Snows of Kilimanjaro: A tale of Pole Pole, while Cuche Cuche

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As Hemingway said of his piece, ‘I’m throwing all the truth on this one’.
It was somewhere between two and four in the morning, when my eyes started to go blank, and zigzag was the only direction my legs knew. I was conscious, but had started to lose control of my body. Congestion was problem bigger than altitude at that point, and we had started at 11:30 pm only to go up, always up.

My headlamp went off. Freaking batteries, no more spare ones. Zungu led the way, Shuvo was in front of me illuminating his path and mine, and Didas completed the group. Zungu’s real name is Tadeus, but his father had called him Zungu (“bald”, which he was) since he was a kid. He stopped singing (it was Silent Night in Swahili, I still remember) turned around and asked how I was doing.

“Not sure I’ll make it”. I wanted to give up, but I didn’t want to give up.
“We are close, you are going to make it”, he said. Just one more hour.

It was, of course, a lie. A lie I appreciated later.

The night before starting the Kili climb, I told Zungu that whatever happened, he shouldn’t let me fail. He kept his promise, big time.

Six warriors had left from Moshi to the Kilimanjaro National Park. Ther four Americans came together: Kyle, a.k.a the Mzungu Cacha (Crazy White Man); his brother Joel, another Washingtonian escaping the heated politics of old DC; Todd, the ‘most experienced’ among us, living, as Kyle, in the Middle East; and Simba, also known as Jake, probably the largest guy to ever climb Mount Kili.

Shuvo, the Indian Indy, and I, completed the group. The gringo team aimed to complete the task in six days. We decided to do it in seven, and would be grateful to have done so.

Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain that can be climbed without particular technical skills and equipment. Overall, only around 40% of those attempting the summit actually reach it. Our route, Machame, has the highest success rate, particularly if the climb is done in seven days.

The first five days of the climb, we went through many ecosystems, from rainy forest to rocky desert. We started at the park’s gate at 1,400 meters over sea level, to finally reach the summit at 5,895m.

Second night. Already very cold. And a big cold is what I got. Shivering the whole night. Lucky me, Shuvo is a walking pharmacy. Thanks buddy, I would have probably not made it without you.

Nights are as cold as beautiful. Never seen the Milky Way so clearly. Southern Cross, there you are, and is that the Big Dipper? Kyle still swears it was.

Third night, Barranco Camp. We are already over the clouds. Literally. It’s three in the morning, and I gotta pee, it’s the freaking Diamox torturing my bladder. But it worked, no complains. Clouds had dissipated, and under the clouds, a big surprise: the lights of Moshi, the town where we started, seemed a continuation, maybe a reflection of the sky lights above us. Jeez, it’s cold, but have to see this. Still sick, but the technical climb of that day to reach the top of Lava Tower made me feel good about my chances. It still hurts, after extending my not at all flexible being at that awful pass. But we made it. Todd starts to feel bad.

Fourth night is Karanga night. The group split in the afternoon. While Shuvo and I are sleeping, the rest of the guys are in the final ascent. Counting the way down to base camp, they would have hiked for 16 hours in a 24 hour period. We got a needed rest instead. Go away congestion, go away.

We reach base camp, the Ice Camp (Barafu in Swahili) by lunchtime. Less than twnty years ago, there was a glacier right by the camp. Damn you, global warming… The good gringos were still there, ready to start their final descent. Todd didn’t make it, altitude sickness took the best out of him. Kyle, Joel and Simba - sorry guys, nothing personal- looked like shit. But happy. Cuche cuche, that Swahili way to say tired but enjoying the journey, was all over their faces.

‘If I knew how it was going to be, I would have taken the extra day’, Kyle said.

We said goodbye to them, and prepared for the night. After an early dinner, we went to sleep 6:30 in the afternoon. It was already dark.

‘Shuvo, dude, we should prepare for the worst’
‘Like rain?’
‘Ice rain’
‘Wind’
‘Hurricanes’
‘Tornados’
‘Lava.’

We were crying out of laughter by then. Yeah, lava would be pretty bad, for sure. ‘At least it would light the way up’.

Eleven thirty. Let’s go Shuvo, let’s go. Zungu and Didas are ready. Didas is bringing a thermos with tea for the final stop before the summit, Stella Point. Zungu lays down the rules: Pole pole (slowly slowly). Two-minute breaks, the first after hour and a half.

The cold, the physical pain, the congestion, the altitude, the darkness. The right knee injury was a gift of the mountain. The left knee one I’ve had for a while. Four thirty in the morning. Didas was all along saying: Mario, don’t sleep. Zungu takes my backpack and Shuvo’s. Last push.

5:12 am. We reach Stella Point. The worst part is over. ‘One hour to Uhuru Peak’ Zungu announced. Tea felt heavenly then. The Danish couple, the Rasmussens, catch up with us. No time, nor breath, to chat. Long breaks are dangerous, you can freeze.

We keep walking. I have never felt this tired in my whole life. All of the sudden, the landscape changes. We are walking surrounded by ice and snow. Ice that seems like that of a freezer, ice that melts in the day and becomes compact by night. We are on the snows of Kilimanjaro. Not after death, as the character on the story, but right before, and just feel peace; pain, exhaustation and congestion finally go away. To my right, a glacier. To my left an even bigger one. It’s 6:05 am and the sun is coming out. Everything starts to shine. I see the sign, the end of the road, Uhuru Peak, the Facebook picture, the symbol of triumph. We witness the most beautiful sunrise ever. We all hug, we are here, we made it. The Rasmussen guy tells me: ‘You really get a feeling of achievement’. I see the horizon going from black, to red, to orange, to yellow. Tears fall down my face. I dreamt with this moment for a long time. ‘We leave in ten minutes’, Zungu declares. The ascent is so steep and fast that the risk of edema is high.

I get my Peru t-shirt out of the backpack and show it with pride. How many Peruvians have been here before? Maybe many, maybe a few, but in case I was the first one, I wanted to show off my red and white colors. Peru is at the roof of Africa, today, August 6, 2008.

The way down is not easier. First sight is a girl literally tied up to her guide, who is taking her to the summit. Another girl at Stella Point is asking her guide to take her down. I convinced her not to quit now.

‘You owe it to yourself, if you made it here.’ Hope she made it.

The way down, I repeat, is not easier. We ascended during the night because of the omnipresent scree on the way up frozen at night, making the climb ‘easier’. But not anymore. The scree is loose now, and it can be as fun as dangerous. I slide throught the scree. I trip with a big rock. I land ion an even bigger rock. Another concussion for the collection. Lucky me, I realized later, when we saw the Dutch guy evacuated because the slipped and went all the way down, breaking his leg. Or the New York guy that broke his foot on the crater border.

It is 10:20 in the morning ad we are back in the camp. We were extremely tired, but didn’t matter anymore. We made it. We climbed Kilimanjaro. And you get the impression that it is a feeling that will stay with you for life.

Call me cheesy, but that afternoon, on the way down, I thought that climbing Kili is like life itself. In pursuing your life goals, do it the Swahili way: ‘Pole pole, while cuche cuche’: one step a time, while enjoying the journey. And with a little help of new friends and even strangers along the way, everything is possible.

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