Civilization Moshi, Tanzania

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As we travel many sights are familiar, the statue of the Military man with a machine gun and words, “water for life, tell us we are close to our hotel. Was it really just a few days ago that we saw this for the first time? It holds more meaning now as we have learned how critical water is to our being and how fortunate we are to have easy access at home. We gulp the bottled water and John exclaims, “this is how water is supposed to taste!” We are happy to abandon our Nuun flavoured water.

We arrive at the hotel to chaos. We need to get our room key, luggage, valuables from the hotel personnel and our gear from the bus. We are on Africa time, though our schedule is North America. We need to submit our dirty clothes to housekeeping and our filthy bodies to the shower. We need to sort our gear into three parts, gear not needed for remainder of trip, gear needed for Safari and gear needed for Zanzibar. It appears as though I’m back to digging. My brain remains fuzzy, head pounds and nausea my old friend continues pestering. I get to the work and slowly its complete with much digging and many items misplaced and found. I’m so tired of this game.

John takes the first shower, my gift to him for his devotion and love on the mountain. He emerges squeaky clean and happy. I take my time it’s such a luxury to have so much water and I relish in this moment, thinking how I take so much for granted in my daily life and seem always searching for more. I hope to remember this feeling and take it home with me.

Too soon it’s time to watch the drummers and dancers perform for us, to celebrate our victory. In a cruel twist of fate the event is on the top of the hotel, and the only access stairs. I sigh, and ascend. The performance is already in full swing. We lean against the back wall and watch. We are tired and sore and I marvel at the fluidity of their movements. They engage the audience by asking and pulling many from our group, John included to dance. I am asked but decline, content to maintain my spectator stance. One of the dancers brings out a large snake and its body loops and coils around hers. At one point she puts it down her pants and writhes. Our group seems put off by this act and the show ends shortly after. They have trinkets to sell and I choose a giraffe, hoping as the transaction is made that we will see Giraffes tomorrow on our Safari.

We arrive for dinner. It is set up buffet style. There is wine and even ice cream. I just can’t eat and try some soup and ice cream only. I wonder if I will ever feel well again?

We receive the plan for tomorrow. Most of us will be flying out on small planes to begin our Safari. Others will go on different excursions and still others will be going home. We are told our Certificates for completing the climb will not arrive in time. We are unwilling to leave without them. It has occurred to us that life moves slow in Africa, but we are expected to arrive on time and wait for hours. We decide to dig in our heels and collectively formulate a plan to not leave the hotel until we have our certificates.

John and I go back to our room and quickly fall asleep on a bed that I thought was too hard less than a week ago but now proclaim as just right tonight.

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The end is near

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We walk through the jungle, the coolness welcome as the African sun is hot on our pasty flesh. The terrain starts gentle, though soon the boulders return. My toes are like a magnet for rock and I stub my toes repeatedly.

We take photos though I’m directing John to take specific shots while I stick to putting one foot in front of the other. For the first time since leaving the Summit I contemplate returning and taking photos of this section. Every shade of green is represented and house plants at home that struggle to survive display showy flowers here. There are waterfalls, bridges and beauty at every turn. I suspect there are birds and monkeys too but we keep the pace.

We begin to see other people fresh and on their way to the summit. They ask how we did and we tell them we made it to Uhuru. They seem puzzled about our lack of joy, but they don’t inquire. I look at them with their shiny packs and sparkling eyes and know they have no clue what lies ahead. It’s better that way I decide as my toes on one foot are now numb and I’ve lost feeling in one finger

John’s watch says we have been walking four hours since Mandera as we arrive at a desk set up in the jungle. Godwin obtains paper from the woman seated behind the desk. He writes down his email address and asks me to please send our pictures from the summit to him, I promise we will.

Moments later we walk out of the jungle and into civilization, complete with a gift shop. The shop has few items to sell. I peruse the shelves of knickknacks, disinterested. The experience will not be contained in a trinket. I am overjoyed to see Pringles and Ginger pop though, and purchase these items. We sign the official ledger, use the tourist toilets, lingering and enjoying both the porcelain toilets and running water.

