Kill-A-Woman-Jaro

Alternate Title: My Dad's Idea of a Vacation

Day 1
Am impressed with state of alive-ness. Would recommend m&ms to any future climbers. Saw white-tailed colobus monkeys with haunting faces. Am already cold. Spent at least 5 minutes gushing about the reviving powers of ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) to dad. He must already think I'm off my rocker. I may terribly jinx things by saying so, but it looks like I may be more comfortable and well-fed and lazy on this climb than in daily village life. We only walk at granny-pace for a couple hours and then laze around in tents eating popcorn and tea. It's awesome. Our trail is called Rongai and I'm impatiently awaiting an opportunity to use the punchline, "You've got the Rong-gai!"

Day 2
POPCORN, AVOCADO, ORANGE, POTATO-CARROT-PEPPER BISQUE, LEEK SOUP, TOMATO-TALAPA RICE, TEA, TOAST...

Ramson is our awesome guide who isn't even sketchy to me. He said he guided 2 women before the US election who angrily said Obama will most certainly not win. We asked where they were from and while he was struggling to remember, I suggested, "Texas?" Correct. We explained people can be stupid. He said they were not very nice. We explained people who are stupid are often racist. We were disappointed to hear that they both made it to the summit.

Other conversation ranged from: education, Muslims (who are not well-liked here! I'm trying to be quick in reporting how AWESOME my Souree family is), tree-grafting, farm subsidation, unmarried people, crops, economies...

We're apparently doing decently. We passed a girl today who had to go back down and call an ambulance.. Hatari! (Danger)

Day 3
Woke up full of snot but with a great view of the snowcaps to compensate. Got chips AND popcorn AND the most awesome fried banana AND pancakes! WHAT IS GOING ON?! WHERE AM I? The men (everyone else) sang spirituals.

In the middle of the night, I starting shaking with laughter... I was remembering baba yangu (my dad) ask about toilet paper. He's an avid student of the ways of African wiping. He's impressively open about it considering the first time he heard about it was from me a few days ago. He keeps asking me to explain again, but I appreciate his efforts and willingness to adapt. We realized they probably did carry t.p. for us though, so he went to ask. Awkwardly. "So, do you have the, uh, toilet paper... or do you just do the, uh, you know, with the water?" (mimed wiping butt as befuddled guides and porters stared on.) He repeated it a couple times before looking to me for help (as I was holding in giggles). In that moment with all helpless and confused eyes on me, after we'd all just watched my dad stutter about water and wiggle his fingers around his rear end... I has a decision to make. What I really wanted to do was tell my dad I'd made the whole thing up and that's why they didn't understand. Can you imagine? Instead I took the lamer route and said clearly, "Toilet paper or water?" And the guy said, "Ah, you want toilet paper!" and gave us some.

(Apologies to my dad for including this...)

People I know of Who've climbed Kilimanjaro:
Dana: my friend, but also an insane fitness type. Runs every day, IN SENEGAL. Is otherwise intelligent. Said when she reached the summit, she sat down, cried, and thought she would die. Also that she'd love to do it again...
Emily: Smoker. Said it was a mountain of diarrhea and to bring imodium. When she returned, she had long-lasting lung problems
Kevin: Former marine
Mandy: A better version of myself, but also comparatively normal
Family of Cindy's friend: My mum tried to comfort me with the tale of how this Whole Family made it up, Quote: "And they're not in any GREAT shape... well... they do all have their own personal trainers, but..."
Obese Woman in Girly Magazine: Fulfilled her lifelong dream of losing enough weight to climb to the top. I wish she were the only person I knew about. I think of her often. I would send her flowers if I could.

Day 4
Passed a gravesite, and dad left. His heart didn't take to the altitude well, and there was no reason to risk it, and every reason not to. So I have his warm jacket, headlamp, energy "gu", and half an empty tent. And a midnight wake-up call to embark on the final stretch to the top of Kilimanjaro.

