Six Days to the Roof of Africa and Back: The Final Week
Well, the time has come and this chapter has drawn to a close. In a golden-tinged afternoon sky I flew away the afternoon of December 16, breathing in the hot, airport afternoon air in sunburnt and snot-crusted nostrils, remembering all those months ago how it felt to step out into this new air. I am sad and exhausted, and mostly excited to return to the cold, clean, musty world of home in December.
But first, a massive adventure, in fact an adventure the size of the tallest free-standing mountain in the world, and the tallest in Africa. How’s that for a trip-ender?!
The trip really started when Tiger arrived, after missing his flight in Ethiopia, the evening of December 8. I surprised him at the airport and read my book beside him while he caught up on jetlag in the taxi, then excitedly escorted him through the household, making him meet all of the important players of the semester before he’d even caught his breath. In hindsight, I deeply over-booked these last two days, completely unaware of how deeply bereft I would be to say goodbye to my friends, and how deeply engaged I’d be in my final hours with them. Probably someone who has ever seen me make friends ever could have predicted this, but oh well. Tiger, and then Maddie, were hugely troopers.
The 9th was a day of mostly logistics, packing up at the office, more people for Tiger to meet, Maddie joining us from Senegal, and a four-hour farewell dinner in a loud tent during a thunderstorm that also made me extremely ready to leave this always-late country. That evening was jampacked, with friends from other accommodations coming to play games in a birthday-decorations-filled house, many connections made across time zones and jet lag, and an overall lovely last night. The night ended in the best kind of way, with a few of us stretched across a couch in the wee hours trading songs. I cried a lot.
The 10th went in a similar fashion, with everyone slated to leave that day. I woke up early, after too-few hours of sleep, to see off the boys, and then got back in bed to cry. I feel so blessed to have made such incredible friends. I feel so blessed to feel all of my emotions so deeply– but it’s hard sometimes. The rest of the day was filled with more goodbyes, a delicious last lunch at Mumbai Spice, a briefing meeting for Kili, and a lot more tears with the backdrop of a huge rainstorm unlike any I’d seen in Arusha. More signs that it is indeed time to go.
Later we returned to Korona House, the first place we ever stayed in Tanzania, a bittersweet full-circle moment to say the least. We ordered pizza and did pre-hike yoga on the balcony, and I told the assembled friends, new and old, that I’d be myself the next day.
The night of the 10th I went to bed feeling distraught, sad and a little bit sick, wanting more than anything to be getting on a plane home and feeling massive amounts of guilt for inviting my loved ones to Tanzania only to spend their first two days crying about other people. Neil called unexpectedly as I closed my eyes with the news that he hadn’t actually had a ticket for his flight so he was turning around and crashing with us for the night. I closed my eyes and prayed that the tickle in my throat was from days of crying and not the beginning of an infection.
I woke up on the 11th downright sick. It felt like my earlier strep infection, except with more pressure behind my sinuses and more congestion. Slightly panicking, I texted our guide and asked if we could stop at a pharmacy on the way to the mountain. Panic assuaged with his affirmative reply, I joined our friends for breakfast and climbed back into bed while Tiger ferried bags downstairs.
After an hour of idling and dilly-dallying in the sun, everyone exuding a nervous and excited energy while I mostly just wanted to go back to bed, we headed out. It was not the most awe-inspiring way to start a journey, jostling around in the back corner of a bus while I tried to find the most comfortable position for my achy head. Unlike my other sickness-filled transportation days in this country, however, I had a Tiger to lie down on and a Maddie to listen to while I sweated out my illness, two things that made the day far easier. After a first dose of antibiotics and a several-hour-long nap, I got out of the bus almost prepared for the day.
And thus began day one.
Day One: Marangu Gate → Mandara Hut (11km)
We arrived at the base of the mountain around 1pm. After the classic Tanzanian Flexible Time dilly-dallying, including re-packing bags, registering for the climb, eating lunch, and other preparations, we started the hike at 4pm. In a light rain, after taking the first set of many group photos, we set out from Marangu gate.