We wait for the arrival of our bus that will take us back to the hotel. We sit in luxury under a shelter with proper tables and benches. We begin to process the experience. We have climbed up one side of Kilimanjaro and down the other for a total of 91km. We have walked through five different terrains, Bushland, Rainforest, Heath, Alpine Desert and Arctic. We have summited a mountain that we read about as children. We ate simple food and relished in simple joys. The mountain reminded us that it’s easier to see and feel without the clutter of daily life. We were unplugged and spent time talking to each other, building relationships, and relating. We found strength in ourselves, each other and have witnessed this strength in our friends who we have come to know so much better in the last few days than the entire year previous. It is certain the mountain changed all of us in some way though whether we would remain changed or exactly what had changed would be decided individually.

The bus arrives and we amble to the parking lot where we are accosted by hawkers selling their wares. It’s over whelming. I trade John’s water bottle for a bracelet feeling I have no option, except a transaction. I look over and John is also making a purchase. We walk as briskly as possible to the bus and escape the make shift marketplace. There are enough seats for our group and we are very happy to sit. The Porters and Guides fill the remaining spaces and the gear piled high deals with the remaining cracks. We are now stuffed like sardines in our metal enclosure At home, we are so protected against any mishap with rules and laws that govern everything. Here we are learning to live with some risk and are sharper and more aware.

The driver navigates the bus through the gauntlet of merchants trying to get our attention. There seems to be a quiet desperation as they run alongside the bus trying to make a sale. We drive to the hotel and see Mount Kilimanjaro rising majestically from the plains. It’s so large and I can’t believe we climbed to the top. I squint and see the top thinking just a few days ago John and I stood there together. The sense of accomplishment would continue to arrive as waves of realization and remembrance, rather than quick elation. The mountain would require more than seconds of excitement for the feat and demands reflection. I dog ear my journal and set this aside for now. I’m content to be in the moment and not think about what comes next or what came before.

Are we there yet?

Trance like we walk with no end in sight. The two hour time frame is no longer a possibility as the clock tocks beyond that mark. Our breath has returned and we are able to talk with each other, the time is passing somewhat quicker. My breathing has settled into its usual rate and I’m no longer monitoring. The nausea continues to be a pest that I cannot shake despite medication. I sip water, gagging at the taste but knowing I must persevere.

It’s beautiful and the terrain is changing from wasteland with scrubby vegetation to a thicker carpet of green and succulent plants. John pauses to take photographs, I take some too but am focused on not lingering for fear of not starting again. I’m not hungry and there is no reason for a break as the mere touch of the toast in my pocket intensifies my nausea.

Our group is scattered along the path with some group members ahead and still others behind. Soon we meet an old friend, Godwin. We are happy to see him though his company is more friendship than guiding as the route is obvious. We are mistaken, as in a few moments he veers off what looks to be the path to another shorter route, which is the path. We are happy to not add even a few moments to this day.

My toes have joined the symphony as the constant downhill coupled with the occasional toe stub contribute to a fresh pain which takes my mind off the nausea and headache momentarily. My boots have been fastened to alleviate this concern as much as possible but it will not change due to the unfortunate anatomy of my toes. I cringe and wince my way over the boulders which have made a return to the landscape

I am afraid to ask Godwin how much longer as we probably have more than a few moments left to hike. Finally I ask and am told it’s about two hours. I ask John for the time and walk with purpose, knowing I can do anything for a few hours.

A few hours later we are walking through jungle like terrain, so different from the scrubby landscape we woke up to this morning. Godwin points out the beautiful Colobus monkeys, with the skunk like tails that we saw just a few short days ago. I take their photos finding one who wanted his portrait and happily snapped away. I give Godwin a big hug, and thank him for everything.

It took about 4 hours, right in the middle of the range we were given this morning. We are in good shape and I metaphorically pat myself on my back then congratulate John. Godwin directs us to a building and tells us to get some food. This seems silly as we would be driving to the hotel straight away. We go in and find some of our group just finishing lunch. They do not look elated and soon I would learn why–we are not done. The sign for Mandara tells us we have another three hours to reach our final destination today. I wish for a shorter time, though it’s highly unlikely as the information is sandblasted and likely accurate. Still, perhaps we are quicker than average, this thought encourages.

