The snows of Kilimanjaro: report of an ascension to the roof of Africa - part II

Day 5: Thursday, Feb 13

Hakuna matata

It is difficult to sleep after 6 am, I am awaken by swahili voices and rumors inside tents around. When our waiter Godlisten comes to wake us up, like every morning, "Hello, wake up time!", "Hello, hot water!", "Hello, breakfast is ready!", he finds us already struggling to pack the gear. Today, before departing, we have group picture with all the team, and the porters sing with us the Kilimanjaro song. Hakuna matana, no worries.

We cross the small stream in the bottom of the Barranco and stare at the Wall in all its splendor, still in the shadow, with the morning sunlight glowing over the top. We quickly realize that, when climbing the wall, the hardest thing is the tremendous traffic jam of people, like a human anthill. Overweight American ladies crawl up rocky stairs with unusual agility, hi-tech equipped Germans frown impatiently, porters balance burdens dangerously on the edge of the cliff, guides try not to lose their group, and there is a human hubbub that I would never expect to find in a remote lava cliff, in the depths of Africa!

The flattened top allows us to rest while observing the curious plumes of cloud rising along the surface of Kibo, like smoke signs from a Sioux tribe.

For Karanga Hut we have to cross two valleys: the first one, desolated, arid, windswept, volcanic ash ploughed by torrents; the second, deep and humid, crossed by a river, its slopes covered with tropical plants. At 2pm we have lunch at our destination: unexpected freshly fried chips, chicken, pineapple and watermelon. Thank you, Godliving! Freddie has showed me Stella Point, high above on the top of Kibo, the point where we will reach the crater. I hope the name is auspicious.

In the evening, I follow Alex to the top of the camp. The moon has risen from the side of Mawenzi peak. From the top of a big boulder, we overlook the whole camp, small lights moving, ghostly figures inside tents, laughter, someone singing. Far below the tiny lights of Moshi shimmer in the dark, reminding us that we are sitting on the top of a colossus. And behind us, Kibo veils, shining its snows at the moonlight.

Tonight, the mountain is the whole world; all life is here, in this pristine air, so close to the stars.

Altitude: 3965m - 4043m

Time: 4h30 (9:00 – 13:30)

Day 6: Friday, Feb 14

Barafu Hut, almost there...

The trail to Barafu (ice, in Swahili) is not difficult. Our acclimatization to high mountain is done and we climb today to base-camp, before the summit assault. The morning is cold and grey, we climb amongst boulders, some crowned with rocks, like nipples. We walk silently in a desert, dry landscape, but in the air there is an excitement of what's coming, with the growing confidence that it will be possible. We are in good health, no signs of mountain sickness, Kibo awaits us.

Barafu Hut looks like a refugee camp, unbalancing itself on the top of a sloping cliff, an inhabitable, miserable place. In truth, it is like a revolving door, always changing: when we arrive, at 11am, our tents are still being installed, but there are still many tents that belong to mountaineers that are now coming down from the summit, resting for a bit before proceeding to Mweka. The camp is agitated by those arriving and those departing. Some come livid, carried down by the shoulders, leaving us slightly worried, while others have shining eyes, despite the weariness. I talk to a Spanish guy from Madrid, "how cold, arriba", and how was it, "that, you must see for yourself!".

In the afternoon, lunch, preparations for the summit, how many layers to wear, what kind of gloves, where are the spare batteries, will my Camelback freeze? It is difficult to get some rest before the night, which will be very short.

Godlisten calls us for dinner ate 5.30pm, it is still day. Later, Constantine and Freddie pay us a visit for the final briefing.  Our guide looks more formal, quiet as usually, and tells us that we are fit to get to the summit and all will be well.

Outside, the clouds open and, at moonlight, Mawenzi appears, the third brother, a peak with terrible sharp teeth shedding snow, the remains of an imposing volcanic cone shattered by erosion. At the magic light of dusk, even Barafu seems now like a more human, less miserable place.