The unofficial motto of a Kilimanjaro hike is “pole pole”, meaning “slowly”, which is repeated by each and every guide many, many times a day. The key to acclimating well is to head uphill slowly, which translates to a pace slower than I’ve certainly ever walked before. At first, Tiger, Maddie, and I decided it was “novel” to move so slowly, but it quickly got pretty old. Additionally, because the pace is so slow, we knew immediately that we wouldn’t make it to the first site before dark.
The hike took about four hours in total, and we arrived a bit after 8. It was a bit of a slog, moving upwards through the jungle with lots of slick rocks and sections of mud, but not difficult hiking in the least. We ascended about 1000 meters that first hike, and I was downright exhausted by the time we pulled into camp.
All of the huts were actually larger complexes, with a registration hut, a dining hut, bathrooms that varied between a standalone several-stall hut to outhouses, and a collection of a-frames and bigger cabins. Each night we stayed three or four to a four-bed cabin with two bunk beds, sparse but comfortable.
Our crew was eleven people strong: me, Maddie, and Tiger, my dear friend Sam and her Aussie friend Zac, Mainer Olivia and her friend Isadora, and lovely classmates Catie and Grace along with their dads, Joe and Scott. Altogether we made a unique but chipper crew, with fun dinnertime conversations and a nice mix-and-match chatting approach during the hiking days. Because our hiking days were slow and long, we had plenty of time to get to know each other and play word games.
That first night, after a traditional Tanzanian dinner of chips and chicken, I passed out early in a cabin with Tiger and Maddie, grateful to be on the move and once again promising a more upbeat performance the next day.
Day Two: Mandara Hut → Horombo Hut (12 km)
Day two started out clear and beautiful, showing off the lush jungle backyard behind the cabins. I woke up feeling much better (thank you once again Tanzanian antibiotics!!) and we headed out after a breakfast of tea, eggs, crepe-like chapati, toast, and warm porridge.
The second day’s hike was similar in length to the first, but this time the landscape varied through three of the distinct ecosystems on Kili’s slopes. This is one of the unique aspects of this hike, that the surrounding environment changes from jungle to scrubby heath to alpine desert to the summit snowcap.
On the second day, we quickly left the jungle behind and entered the heath area, a beautiful scrubby region characterized by rolling hills as far as the eye could see. It kind of felt like we could be anywhere, like southern Chile or the hills of Scotland. One thing that is so amazing about Kili is that it doesn’t at all feel like one mountain because it’s so, so huge. Instead, ascending kind of feels like walking up one hill, and then up another one each day, especially with the varying landscapes.
Our pace remained glacial on day two, with no signs yet of difficulty with the altitude. This day was characterized by more rain and some wind, with quick layering and delayering before and after every break. Spirits were far higher for me on this day, as I was feeling like myself and excited to be getting in the rhythm of the hike.
We arrived at Horombo in the early afternoon. Among the many things my friends who hiked Kili in October told me was the fact that Horombo was their favorite and the most beautiful of the huts, with a stunning drop off revealing either a view of Moshi Town far below or the most stunning cloud coverage wrapping around the camp. When we arrived, we were in a bank of fog, which obscured both views but gave the impression of being within a ping-pong ball, the way people describe fog on glaciers.
By evening, the fog had dropped, and we were treated to the most spectacular sunset I have probably ever seen, an incredible collection of dark-outlined clouds in front of ill-defined pink smudges, golden sun peeking through and illuminating the cabins. We also got our first view of Uhuru Peak, our summit destination, which had until then been obscured by the fog and rain. Above us also loomed Mawenzi Peak, shorter but even more stunning, with dark tall spires coated in snow. Uhuru Peak looks like its own mountain, short and wide, covered with a menacing snowcap that looked particularly foreboding from where we stood. Looking up at this mountain all semester, it had always seemed impossible that I’d ever stand at the top of it– even now, after having flown by it on my way out of the country, I can’t really believe that I’ve been there. But that’s skipping ahead a bit.