I’m not interested in lunch though I eat a couple of orange slices. My toast from this morning remains in my pocket should I get peckish later. I don’t want to linger for fear of my body refusing to move. I use the washroom an upgrade from our chemical toilets and I’m ready to leave. I refuse to look at the sign as I pass with my head held high. Godwin has been lounging on the grass waiting and he gets up quickly and leads us into the jungle for our final hours.

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Walking off Kilimanjaro

I awake at 0600 my internal clock seems set at this time permanently. I wonder if I am now a morning person? I wake John and he tells me of last nights dinner with its few attendees and nausea and vomiting that plagued some of our group. I was happy to have missed the festivities

I’m not hungry but instead feel strangely full despite having omitted or picked at food for the past 24 hours. I get dressed, spend some time digging and packing my bag, run my fingers through my greasy hair, imagine how lovely a shower will feel later today and drag my still weary body from our nylon home.

I make my way to the dining tent and discover that despite rising early I have arrived late for breakfast as I’ve moved slowly. It seems as though there is no danger of becoming a morning person. We have the dining tent mostly to ourselves, save for a few stragglers. I look at the offerings and decide on dry toast and tea. I tear the toast in half, giving half to John, then tackle the other half. I manage to eat a few bites which takes 45 minutes to consume. One of our group encourages me to take the rest with me to eat on the way. I comply.

We pack up our gear though John puts the sleeping bags away as my strength has not returned and I cannot face the energy needed to stuff the bags away. I ask how long of a hike today and John replies that the number of hours is dependent on who one speaks to, though the range is a few hours to as many as six hours. I silently hope for the shorter time.

We have each given $200USD as a tip to the Guides, Porters and Cooks who did the real work to make this trek possible. We were told of the amount ahead of time, as it’s more of a surcharge than a tip. It will be given to Brighton, who will distribute based on their seniority and title. Initially when I was told of this expectation I was annoyed, now I don’t begrudge this extra money , they have earned far more in my opinion. Still, we have also prepaid this excursion and I do wonder how much of that money makes its way to these men. It is a convoluted system of many hands being greased and likely the majority of our money goes to people who do little physical work to earn the wage. My head hurts with all this thinking that will not change anything

I take of a few photos of our last home on the mountain. I look towards the route that we will hike in a short time and am sad to see such a large hill. I’m disappointed to know that we will be climbing up hill and wonder if there is anyone I can log my complaint with as it does not seem fair. Are we not climbing off a mountain, I wonder? I keep my thoughts to myself.

Brighton asks if we have any clothing to donate to the Guides and Porters. Many of them do this trek without adequate clothing or gear for the mountain conditions. This is their livelihood, whereas for us we are merely weekend warriors with the best gear money can buy. John and I go through our clothing and happily donate a winter coat, lined pants, hat and ski gloves. Godwin sees our offerings and takes John’s pants for himself, later John will give him his winter coat and we are pleased to know that future trips up Kilimanjaro will be more comfortable for the Guide that we have come to know so well.

The Guides and Porters assemble and they thank us by dancing and singing for our group. This is so special, Brighton continues to have an unlimited supply of energy and enthusiasm as he dances with many of our group. I sit down and video tape the moment.

Too soon it’s time to line up one last time, don our packs and walk. Quickly, we settle into our rhythm. The terrain is rocky and steep initially, but gradually would smooth. We would wish for uphill only a short time later and our wish would continue for many hours though it would never be granted.IMG_0463.JPG

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Summiting Mount Kilimanjaro aka The Longest Day

I wake in need of a stocked medicine cabinet to begin my day. Generally, I take no medications and back home while packing omitted two medications that I would gladly pay top dollar to have this morning. My rationale was that I’ve never required either Gravol or Imodium and naively believed I would not need it during this trip Luckily, I was traveling with other folks who prepared for every circumstance and were happy to share with me. It isn’t an instant fix but gradually I would feel slightly better.

Each day on the mountain begins at 0600. I spend much time digging through my bag trying to find something that is very important, but I’m not sure what it might be. I continue digging, hoping I will run across the item and then will recognize it as the item I need. This of course does not happen, so I keep digging.