Altitude: 4043m - 4640m

Time: 2h50 (8:10 – 11:00)

Day 7: Saturday, Feb 15

Uhuru Peak, the roof of Africa

I couldn't use much of the four hours we had for sleeping. At midnight we leave the sleeping-bags, check the gear for the last time, anxiously swallow some biscuits with hot tea in the tent.

The night is clear, with a bright moonlight, 4ºC. A long line of tiny lights is already moving silently on the ridge just above us. We start the climb, pole pole, one step at a time. The first stony cliff is more abrupt and leaves me breathless, with a slight headache; then, 200 m above, we cross another small camp sheltered on a platform - Kossovo. After this, we start the grueling long zigzag that winds up the mountain, about which I had read dozens of times.

We walk in silence, focused, making short stops every hour. Everything sleeps, the only sounds are our steps on the gravel and a deep, rhythmic breathing. Yet the night is dazzling, the snow shining in the moonlight, clouds dancing deep bellow us. I turn my headlight off and let the night be my guide.

The temperature drops below zero. To the east, cumulonimbi grow across Mawenzi, lightning strikes the air. The storm seems to hit right on the Marangu route, sparing us. Each step is arduous, it is necessary to firmly stick the walking poles in the volcanic ash to help us push forward. The last meters until the crater rim are tremendous, when icy strong winds suddenly blow between two glaciers, making balance on the steep slope a difficult task. This is Stella Point: we have reached the crater of Kibo, at 5670m. It is 6am, still totally dark, and it seems to me the most inhospitable place on earth. 

We now follow the rim of the crater, a soft ascent towards west and the highest point of Africa, Uhuru or “Freedom” Peak, as it was baptized after the independence of Tanzania. On our backs, a strip on light appears, tenuous at first, then orange, covering Mawenzi and extending to the horizon. Suddenly, everything changes, the wind dies, the shapes grow more Intense, white over black, amazingly limpid. We can now see the entire volcano top, the inner crater completely snowed and, at our left, with pink reflexes, the eternal icy fields.

We have forgotten the cold, Alex and I are excited as children, capturing every angle of this magnificent summit. We float above clouds, the sun has risen, there is the sign at the end of the ridge, people gathering, and the customary pictures. I find myself walking and laughing loudly, overflowing emotions of seven days of adventure. Behold the roof of Africa; it is 7h15am In Uhuru Peak, we are 5895 meters above sea level! There is hugging, the Portuguese flag unveiled, the challenge is accomplished. 

At 8 o’clock we need to go back. We have done only the first part of a very long day: there is still a tremendous gap of 2800 meters to descend!

Descent starts in Stella Point, by now a much more pleasant spot. The same slope, but now the volcanic gravel is loose, instable, slippery, putting enormous stress on the knees, the back complaining of the weight. I reach Barafu worn out, after 3 hours of tense descent (and yes, I also felt the ground on my butt!), but the sun is shining, white clouds ascending through the mountain, and a smile that does not fade…

One hour for rest and lunch in Barafu – it is impossible to find sleep, but I feel blessed to rest my legs in the tent. Godliving, the cook, takes good care feeding us, we surely needed it.

It is around 13h45 when we leave Barafu through Mweka Route. It is a descent-only route, direct to Mweka Camp, at 3100m. It is also a never-ending torture, first on a monotonous rocky deserted ridge, where we find along the way the one-wheeled carts used to evacuate casualties, at human-powered high speed down the mountain. At 4000m, life returns with the first Everlastings, green at last, but my knees cry of endless stone steps.

Mweka Hut is placed in a muddy cedar bush, with the usual turmoil and everything set waiting for us. The peak seems to have been so long ago.

Altitude: 4640m - 5895m - 3090m

Time: 16h50 (00:40 – 7:15 – 17:30)

  

Day 8: Sunday, Feb 16

Mweka Route

The millstone. When the camp noises wake me up at 6 am, my whole body aches from yesterday’s hardships. The route to Mweka is like a gigantic millstone: take the tired mountaineer, just returned from a climb to extreme altitude, with a 2-hour sleep, and then grind every bone, muscle and tendon in the thousands of meters of rock and mud that follow. The next day, you will obtain flour, my present feeling.