At this hut we first started to feel some impacts of altitude, mostly in the form of feeling out of breath when walking up the short hill from the mess hut to our cabins. I had a minor headache which didn’t really subside until we got down the mountain, but mostly I was genuinely excited to be cold for the first time in months. As Tiger remarked, “you and Maddie were realllly quick to put your snow pants on”, which I guess is what happens when you place Mainers in sub-equatorial Africa for four months and then present them with a cold mountain.
During the afternoon of day two, we mostly lounged, drank tea, ate popcorn, and played cards. Maddie had downloaded some episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race, and we all piled into our cabin, piled under snowpants and sleeping bags, and watched, seven of us crammed onto two bunks. It felt fun to watch something so silly and detached from our cold, dirty existence, and to laugh all together.
That evening we ate dinner and called it early yet again, a theme for our time on the mountain.
Day Three: Acclimatization Day
Day three was the big turning point in our experience, and the thing that separated it from my friends’ time on the mountain, when they hiked it in five days. On this day we got to sleep in, which most of us neglected in favor of watching a breathtaking sunrise and sitting outside in the first sunshine of the trip. I woke up for the sunrise, went back to bed, and then sat before breakfast journaling and listening to music on a rock by the edge of the drop-off. It was delightful.
Our hike on the docket was a short one, to a point only a bit higher than where we were staying, up to a spot called Zebra Rocks, named for the distinctive black-and-white striped color of this particular ledge. Our goal was just to feel good while we ascended, spend a bit of time at a slightly higher altitude, and head back to base for a restful afternoon.
On the hike I felt genuinely ecstatic to be there, and so glad to be tackling this challenge alongside my friends. This was in contrast to how I felt physically, which was admittedly so-so. I mostly felt quick to get out of breath, and like I could acutely feel my blood pounding in my head. Nevertheless, I felt grateful for the stunning views, the excellent company, and the feeling that we were really getting into this big challenge.
At the top, we hung out by the beautiful rocks, took many more pictures, and drank lots and lots of water. The hike down was much easier, of course, and as we headed back the weather turned again, with more fog and rain ascending up the mountain to meet us.
When we got back, we had a fun ceremony to meet our guides and porters, complete with lots of singing in Swahili and dancing in the middle of a circle. As with many things here, the whole endeavor of work is often very playful and joy-filled, and this was no exception.
After lunch we had a total down afternoon, filled with more RuPaul, journaling, and reading. We spent a lot of time talking about home during the trek, especially with 5/11 of us being from Maine and those of us at the end of our semesters being thrilled to talk about getting home. For a bit this afternoon, Tiger, Maddie, and I listened to Noah Kahan and descended into our own little worlds of journaling and making art. It was a peaceful moment and an afternoon I didn’t really want to end.
After dinner, we once again called it a night, knowing that the real challenge would start the following day.
Day Four: Horombo Hut → Kibo Hut (10 km)
From here, the separation of days gets tricky, with sleep coming in short, random shifts and the days very much blending together. In the morning we were up at our regular time, ate breakfast and headed up the mountain. I was most excited about this day of hiking, which had a similar amount of elevation gain but would have us going through the Saddle, a section of alpine desert directly between the two peaks. I had seen many pictures of the Saddle before, which are notable because they look like pictures of people approaching a lone mountain from a long way off, but is actually located at around 14,000 feet and represents a sub-summit plateau. We had some of our best views yet during this hike, and we stopped plenty of times to take pictures. In this section we could see the trail ahead for miles, with tiny ants of people winding their way closer to the peak ahead of us. Suddenly, the summit started to feel far more real and close at hand, even though it still looked like this imposing behemoth in front of us. We also knew our summit attempt would be starting that night at midnight, a sobering realization that hit us increasingly as we worked our way closer.