I put the sleeping bags in their bags. This task just a few short days ago would not have warranted conversation, but this morning it’s a Herculean effort as I pause to catch my breath several times. I decide to check my oxygen saturations and heart rate. They are 85% and 80BPM. Normally the numbers are 98% and 55BPM. I’m not surprised, the number change is expected, still I spend a few moments quietly freaking out, then I commence digging in my bag for the critical item whose name escapes me at present.

All of these distractions make me late for breakfast Food holds no interest for me this morning. I pass the eggs just to get them away, their smell offensive. I decide on a piece of toast and happily eat it the African way–dry. Orange slices and tea round out my meal and its an effort to eat as I struggle to keep it all down knowing the calories are important for what lies ahead.

I fantasize about staying here for an extra day, resting. Of course this is not possible. I collect my treated water and add the Nuun tablets to mask the taste. It’s still nasty but I need to drink three litres of water before arriving at our next destination, Kibo.

We begin and hike 5 hours across the saddle between Mawenzi and Kibo. At times this hike is so difficult I shuffle along with my head down, trying to trick my mind into believing I’m hiking on flat ground. Fortunate for me, my mind is not sharp enough to argue that I’m climbing a mountain and therefore it has to be steep. I’m sipping water constantly telling myself as the Guides told us that water has oxygen and will provide what is lacking. I accept this as told and sip away imagining my oxygen saturations rising with each sip. The Imodium and Advil have worked their magic, the nausea has decided to hunker down and take up residence in my stomach. It is my constant companion

One of our team mates turned back today. I was upset for her, but later I was informed of her goal and the distance she traveled surpassed her goal. Each person must decide on their own summit.

We arrive at Kibo. We walk past stretchers on our way in and silently I say a prayer that we will not need them. It’s a busy, happening place with so many people coming and going. This is where three of the routes converge. Until now we have had the mountain to ourselves. We would now need to share. We sign in and look around at our new home. There are more buildings here and places to deal with sick people. I say another prayer that this will not be needed. I find our tent and gear and begin the arduous process of unpacking and laying out my sleeping bag.

John leaves to take pictures I’m glad that he is getting a pictorial record. I have no energy. I rest for awhile but soon it’s time to eat. I eat some despite having no appetite then shuffle back to our tent where I fall asleep. We awake for dinner. It’s my favourite, spaghetti and meat sauce. This is fortunate, as it makes forcing myself to eat somewhat easier. We receive the plan for the night from Brighton. We will be awakened at 2145 for cookies and tea and will begin our final assault on this great mountain at 2230. We are offered the opportunity to start earlier to allow more time, some opt for this option.

We go back to our tent and I’m unhappy to see snow falling. I lay awake wondering if our footing will be difficult and how much harder this will be with snow. We begin the process of laying out our clothes for tonight while we still have light. I had my layers all figured out from hiking in 30 below weather at home. I begin to second guess myself and happily decide that I need many more layers and do not have the ability or neuronal function to argue against this faulty logic. I decide on 7 layers on top, 3 layers on the bottom, two pair of socks and a toque I lay out my clothes, take my last Diamox and visualize arriving at the summit with John.

Seemingly in minutes we are awakened. We dress and arrive for cookies and tea. I sip the tea with sugar and am able to eat a bite of cookie. We gather our water and take 4 litres with us. The water is brought from a great distance by the Porters as there is no water at Kibo. They have told us many times not to worry, there is enough water for us. Later we would learn that the Guides would do the trek with nearly no water. We have not had water for washing at Kibo due to the scarcity of this resource. It matters little as I run my hands through my greasy hair and look over at John whose hair is standing at attention. We are offensive but fortunately so is everyone else.

One member of our group talks about the danger of climbing to the summit and that no one will have oxygen. I cannot engage in this conversation as I’m working at staying positive. Thankfully Brighton tells her that she must not fill her mind with negative thoughts. She seems satisfied

Too soon it’s time to put on our packs and begin. The snow has stopped, the night is clear. We turn on our headlamps and begin. We start off at a slow pace and snake up the mountain. I look up the mountain and see headlamps in the distance. The full moon shines and illuminates the night sky. It’s beautiful. I am nervous and i take deep breaths to force the butterflies away.