Day 5
I will never come back to Kilimanjaro.
It was epicly gorgeous. The sun rose over a whole half of the earth as if I were watching from a space ship. The glaciers were too massive to be real. Snow, valleys, mountains, world beyond. Amazing. Too bad I was rather distracted by the difficulty I found in living to appreciate it all even half as much as it deserved.
It snowed in the night-- a foot that covered the tent I had to myself. I didn't sleep a wink before I was summoned at midnight. We ended up leaving 20 Minutes late but somehow I channeled my Herculean side on the way up and passed everyone else. So we were the first to reach the crater edge with still over an hour before sunrise. Without a moon, it was pitch black except for the strings of headlamps below that crawled like snakes of pearl or broken Christmas lights. Then the stars came our and I was encouraged to see a meteor while Ramson turned snow yellow. He kept complimenting my speed. Then I couldn't breathe.
I guess there's a height which just flips my acclimatization switch. One minute I was singing, "Hakuna Matata" in my head and the enxt I felt like the grim reaper was slow dancing wiht me. A lot of it must have been mental-- once I stopped blocking out every thought that wasn't "One foot, Next foot, breathe, Hakuna Matata...", I unintentionally gave myself free reign to freak out. I suddenly realized I was light-headed, dizzy, exhausted, and colder than I've ever been in my life. I had hand-warmers that are not supposed to go directly on your skin because they could burn you-- and I couldn't even feel them! I thought they didn't work until several hours later once I'd descended to warmer weather. It was good I had my dad's jacket, but I remember thinking there could never be enough clothes to combat this.
This is when I started hating Ramson. More specifically, I wanted to stab my ski pole through his torso. I could tell he'd been bragging to the other guides as we passed them about my speed. At the time it fed my ego, but I was starting to realize this was not what I wanted from a guide. He was sure I wanted to get to the Uhuru sign like all his other clients, get the proof-picture, and then give him a big tip. Actually, I honestly just wanted to makle a beline for the nearest bed. Instead I wimpered weak protests as he dragged me. Then I couldn't keep my eyes open. The sign was apparently on the other side of Africa. Every time he revised his description of its location (see that light? there. no, just beyond that bend... no, past those rocks), my grip tightened on my ski pole. I would have cried if I weren't so tired.
Seeing the sun rise over such a massive curve of the horizen, past mountains, cities, countries-- is something I'll never forget. The glaciers can't be described, even by photo. It truly was the most spectacular set of views anyone could ever see without drugs. Still, I was panicked about never being able to walk my body away from the scene to give it all my awe. The rest of life is more beautiful than any mountain top.
My guide seemed to disagree. When my battaries died and he couldn't take my photo, he refused to leave until someone else gave us their batteries. I allowed the crazy search at first so I could rest. But once I realized he had no intention of letting me leave-- even after we fought-- I worried. I accepted a Dutch couples' offer to take and email me my photo. I hope they don't. I could not look worse that I must have in that photo. I can't emphasize this enough. I honestly wouldn't be surprised to see it on some joke bad-picture website instead of in my inbox.
Ramson was still not happy that I didn't have my own copy of the famous photo that gets him more tip money. When I yelled at him a final time to let it go and get me off this blasted mountain, he took off in a huff. Now I wasn't exactly missing his company, but I still didn't appreciate that this speck in the distance had all my water, food, belongings, and was supposed to be keeping me from plummeting to my death. I was already tripping over my own two feet even when I did have my eyes open. Luckily, he seemed to get over his tantrum before the crater. Then he went back to yelling at me to go faster. (This was actually necessary for my own health to get to a lower altitude.)
As we descended in a frighteningly fast straight slide down, breathing returned to my repetoire of autonomy. The dragged-by-elbow-tripping-over-rocks-miraculously-not-twisting-ankle method has claimed my legs' and knees' lives for the time being, but we made it. (I lost Dana's bracelet in the snow around this point, but this appeals to her poetic sense. I just miss my pretty bracelet.)
I am never coming back here.
We met up with my dad on the Merangue route. I struggled to explain to him that maybe his way was better. Although I have a certain sense of accomplishment and bragging rights, the climb really wasn't fun-- especially without company (Ramson doesn't count). I know he's disappointed, but even scenes of suns that rise like dreams-- aren't worth a heart attack. I'm disturbed by the importance people put into reaching the summit. The annual deaths, the more plentiful ambulences, the tears, the gravesites... Why are we so obsessed with reaching signs that seem to say, "I came as close to dying without dying to reach this sign!" Thumbs up, christmas card, gift shop tee-shirt... It's sick, really.
As I was putting myself through it, I thought about all the pain I've put myself through this year. I decided pain that gives people mosquito nets or tells a girl that she can go farther= worth it. Pain for fame/ a bad photograph= not worth it.

Day 6
Life is beautiful again. The way down was a beautiful walk at the end of which was beer. In beer, as in life, I'd recommend "Safari" over "Kilimanjaro."
I smell awful.