The end of this hike was when things started to turn for me. I was really feeling the elevation, and I felt tired and out-of-breath as we approached Kibo Hut. The last stretch was nearly straight uphill, and it was the first time I truly felt the difficulty of hiking at altitude. I coined my mantra for the summit hike (saying “brave” when I stepped with my right foot and “strong” with my left) and practiced staying under control when I felt overwhelmed. Eventually one of the guides took my day pack and I hobbled up to the hut, wondering how the hell I was going to make it another 2000 meters to the summit.
We arrived around two, and the tone of the trek pretty quickly got serious and summit-focused. We checked into our cabin, which this time was a 12-person bunk room with a dining table in the center and no room to move around whatsoever, and were instructed to try to sleep as much as we could that afternoon. I felt quite horrible at this point, and I was shaking in my bunk and felt like I would never warm up. I had a headache that flared every time I moved, and my pulse was pounding in my ears. My fingers and toes kept falling asleep from lack of circulation, and I was too cold to get out of my sleeping bag to fix it. It was a tough few hours, and the worst I felt all trip. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make the summit push that night, and mostly wanted to be anywhere else, feeling better.
At around 6:30 I woke up from my fitful rest for dinner. My friends had warned me about this dinner, plain, mushy spaghetti that would be much harder to get down than it would be to throw up the next morning. Instead of eating that, I sat for a long while staring at my Liquid IV, soup, and a few mouthfuls of spaghetti on a plate while everyone else went outside to admire the moon. Eventually our guides came in to talk us through the summit push, but everyone else was still outside, so I sat for a bit alone, feeling like a chastised kid as seven adult men watched me watch my plate. It was very silly.
Eventually we did talk through the next morning and I felt myself getting excited for the summit. Our plan was to go to sleep again until 11, wake up, eat breakfast, and start the hike at midnight, with the goal of making it up around sunrise. Our guides asked us to wait to ask about how close we were until sunrise, a reasonable request given how grueling a night we were in for. The energy of the room shifted again as everyone got into packing mode and settled in for a few more hours of sleep.
Each night, our guides tested our oxygen and heart rate to make sure everyone was acclimating well. This night when they tested me my oxygen was 67%, a group low and almost too low for a summit attempt, which was worrying. Part of the summit plan was to have those of us doing the worst (me, Sam, and the dads) in the front, setting the pace and receiving the most help along the way. I felt not an ounce of shattered pride when I received this information, and mostly relieved that I was being seen in this tough moment. I choked down a Cliff bar before laying out all of my summit clothes within my sleeping bag and went back to sleep, full of electrolytes and ibuprofen for my pounding headache.
Day Five: Kibo Hut → Summit → Kibo Hut → Horombo Hut (20 km total)
At 11 I woke up chockful of “let’s fucking go” energy. I felt an internal hum propelling me through the process of layering up, choking down another Cliff bar, and drinking as much water as I could. I actually love the feeling of being awake at an abnormal time to do something hard, and this was no exception. By midnight we were gathered outside in a ring of headlamps, doing our final checks and reminders, and receiving a prayer from our guides.
A quick note on our guides for this experience. They were absolutely wonderful, and we would have gotten nowhere without them. Especially on summit day, a delightful man named Philbert carried my pack for me, and every time we stopped he handed me my water bottle, opened it so I didn’t have to take my gloves off, and generally doted on me at every step. Throughout the trip we loved hanging out and chatting with our guides, especially in a last chance to really use our Swahili, and they were all thoughtful, sweet, and so clearly looking out for us every step of the way. I cannot say enough about how amazing they were.
The summit hike took this general shape: a slow ascent to the base of a tall, very-steep slope, the slope itself, which was split into a switchback section and a rock scrambling section, and then a ridge walk across to the summit. I knew from my friends who hiked in October that the rock scrambling section was the hardest, and that if we could make it to the ridge, to a point called Gilman’s Point, that we would make it to the top.