Usually we chat with each other to pass the time. There is no energy for chatter tonight as we stick to the task at hand. We are treated to the Guides singing the songs of their youth and of this mountain and Brighton dances under the light of the moon. I cannot believe that he can, as everything I have is going into my slow crawl up the mountain. I play my home movies and replay our wedding day. It’s difficult to stay with the memories of that day as my mind drifts into the abyss. Still, I feel pleased with my effort and in no time we stop for our first break.

We begin again, a huge effort to get started again. I struggle with my breathing and then settle into a rhythm. I begin to play the movie of our honeymoon in Hawaii. In a short time I abandon this home movie as it is too difficult. I concentrate on walking and stare at the ground in front of me. At times for variety I look up to stare at the pack in front of me. I struggle with my breathing and stop to catch my breath. I start again and in minutes I stop again. John stays with me as does a Guide, Godwin. After many stops and starts another Guide, Damien takes my pack to lessen my burden. This helps and shortly I catch up to our group.

I begin to think of strong people in my life, past and present. I line them up in my mind and one by one they join me on this incredible night. It helps, as I imagine how they would deal with the hardship. Some say nothing but their quiet presence helps. Others’ are encouraging and offer words to motivate. Still others express no doubt of my abilities and urge me onward. I comply and am thankful for their company.

I remember being about 5 and walking in Miles for Millions. This was a 42km event which offered no training. Towards the end, limping with a Charlie horse my father arrived and asked me if I wanted to quit. I said I did, but he convinced me I could make the journey. He believed in me and since, I’ve always believed in myself. I completed the walk that day and knew I would complete this hike tonight.

There is power in our group, camaraderie and strength in our numbers as we adopt a rhythm, step step, pause. I love the short pause, it all seems possible. Not a word is spoken and yet I know we have each other’s back. John has mine and has hiked behind me the entire time up the mountain. I think about a gift we received from one of our team mates. It was a stone with a inspirational word. Mine was love and I’m understanding it’s meaning as John stays with me while I struggle.

It’s time for another break. My pack is delivered and I drink water and take a small bite of a power bar. Too soon it’s time to go. I’m tired as I put on my pack. We begin our pace again, step step pause. In no time, I struggle to breathe. I wonder about all my layers and the tightness of my top layer and whether it’s impeding my breathing. This is a fleeting thought. I can’t contemplate or analyze. I stop to catch my breath again. My pack is taken and once again I fall into line with the group. When I’m with them it’s easier but quickly I stop to rest and they are ahead. John and Godwin stay with me and the goal is to get us back with the group. There is no pause as we seemingly hurry to reach the group. We finally reach them and soon begin the process again.

I look down the mountain and see the lights snaking up the mountain,each light a person who will soon stand where I am now. I look up and see the lights in the distance and think that soon we will be stand where they are now. I wonder where we will have the tea that is to be served to our group. I concentrate on that and continue.

The group gets away from us as I find a pace that works. I can see our group ahead making their way to Gilmans. I know that I will make this climb it is only a question of how long it will take. I continue my slow ascent, a pace so unlike my usual speedy race at lower elevations. I encourage John to go ahead, apologizing for my pace but he is content to stay with me and I am grateful.

Soon we are at Gilman’s. The moon is starting to descend as we make our way over huge boulders that guard its passage. I’m breathing quick, am exhausted and my headlamp stops working. It’s difficult to navigate in the darkness and I worry about a break or sprain. Finally we climb over the last boulder to stand on level ground at the sign that marks this place. Our group is there though they are getting ready to leave. John and I stop to have our picture taken at the sign and then we are off again.

We look around at this other world place. We are standing at the crater rim. I have no energy to take photos but quickly I fire off several to keep in my internal memory forever. No photo could do the place justice as its beauty could not be contained in such a manner. Off in the distance I can see our final destination, Uhuru (Swahili for Freedom) It appears to glow in the distance. Our next destination will be Stella.

