Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
Proverbs 16:18:
I had every reason to be confident. I just summited one of the world's tallest mountains. Dominated it even. Altitude wasn't affecting me. I had plenty of gas in my tank and no injuries. All of my training and preparation was paying off. With the hardest part behind me everything from here is a formality.
At least that’s what I thought.
Instead, I was about to discover the cost of pride.
Punishment.
Descending Kilimanjaro’s peak begins innocently enough with a gentle decline down a hard path. Then the trail steepens dramatically…and disappears entirely. We’re left with bare mountain covered in dusty sand and unstable rocks. It's like walking down a sloped beach, but far worse.
Nothing has ever felt entirely safe on Kilimanjaro, but this is the first time I feel real danger. Every step becomes a game to intuitively calculate which sand pile to put a controlled amount of body weight onto. Choose well and proceed. Choose wrong and risk disaster. It’s physically and mentally exhausting.
Going down I lose every advantage I had going up. I'm too big to descend quickly. My knees throb on every step. I run out of breath unable to sustain my Super Ultra Breathing Technique. Compounding this are swirls of dust clogging my lungs kicked up by the many people passing me by. I can't even listen to music.
Brief lapses in focus result in frequent trips, falls and slides. I’m nimble and quick reflexed for my size, but I almost break a finger on one fall.
Pole Pole.
Having drank most of my water summitting I begin strict rationing. Dehydration begins. Temperature becomes a problem again, but this time for inverse reasons. The sun has turned villain. Even my toasty skin begins searing beneath it’s rays. A modest hat is all I have to protect me. I shed layer after layer, but I’m still roasting.
Thankfully, porters from Base Camp intercept us. They take our excess gear and resupply us with water. Unfortunately I am too large to be piggybacked down.
The group splits as some descend faster than others. I find myself too slow for the fast ones, and too fast for the slow ones. Only Alex, one of the intercepting porters, walks with me. I swallow my pride and accept a hiking pole. This time it helps.There's not much he can do other than encourage me and say Pole Pole, but his presence is comforting.
Base Camp appears in sight, but deceptively so. Each corner brings the promise of relief and instead delivers brutal new obstacle courses. Dust clouds clog my airways. Coughing replaces words. There’s no winning. My face cover blocks the dust, but overheats my breathing. I switch back and forth without relief. It seemed so recent that I was methodical, calm and confident. Now I’m franticly huffing and puffing my way down.
How the mighty fall.
Minutes feel like hours. Exhausted, demoralized, skin fried, feet throbbing, and dehydrated I eventually make it back to Base Camp. Before me unfolds a scene out of the Bible. Singing and chanting porters swarm me. They sit me down next to my friends, hand me fruit juice and free my feet from the prisons they've been locked in.
I cry tears of pain and relief. I try to speak, but muster only coughs. Yet, I'm euphoric. I just summited one of the highest mountains in the world, and now I'm back safe. The aches and pains feel worth it. Eventually, the others arrive for their biblical treatment.
It feels like an eternity since we first left Base Camp. We've gone nonstop from midnight to morning, yet it's not even the afternoon. We are not done. Far from it. Base Camp’s weather is too volatile for us to stay long. Searing heat and freezing wind flip flop by the minute. We need to descend to recover our oxygen levels.
We relax and decompress. Dani, freed from her pain cave, finds enough energy to entertain the porters with dance moves and acquired Swahili. We lunch, rehydrate and prepare for the last thing any of us wants to do - hike more.
Compared to what we just did, the trail away from Base Camp is relatively flat. But the constant decline continues to punish. We groan and grumble, but this time, we’re together. Much better than suffering alone. A cloud wall cools and shields us from the sun.
We pass by something we hadn't seen in a week - a truck. Somebody is hurt, Jonas says solemnly. That truck will take them down. Another reminder that, even now, nothing is guaranteed. We still have to make it off the mountain.
Pole Pole.
Despite the pain and exhaustion we make time to appreciate our surroundings. Trees gradually return. Our moonscape morphs into high dessert plains and then again to an alpine forest. The lazy flat decline becomes a steep rock trail requiring more concentration. Porters fly by with no concern for gravity.
Pole Pole for us, not for them.
Eventually...eventually...eventually....we make it to Mweka Camp, our final camp, as the sun begins to set. We're beyond tired. Never have we ever moved our bodies more in a single day. We're dirty. Camp is dusty. My mucous is black, and I cough more than I speak. But I don't care. We made it.
I make a feeble attempt at cleaning myself. It's not much, but a little feels like a lot here. I lie down in my tent. A thousand invisible hands clutch me with unbreakable grip. Nothing in this world can get me up.
Dinner? No? Are you ok? Jonas checks in. Yes, I'm ok Jonas. Just tired.
I close my eyes and teleport to another universe. Eternities pass. The next thing I know light is penetrating my tent. I hear birds chirping and porters laughing. It's morning. Never have I had such pure uninterrupted sleep of the dead. It's exactly what my body needs.
Soon we're all awake. Breakfast, our final meal on the mountain, comes. I feast, but fantasize about pizza and burgers. The porters buzz knowing what comes next - the tipping ceremony.
Jambo! Jambo Bwana!
The party begins. This one feels more high school graduation than pep rally. We made it. We did it together. In a week these strangers have become dear friends and allies. We celebrate our accomplishments and mourn our final moments together.
We sing and dance and sing and dance some more. We share parting words of gratitude and admiration. They don't understand most of what we're saying, but they sense how heartfelt it all is. Judging by the reactions, I suspect "bad motherfuckers" is the only phrase of mine they understand.
After, we hand each porter customary and well earned tips. It’s not much money to us, but it goes a long way for them. The collective gratitude is deep and mutual. We couldn't have done the most epic adventure of our lives without them. They wouldn't be going home with fat wallets without us. We thank each other profusely.
We may never see each other again, but somewhere in all of us the bonds will hold strong. Fun group! Chef Shuku and Jonas keep saying. Very fun group! I like it I love it!
As always, there’s more to go, we set off to close our final chapter. We pierce below the clouds from alpine forest to rainforest. We're exhausted, but we take it slow. It's too beautiful to rush. Moss covered trees canopy the trail. Sun soaks all and brightens the palate. Baboons howl. Rare toucans fly above. We savor every last minute on the mountain we've called home.
My office is beautiful, Mudi says, smiling as always.
Eventually...eventually...we make it to the bottom - the end of our journey.
Abdul greets us smiling. Somehow, of course, chubby cheeked Lauren is there waiting. We swarm her and resume her interrogation. My stomach rumbles and I rush to something I haven't seen in a week - a real and clean toilet.
I have so much to be grateful for. We all made it, even Lauren. We're safe and sound. Soon I’ll be cleansing myself in a hot shower, lying on a comfy bed with a fluffy pillow in an air conditioned room and eating and foods of my choosing. My anxious family will hear from me. Then I’ll be in the arms of my Penelope whose waited long for this Odysseus to return home.
Airplane mode! I remember Zach commanding at the beginning of this voyage. I understood why he wanted us to disconnect, or at least, I thought I did at the time.
I find myself hesitating to press the button that will resume reality’s matrix. I realize I had Zach's intention backwards. We weren’t here to disconnect from reality, but to commune with it. We were here to experience this alien world with our senses and souls and bond with those we love.
And we did.
Somewhere I feel something shifting deep inside me. I can't say what it is yet, but I suspect these reverberations will last long after I leave.
Goodbye Kilimanjaro. I’m leaving you, but know that you will never leave me.