The journey from the hut to Gillman’s was, without a doubt, the hardest physical task I have ever attempted in my life. I felt practically drunk with exhaustion and altitude, stumbling and teetering with most steps, moving exceptionally slowly but unable to move any faster, and needing tons of breaks. I was placed first in line behind our head guide, and I knew the only way I’d make it through the grueling first portion of the attempt was if I locked in and zoned out the rest of the world. I put headphones in an hour in, and from there I was completely alone, with the sound of head guide Elli singing and praying a murmur beneath my music and dumb movie podcast, which made a huge difference in my ability to get up that mountain. Being distracted and emotionally far away from my feet helped a ton through what was not some life-changing spiritual experience but was just absolutely grueling and very repetitive.
At no point during those long, slogging six hours did I think I wouldn’t make it, and in only a couple of moments did I get anything close to overwhelmed about the task ahead. Instead, it really and truly felt like I just needed to take the next step, and the next step, and the next one. A couple of times looking up to the top of the ridge near daybreak I did think “holy shit this is going to take forever”, but never once did I think “I’m not gonna make it up there”.
As we hiked the sun rose behind us, a thin red line at the horizon many miles in the distance. In the foreground sat Mawenzi Peak, the shorter of Kili’s two peaks and far more stunning, jagged and snow-capped. At daybreak I realized we were standing above it, which felt like an amazing feat given how tall it had seemed only the day before. The sight of the sunrise behind me was one of the most stunning of my life, and I thought then and there “if this is the most beautiful thing I see today, that’s okay”. That helped with the hard moments going up, too–I never felt any pressure to make it, or like I’d be disappointing myself if I wanted to stop. Instead I just kept moving upwards, and I just kept making progress. The song I listened to on loop on the hike up, Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain, will always make me smile and think of this view.
Eventually, eventually we clambered our way to the ridge, after I almost fell backwards and body-slammed Sam off the mountain multiple times. At Gillman’s Point we all threw ourselves to the ground for a much needed break. As lots of people fell apart around me, projectile vomiting and trying to stomach ginger tea, I could not keep my eyes open, and kept nodding off where I sat. That was one of the most surreal moments of the entire trip, in which I knew that, if left to my own devices, I would have fallen asleep and never woken up right then and there. I was exhausted, bone-tired and deeply unexcited for what was to come.
Looking back, it is incredible what a solo bubble I was in for the entire summit push. As others threw up and took breaks and had their packs taken off their backs behind me, I forged ahead slowly but surely, head down, completely unaware of what was going on around me. At one point during the ridge portion, I walked over an actively vomiting Olivia and thought nothing of it. To some extent, it made me understand how guides and seasoned hikers lose their ability to tackle dangerous situations at elevation. I was so solely focused on my well-being, on getting to the top and, most importantly, getting back down so I could stop feeling like shit, that I could not be bothered to check in on or care about anyone else. Brutal, but true.
After our terrible rest at Gillman’s (“the most beautiful place I’ve ever hated”), we were told we needed to keep it moving. It was around 6 at this point, and we could see the summit, a semi-circle of mountain peaks away, with plenty of false summits between us and there. It reminded me of standing at Pamola Peak and gazing over at Baxter Peak on Katahdin, with Knife’s Edge between you and the summit. Instead of Knife’s Edge, though, we had a snowy path to contend with, which weaved closer to and away from the edge of the ridge overlooking the large bowl to our right. I found this part boring and kind of dicey, as there were sections where we slipped and slid along packed snow very close to huge drop-offs. The view was absolutely breathtaking, all snow and jagged edges and far vistas and huge ice fields. The sun was bright and high in the sky (so bright, in fact, that it gave me without a doubt the worst sunburn of my life, which made my face hurt to the touch for days, my nose blister, my lips impossible to eat through, and all of my face skin peel off not once but twice over the course of the following week. It was absolutely heinous, and I will never forget my sunscreen for snowy environments ever again), and what should have been an hour of euphoria and easy trekking was still absolutely miserable.