The rain pours in Mweka as we pack our gear. I wash my face in the rain, with warm water mixed with rain. Godliving sets our spirits up with the usual abundant breakfast, and as we start walking the rain has stopped. We slide on the muddy trail, carefully stepping on slippery rocks, as we get surpassed by running porters with their packs.

At 3000 meters, as on the way up, the first trees appear, with exact precision. Suddenly, we find ourselves in the rainforest, among vapours and oblique sunrays. It is the return to the primordial paradise, in absolute contrast with the vast deserts of High Mountain. We walk amid giants, like the aromatic camphor tree, whose barks are collected for their antibiotic properties and tiny, numerous flours, delicately blossoming in the green. Freddie shows us the Impatients kilimanjari, the most famous exotic endemism; farther down, Gladiolas watsonioides abound, simple and elegant. 

As the morning goes by and we progress our descent to Mweka Gate, the forest covers itself in mist, the trees like ghosts. At farewell, Kilimanjaro is again mysterious, shrouding himself in his cloaks and vanishing, like a dream.

I return to civilization in Mweka Gate, a clearing crowded with old buses, where the last signatures in the record book and made and guides struggle to get the certificates for those who, truly, were up there. Everything looks different, as seen from a distance, as if the mountain was grabbed to us indelibly.

Back in Springlands Hotel, we gather the whole crew in the garden with a cold beer (Kilimanjaro Lager, of course). It is time for tipping, but also for personally thanking each one of these men that climbed the mountain with us, carried our stuff, fed us, gave us shelter and took care of our safety, guiding us in the mysteries of Kibo. Constantine takes a solemn look as he expresses is happiness that we three had conquered the summit, but also his sadness for the time of separation.

The certificate, with his stately stamp and three signatures, confirms the 5895 meters. But, in truth, we have gone through many more inner distances, which we will always carry with us

Altitude: 3090m – 1647m

Time: 3h30 (8:00h – 11:30)

The snows of Kilimanjaro: epilogue

There is no good explanation to climb mountains. And yet, there is no mountain ever contemplated by man of which, someone, one day, had not said: “I will climb it”. Sir Edmund Hillary has put the matter in the simplest of ways, when asked why to climb a mountain: “…because it’s there”. Maybe Hemingway’s leopard, which carcass was in fact found and photographed in the 30’s, in a place now known as Leopard’s Point, had thought the same

Nevertheless, climbing Kilimanjaro is a necessarily transforming experience. Not only by the greatness of views, by the tremendous purity of the air, by the magical snows shining in the moonlight, by the volcanic violence, so recent, by the luxurious delicacy of its forests, by the cold silence of nights, by the static majesty of the summits, by the iridescence of light and clouds. Not only by the challenge, the quick, heavy breathing, the brutal heights, the fight between the elements and the torn, tired body, the aching muscles, the sweat droplets on the forehead, the dilated pupils, the accelerating heart, that knows not if it is because of hypoxia or of emotion. Not only for the people, the daily smiles on these men of the mountain and of the savannah, African joy carried in altitude, the dozens of languages heard at camps, the human fragility facing nature.

Climbing Kilimanjaro is all this, but it is also to open the eyes of within. Somewhere along these slopes are pieces of ourselves, and we need to go there to find them. Breathing these airs is also to breathe a sparkle of divinity inside of us.

Kilimanjaro: the numbers

Number of days: 8

Total distance: 72,3 Km

Total hours of trekking: 30:25

Average speed: 2,4 Km/h

Minimal altitude: 1647 m

Maximal altitude: 5895 m

Positive difference: 4752 m

Negative difference: 5917 m

Accumulated difference: 10669 m

Kilimanjaro: the people

Constantine Farajamo - Guide

Frederick - Assistant Guide

Godliving - Cook

Godlisten - porter / waiter

Eliakim - porter / "private officer"

Jackson - porter

Amed - porter

Jafet - porter

Martin - porter

Baraka - porter

Kombe - porter

Makii - porter

Daudi - porter

Julius - porter

Maiko - porter

John - porter

Alex - traveller

Sérgio - traveller

Pedro - traveller