Simbas and Bananas

They wake us at 11:00, four hours after we have fellen asleep; its time to go. We are told not to carry too much water despite the grueling nine hour hike that lies before our weary feet; -25 degree celcius is too cold to stop for bathroom breaks. We walk single file, without talking. Rests are infrequent and short. Any stumble or disagreeable sound merits a steely glare from our leaders who percieve all in the darkness; they need us healhty for the severly arduous climb. Sounds like slaves being led through cruel living condisionts, doesn't it? I can't believe I actually paid for this, I keep thinking.
I've never quite understood mountain climbing. Life is about the journey, not the destination, right? Well, I was lured to the snowy faces of the 5900 meter behemouth lovingly referred to simply as "Kili". Mt. Kilimanjaro rarely peeks out from behind the shrouding clouds, which, considering its size and influence on the country around it, seems impossible. A mile away, you'd never know it was there on a cloudy day. The Uhuru summit peak is actually a few hundred meters higher than Everests' Base Camp, a fact revelaled to me at the foot of the mountain. Shit, I think.
Climbing 5900 meters brings us through three vastly different ecosystems. We hike from the Marangu gate to the Mandara huts which sits at 2700 meters goes through steamy rainforest. Mandara to Horombo huts at 3700 meters leads us through a desert climate. The last trail to the Kibo huts at 470o meters before the Uhuru peak is a misty lunar landscape that brings one to contemplate, rather uncomfortably, that if nature fails to survive at these heights, what deludes us in to expecting that we can?
So, I think we can all agree that oxygen is pretty rad, right? Not having it SUCKS. Our bodies function properly with an oxygen-blood count of somwhere over 100-- most people " at altitude", that being over 3000 meters, have to cope with a count of around 40. Easing your body into an oxygen poor atmosphere must be done very carefully, so we practically crawled up the moutain. Cold molasses moves faster than we did. I would never expect that physical exhaustion wouldn't take place on a five day hike up a mountain, but by the last day, my muscles were barely sore. The trump card lies, of course, with the height. Common ailments, simple activities and everyday conversation are steeped in altitude sickness. If you don't pee every five minutes, you are not drinking enough water and are subsequently suffering fgrom sever dehydration. A common headache is a sign that your brain lacks enough oxygen to function on a basic level. Quick bursts of pathetically small amount of energy, i.e. turning over in your sleep, putting on your socks or taking a gulp of water require huge gasps in order to replace lost air.
On the final sday when we woke from our midnight trek to catch the sunrise at the summit, I was a pack-a-day smoker breathing through a long thin straw, stumbling and swaying like a hungover drunk with ski poles; the patented Kili shuffle. Thank god for those walking sticks, though. Mre than once I was bent over with my forehead resting on the handles , arms dangling and posts splayed like a narcoleptic deer passed out on his own antlers.
Thought process at this point are either left foot, right foot, left foot... or absurdities to take your mind off the chalenging hours that lie ahead. I took the seond approach. I struggled through the alphabet in spanish, though this took ages on account of sever disorientation. Then I tried naming actors whose first and last name began with the same letter for each letter in the alphabet. The alphabet seemed like a nicely methodical thing to focus on.
Each hiker necessitates five helpers-- Two porters that charge up the mountain with about 25 kgs on their head, zooming past us without so much as breaking a sweat. One cook that is clearly trained in pushing energy-saturated foods at us; obscene mountains of bread, potatoes, rice and pasta (carbs equal energy, you know), foods loaded with water like oranges and watermelon to sneak our water intake up to five liters a day and just enough salt to allow our bodies to absorb the exhorbent amounts of water and render all food completely tastless, yet strangely satisfying. Our guide Joseph and his assistant Good Luck monitored our food intake like we were training sumo wrestlers or healing anorexia patients.
When I did finally reach the summit with Josephine the Irish and Sonja the German ( hi girls!) yet not beating Saint Vinnie and Puffy Orange ( hello our friendly SA representatives) after passing people being rushed down to safer altitudes on wheeled contraptions or even piggybacked by virulent guides, I felt truly empowered. I was capable to doing anything, I was invincible! I had conquered the highest peak in Africa, despite dangerouldy low amounts of oxygen, walking alongside people who had achieved much higher mountains. I laughed and danced, and then I sat and cried, trying to catch my breath from the dancing.