Although the hiking had leveled out to a pretty flat trudge, we were all completely gassed, the air was inconceivably thin, and every 200 meters or so, someone would throw themselves to the ground to curl into the fetal position, and the rest of us would follow suit. It drove our guides crazy, and they would give us a minute countdown and then shout “number one number two number three!” until me, Sam, and Joe heaved ourselves to a standing position and continued our zombie march ahead. Sam had taken my role as the leader, and at some point I realized I could match Sam’s pace for seven or eight steps and then pause for the same amount of time without Joe catching up to me, so I did that for a bit, equal time walking and waiting, trying to appreciate the view, wishing it all to be over.
After two hours that passed in this manner, with the added sting of people on their way down passing us and lying about the distance to the summit–“just ten more minutes!! You got this!!”--which I also vowed to never ever do again. Eventually, two hours after we reached Gillman’s, we had made it to the slight crest of a hill and sign signifying that we were, in fact, standing on the roof of Africa. Rather than rejoice, or hug the sign, or reflect on how incredible it was that we had made it, I plopped into the snow facing away from the sign and demanded water. For the entire summit push I was thirsty in a way I have never experienced, needing water desperately but made extremely nauseous with every swallow (foreshadowing for later). By the summit I was desperate to quench my thirst, but didn’t want to drink my ice cold water, and didn’t want the stomach-turning consequences. After a few moments of bleary-eyed seated rest, we took many pictures, including my favorite, in which I held up a “Happy 21st Birthday” sign for dear Ryan, who was enjoying his birthday in Zanzibar. I look shockingly happy in all the pictures, bundled up in my bright colors, earbuds dangling out the side of my scarf, beginnings of the horrible sunburn reflected on my nose, but in truth I was nothing but anxious about the descent.
It’s crazy to say that I didn’t have a “holy shit we did it!” moment at the highest elevation I will certainly ever stand at, but really and truly my thoughts were full of nothing but basic needs, fear for the next part, and a vague sadness that I couldn’t see Arusha from the summit. The view was beautiful, no doubt, with Moshi Town below us and the Saddle and Mawenzi to our left, and I did have some vague inkling that I had done something really hard, plus pride that our entire group had made it, which was in no way a guarantee and quite against the odds. Looking back, I’m glad I took a ton of pictures, and I am obviously thrilled that I made it. But it was a weird moment, no doubt. In hindsight, I have much more pride about this moment and this accomplishment, and consider the weirdness of the moment a funny piece of the story, rather than a regret in any way. We did it, and that’s what matters.
My October hiking friends were right about nearly everything they told me about Kili, except for the advice that it was all downhill as soon as the descent began. I dreaded the descent given how long the ascent took us, and it indeed continued to be hard. After more slipping and sliding across the ridge, which took us maybe a half-hour shorter than going the other way, we stopped again at Gillman’s. I remember at this point feeling anxious about how tired I was and how much more there was to go, and when one of the guides offered for us to start heading down, I jumped at the chance, cutting my break short.
The beginning of the descent below Gillman’s was hard and quite scary, with us reverse-scrambling with gravity on our side, which always feels like a recipe for disaster and potential tumbling. On tired legs we took our time, and continued to take more breaks than we needed to. After the scrambling we learned about the running/skiing hack, in which we could glide downwards through the loose scree and dirt, avoiding the long switchbacks. This technique was helpful but hard on our tired legs, and we continued to stop a lot. Eventually I went into full shutdown mode, and spent the last two hours or so of the descent in silence and disbelief that I hadn’t made it yet. I made it back to the hut around 11am, with others filing in before and after. The most unbelievable feature of this whole ordeal was that we didn’t get to stop there–we needed to descend back to Horombo by dinner time in order to avoid further altitude sickness and get to the gate on time the next day. The last thing I wanted to do was walk more, and I was bereft to walk into Kibo knowing that the day was not even close to over.