The deep crater is beautiful and as the light wakes, it touches and gradually the scene is revealed to us. It’s beauty would be too much at once but the gradual unveiling has me marvelling for the duration. We have been told to be in the moment, to linger, to take it in. There is no danger of going to quickly as I trudge along, pausing to breathe but loving the scenery and knowing I’m seeing a place that few see.

The books all say that the trek from Gilman’s is easier. I look forward to the gentle hike that never arrives. The terrain is up and down and while that is a break from the relentless up hill struggle to Gilman’s, the increase in altitude overrides the gentle terrain. Initially, I move quicker, though in moments I’ve adopted an even slower pace. We arrive at Stella just as the sun rises. We can see the moon and the sun at the same time. We take a quick photo at the sign and are off again.

There are so many people on the mountain. We can see them climbing from Barafu and see the camp below. I look at people and assess their color as we pass and wonder how we look. I adopt a new pace, step, step, lean on my trekking poles as I tripod like a COPD patient to decrease my work of breathing. Some people are being ushered down the mountain very quickly as their bodies cannot adjust to the altitude and they are in danger.

I don’t say much, though at one time I ask John why this is so difficult. He has no answer. I ask our Guide if he believes I will make it to Uhuru and he says I will. Later he checks me over closely and just in case there is doubt, I tell him I’m fine. We continue.

We see some of our group coming down. We all hug and they wish us well. They tell us we are very close. This is so emotional, I start to cry thinking of what it took to get here. I think of my daughters, grandson and our unborn grandchild and hope that this example will have them searching for adventure in their lives. This emotion proves too much and I struggle to breathe again. Soon I can see the sign and am emotional again.

I think of being a young girl and learning to spell this mountains name as we studied about this dormant volcano so many years ago. I share this with Godwin and he is interested and surprised to know that we study this mountain.

There are so many people at the sign. There is much pushing and shoving and jostling for position. Godwin takes us to the front of the line. He shouts at someone, they shout back and soon we are standing at the front of the line getting our photo taken in front of the sign that has been my work computer wallpaper for the last year. I cry again. We get our photo taken in front of the glacier. I smile for the pictures but do not feel elated, relieved or euphoric with this accomplishment. This would come days and weeks later.

Godwin tells us we must do three things before descending. We must put on sunglasses, sunscreen and eat something. I comply with the first two requests but cannot eat We begin the climb down. It’s easier though still a struggle. We walk faster with fewer breaks but my breathing remains difficult.

Soon we see the rest of our group making their way to the top. We stop to hug and let them know they are close. This is very emotional as we know that all who attempted the summit from our group will make it to Uhuru.

We stop at Stella and Gilman again to take photos with better light. I dread coming down from Gilman and having to negotiate the boulders again. Soon we.arrive and they are as difficult as I remember and in full light no easier. In fact I can now see the possibility of a break or sprain is quite real and I wish for darkness.

We can see Kibo in the distance and it seems so close, yet perspective only makes it thus. We continue our descent. I continue to take breaks to contend with my ragged breathing and our pace is slow. We reach scree and are told to ski down on our heels to speed the climb down. We do, it’s fun but tiring too. Soon I just want to walk again but do enjoy descending quicker. As we get closer to camp we are brought cold juice on the mountain and the taste is heaven. I’ve drank very little as I’ve not had my pack with me. The juice is exactly what is needed.

We arrive at noon and after chatting with some of our group I crawl into our tent for sleep. It’s hot inside and sleep is disjointed. Soon it’s time for lunch. I’m not interested but arrive for lunch and pick at the food. I’m not alone as all of our group has some effect of altitude sickness. It was not easy for anyone. I go back to our tent and rest some more. We are not done for the day. In just a few short hours we would begin hiking again. For now I lay in the tent and rest. We pack our bags and then line up to hike to our final destination and our camp for the night, Horombo.

We start and gradually fall into a rhythm. We do not stop for any breaks. I sip my water and ignore the nausea. I take Gravol and Advil and continue. Soon a teammate passes in a stretcher. She assures us she is fine and that the Guides want her to arrive before dark. She is raced across the rocky landscape.

