we knew it, we were lined up, headlamps alight, our personal porters by our side, carrying our daypacks with our water, extra layers, and snacks, and at 11:30pm, we began our final ascent.
The mountain was pitch black and all that was visible was the mass of stars above and the steady stream of headlamps zig-zagging back and forth ahead and behind us. As we walked, the porters kept whispering,"pole, pole". The mountain rose up sharply and we were thankful that we couldn't see how steep it actually was or else there would have been people tumbling down around us from the vertigo.
The first 1 1/2 were pretty uneventful. I remember even thinking, "What's the big deal? I could totally do 7 hours of this". The feeling didn't last long. Around the 2 hour mark, a dull thumping started in my temple. I talked myself into believing it was from getting no sleep. No big deal. Our first stop was at 4900m, where I split a power bar with my porter and tried to ignore the now pounding headache that was slowly turning into waves of nausea. "Ignore it. It's all in your head".
We hit 5000m!!! I heard a lady in our group vomit. I turned to see her porter wiping her mouth with his mitten. It was so selfless, I wanted to cry. It wasn't until later that I found out the porter was using her socks as mittens, as he didn't have any, and therefore was wiping her mouth with her own sock! Not as romantic, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, and there were far more important things to worry about at the time.
5200m!!!! Someone else just threw up. Only 700m to go. On the ground that would take, what, 5 minutes to walk? On Kili, we had at least another 4 hours. I could feel my body starting to shut down. I was only making it about 10 steps before I would collapse onto a rock, only to be pulled back up by my porter and dragged another 10m to a less exposed area, so I wouldn't freeze in the wind.
I've heard that climbing Kili is a test of will and determination. Oddly enough, turning back was never an option, even if it took me 2 weeks to get there. It was the knowledge that the closer to my goal I got, the worse my sickness was getting. Accepting that I would have to feel this way for the next 6 hours (including the 2 1/2 on the way down) was by far the toughest part.
At 5500m, the third person in our group threw up and I was praying I would be next so I'd feel better. This is about the time when I realized my porter wasn't looking all that hot either. At the beginning of the night, all I had to do was glance his way and he'd be at my side feeding me water and vigorously rubbing my hands to keep them warm. Things had now changed drastically... for the both of us. At this point, I was practically on all fours, clawing my way to the next rest point, although I never quite made it without collapsing a dozen times. Now, instead of pulling me back up, he would collapse beside me. I would whisper, "water, water" and he would just lay there with his eyes closed. I knew it was getting bad when finally he mustered up enough strength to get me some water, then poured himself some out of my thermos. I remember thinking, "I don't think he's supposed to be doing that", but by this time I was feeling nearly as sorry for him as I was for myself. We would lay there, secretly hoping our head guide Solomon, wouldn't show up to rouse us out of our semi-conscious state. But he always did.. thank goodness. Solomon who is also a witch doctor in his spare time (of course), would make us all sorts of magic potions to keep us from getting sick up until the climb. During the climb he acted as our psychologist, playing mind games to get us to go a little further, a little further. "Hakuna Matata, only 3 hours left. You're almost there".
Gillman's point is a landmark on the mountain. Still 2 daunting hours from the summit, it is where most people decide they cannot go any further. For people who are still doing okay, it is a the first celebration point with lots of cheering and slaps on the back. There were three such groups in congratulatory mode when I stumbled through them and promptly vomited. It was monumental alright.
Somehow, with the mili-ounce of energy I had left and Soloman's witch doctor brain washing tactics, we trudged the rest of the 2 hours. As the sun started to rise, we approached a peak, where a massive bright pink glacier revealed itself. I have never ever seen anything like it up close. I was dumbstruck.. although I'm sure the effects were partly due to the altitude. To summit Kili you need to be prepared for several false alarms, as at least 6 times, what looked like it HAD to be the peak would be looming up ahead, achingly within reach. My hopes would soar, only to hit the peak and see an even bigger one off in the distance. At last, just as I was questioning whether I could go any further, I looked up to see a familiar face. It was Andrea walking toward me with a huge grin on her face. One look at each other and we burst into tears. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, probably from the fact that Andrea assured me I really was only 5 minutes away, I sobbed the rest of my way to the summit. The moment I realized I was on top, my headache and nausea seemed to subside. I slowly walked to every corner of the summit, wanting to hug every single person I saw. Unfortunately for my porter who was probably ready to leave me wherever I collapsed next, he was the nearest person, and I attacked him with hugs about every 13 seconds. All the effort it took over the last 7 hours was more than worth it for that moment.
I had been warned not to stay too long at the top and after all I'd put him through, I did not want my porter to have to carry me back down. Over the next 2 1/2 hours, we painstakingly skidded/tumbled our way back down the loose gravel and dirt slope of the mountain. It was hard. Really hard. As the adrenaline wore off, my headache and nausea came back to haunt me. My legs were so tired that with every step I had to contract my muscles extra hard so I wouldn't collapse. My poor porter was desperate to get down and was dragging me by my sleeve, which my arm had come out of ages beforehand. As I dragged my near lifeless carcass into camp, I received a standing ovation from the porters and Solomon. Something tells me they had made bets as to whether I would make it or not and the odds were definitely against me. I didn't care. I staggered past them and fell into bed for the 1 1/2 rest we were allowed before we had to pack our things and start our descent down to the next camp.
This was by far the most difficult, but rewarding thing I have ever done. Recommending it after all I've written would seem to be a huge contradiction, but I've never been so proud of myself. It was an amazing journey where I learned so much about myself, and I would recommend it to anyone else who would ever want to experience the same!
Next stop, Safari! Lions and monkeys and giraffes, oh my! Alright, it doesn't exactly have the same ring to it. Anyway, we can't wait! On to the next adventure!
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