Our head guide gave us a choice to rest there or descend immediately, with the orders that those feeling altitude sick should head down right then. The rest of us were given time to pack and rest before lunch, but should by no means fall asleep, which can speed along altitude sickness and lead to pretty scary outcomes. Following Tiger’s lead, and disregarding this advice, I lay down for a ten-minute nap. Upon waking up I knew instantly that something was terribly wrong, and started shouting “Olivia, I need a cup urgently! Cup! Urgently!”. Olivia understandably responded “A cup? Urgently?” and then I vomited into my hands and all over my stuff. After being handed a cup I threw up a bit more and immediately started cleaning up my stuff, thinking the worst had passed and it was a blip. January repeated that we all needed to head down ASAP, and I worked on packing up and moving slowly.
After lunch, which I watched from my top bunk and did not partake in, we shouldered our packs and headed out of Kibo Hut, a place that will forever and always be cursed in my mind. As soon as I hit sunlight I vomited again, all over the side of the building. Philbert took my pack again and I filed in behind the pack, ready to pull over if need be. The hike to Horombo was faster than the way up but not that much more pleasant, with lots of dry heaving from me at the top of every slight incline and a general sense of quiet fatigue falling over the group.
We made it by 5pm or so, and after a wonderful bucket shower-ish on our back porch gazing up at Mawenzi, we ate an early last dinner. I barely picked at my food, mostly thrilled it was my last Tanzanian dinner and still feeling incredibly nauseous. We did our usual affirmations and remarked on how quickly the trip had passed. At one point, another of the guides asked me how my day had been. “Bad”, I said without thinking, considering I was bone-tired and felt like shit. “Really? Because you came here with a goal, and today you reached that goal. So wasn’t that a pretty good day?”, he responded. I had to hand it to him, it was such a classic Tanzanian rebuke to the American desire to complain. He was right, we had done something remarkable that day, and for that reason alone it had to be a darn good day.
We passed out at 8pm that night, with a 4am wake up on the horizon and the distinct desire to get the hell off the mountain. And yeah, plenty of pride that we had stood on the roof of Africa and lived to tell the tale.
Day Six: Horombo Hut → Marangu Gate (20 km)
The last day started early, at 4am, with a final pack up and breakfast. I felt insanely out of sorts from the early morning, the deep yet unsatisfying sleep, and the knowledge that a good number of miles and potentially-failed logistical hurdles still stood between me and my plane home.
We ate a final breakfast huddled in the dining hut at 5am, and around 5:30 we took off, just as the sun started to peak over the horizon. It was a beautiful sendoff to my last day in-country, lit-from-below clouds, both peaks behind us, the moon fat and gray between them. The hike down was muddy but easy, full of fun chatter and the sense that we had really gotten away with something.
As we descended, the going got easier, the views got greener, and the temperature got hotter, such that I was sweating by the last few miles in the jungle. Maddie, Tiger, and I gossiped for most of the trek down, which made the time fly.
Miraculously, we got back to the gate around 11:30am and were greeted by our guides and porters singing. We took more pictures, were given sweet necklaces, and went through some procedural sign-out tasks. At this point I had a one-track-mind for getting home, and was doing everything in my power to get out of there. I repacked my checked bag in a field next to the parking lot at the gate, which was horridly stressful, and then ate an almost-full meal of fries before we headed off. I was too drained to feel the correct amount of sad about this last round of goodbyes, and even on the drive to the airport I felt that something had shifted, that as sad as I was to be saying goodbye to this set of views and experiences, it was time to go home.
I’m glad I stayed the extra six days for the hike, and beyond grateful that two of my most loved people in the world came to hike it with me. Would I make the same choice again? Absolutely. Would I ever hike this mountain a second time? Absolutely not. I’m grateful for the challenges, the silly stories, the views, and the sense of accomplishment. Thanks Kili- you made a great send-off before I headed home for familiar and new shores alike. And for the last time (for now), asante sana kwa kila kitu, Tanzania.
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