We are amazed at the scenery and cactus like trees. It does seem as though we have been hiking forever. As we stumble into Horombo under a cloak of darkness, navigating our way through rocky terrain with boulders, we calculate we have hiked 23 hours since our start at third camp yesterday. We find our tent, I unroll my sleeping bag and crawl in. It’s heaven to rest my legs.

Soon we are called for dinner. The thought of dinner makes me more nauseous. John goes and I hide out and pretend I’m not home when the Guides come to our tent twice to let us know dinner is served. I fall into a deep sleep, too tired to dig through my bag. My body demands sleep and I know it’s not in my duffle.
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Climbing Kilimanjaro Day Three

We wake, I’m still not convinced I slept. I shake John gently and we wish each other a happy anniversary. How amazing to spend our seventh wedding anniversary on Mount Kilimanjaro with Porters, Guides and 25 of our new, best friends.

We get dressed, though this is now a struggle as I dig through my bag to find an item, set it aside and then start digging through my bag for the same item again. It’s frustrating but I’m aware enough to know that this new wrinkle is related to the altitude and my lower oxygen saturations. After much time, I make my way to the dining tent to save a seat for John while John takes our water bladders to the Porters to be filled.

Throughout the day our group makes this day special for us, by well wishes, charades, balloon flowers, special napkins and taking our pictures so many times. I am certain our seventh anniversary will be very difficult to top.

The hike today is steeper. The terrain is grassy but at times its difficult as we scramble over boulders. As we reach our destination, of third cave camp, the vegetation ends. Our elevation is now at 12,700 feet. We spend the day at third camp and I’m content to rest. Later we go on a acclimatization hike. At times during this hike, it is very difficult and I channel strong people in my life to get me through the tough sections.

Dinner tonight is potato soup, very tasty and filling. Soon it’s time for bed and I spend the final minutes digging through my bag for something that I can’t quite remember. The day ends much like it began

I sleep most of the night and awaken in the early morning with nausea, headache, diarrhea and a full bladder

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Day Two Kilimanjaro

Altitude is a factor today, hiking a little more difficult. Polepole (Swahili for slowly) makes sense today and is so important it’s said every time we are passed by a Porter . I’m grateful for the slower pace as we trudge up the mountain single file. We can see the mountain daily and still it seems surreal.

The Porters pass us carrying our camp on their heads and backs. Greetings of Jambo! (Swahili for Hello) begin our morning as they dart past us, hurrying to get to our next camp.

Later, I see the Porters in the far distance and try to only look at the ground as they are so far away. Looking up only serves to remind me of how far we need to hike and I grow weary with the knowledge.

We stop for breaks, getting started again is difficult, but the break from the backpack is heaven even for a short time.

We arrive at Campsite two and our camp is already set up by the Porters who rushed ahead. The Porters are at the stream filling containers with water for drinking and washing. Soon popcorn and tea are served and we munch and savour this treat that would scarcely pique our interest at home.

We dine on a lunch of chicken, fries and vegetables. My appetite is huge and I wonder how many extra pounds I will carry up the mountain. I hesitate for a moment, then fill my plate with a second helping.

Later we climb to a higher altitude to acclimatize. Once we arrive at the higher destination , we scramble happily to higher points of land to take photos, check out the view, or simply because we can. We return to camp to await our dinner. We are eating constantly yet I’m hungry again.

Dinner always begins with soup. We are told tonight’s soup is carrot and ginger, so tasty. Meat stew and potatoes round out the meal. It’s simple fare but very appetizing. We sip on tea, instant coffee or Milo after dinner and chat. After dinner we prepare for bed and retire to our respective tents. It’s cold and dark at night, there is no campfire and thus no reason to linger

We crawl into our sleeping bags and try to find comfort. I can hear the Porter and Guides. It always seems as though they are yelling at one another but know it’s just the language. My bladder demands attention due to a side effect of Diamox, which is taken to combat altitude sickness. I’m cold in my bag and I keep adding layers. I awake in pain, and shift to find a more comfortable position and ensure I’m laying on the mat that separates my body from the mountain”s rocky surface. As a result, sleep is disjointed and seemingly in moments, morning arrives and I wonder if I’ve slept at all?

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