Kilimanjaro
Kilimanjaro.
On January 8, 2020 I arrived at the Kilimanjaro International Airport a little weary from travelling from Austin, Texas. I would be taking the 8-day Lemosho Route through 5 climate zones to the top at 19,341 feet (The Rooftop of Africa and considered to be the easiest of the seven great summits created by three volcanic dormant cones).
I had never done anything like this before and spent nine months in physical training, researching the best gear, getting all the necessary paperwork and shots to enter the country of Tanzania in Africa. After all this prep imagine my shock to find out that KLM Air left ALL my gear in Amsterdam and I would have to wait DAYS to get it when my hike started the VERY. NEXT. DAY. To say I was in a panic might be an understatement.
Why did I decide to hike Kilimanjaro? Was it a reaction to a latent fear surfacing that my life had fallen flat or irrelevant? What was motivating me to seek out this high adventure? Was it really necessary to make this event part of the story that I told myself about who I was? Well, apparently so. But, did it really boil down to hearing from a new acquaintance that she had recently climbed Kilimanjaro, then hearing someone else mention Kili in a conversation, and a third person. And I noticed other symbols pointing to this idea of Kilimanjaro all of this occurring in the same week! It was as if I was being profiled through some Facebook algorithm. I had to take it seriously and imagine myself doing this. In Living An Examined Life: Wisdom For The Second Half Of The Journey by James Hollis (that I carried with me up the mountain) he states, “The powers of the unconscious cannot be underestimated. The more conscious we become the more we become aware of unconscious influences working upon our daily choices.”
The more people I told that I was going to climb Kilimanjaro, the more committed to the decision I became. I like what Jung says, “Whatever is denied within us will likely come to us as fate.” I felt this was the making of a true summons to greater awareness and I hoped my attunement to this journey, this mountain, and the people I encountered would show me what my life needed to experience. The day came when I took the leap and booked the tour, then the flights, then the passport, and the wheels were in motion. I was in motion! Nothing was going to stop the inertia of this trip, including being without gear.
I felt completely vulnerable. After an emotionally charged start to the trip, I met with Omari, the guide, who was so helpful in putting my mind at ease and gathering the basic gear that I would need to ascend. I was incredibly shocked to realize that maybe I didn’t need as much gear as I had thought (lol—if you know me this is no great surprise that I tend to over pack) and as long as I didn’t mind smelling for a few days. Perhaps I am adapting in my survival mode. I quieted my thoughts of fear that had consumed me and opted to focus on what I could accept about the situation and then hoped my body might then become more regulated and drop into a quieter place, too.
So, I started the first days of the trek in the clothes I had on from the airport. Luckily, I had read that it would be a good idea to wear my hiking boots and carry my daypack on board! I was adapting like a boss. Hesitantly I was assured by Omari that all would be well and we were off, a crew of porters, a cook, two guides, 2 German brothers in their 20s, and me. Although I knew I would have to constantly manage some habituated patterns of self judgment surfacing, I actively chose to shift away from doubts and fixations of not having equipment to being more optimistic and channeling excitement for starting this climb…in the rain—lol.
“Footprints in the sands of time are not made by sitting down.”— A Liberian saying.
Such a beautiful region of the world—Sunflowers grown for oil, heaps of carrots, mounds of potatoes, densely forests of trees harvested for lumber, coffee fields—just a luscious, green gorgeous landscape! I caught myself in the fantasy of living in houses that we drove past on the way to the trailhead and what life might be like to live here so close to the agricultural centers of towns, or in the jungle region or even in the strange beauty of the ever changing climatic zones as we climbed up the side of the mountain. I wanted to know more about the mythology and stories of the region and found a few notable things online.
Kilimanjaro (translates loosely to Mountain of Whiteness or Shining Mountain) is a lonely solitary mountain that local people suggest it was a product of supernatural activity. Local legends of mountain dwarves called Wakonyingo living in caves beneath Kili’s slopes are said to prey on those bringing negative spirits to the mountain. Chagga mythology refers to an evil spirit, “The Njaro” that is said to live in the mountain and the reason why caravans and climbers fail to summit. The Chagga traditional faith was based around the belief in a god called Ruwa, a tolerant deity who may have set men free from some sort of incarceration. The Chagga people believed their ancestors could influence events on Earth and possibly that the summit of Kilimanjaro was in some way connected with the afterlife.
As the days progressed, I was constantly reminded that I came from sea level and breathing was challenging. At times I dreaded that I would need to be carried down on one of those stretchers with an oxygen tank, but I got a lot of coaching and honed in on my breathing as a way to decrease my anxiety and negative thoughts that Kilimanjaro was my connection to the afterlife (that I might soon confront). Geez! Self-deprecating thoughts were really showing up in my consciousness. My body seemed to be in complete revolt against what I was putting it through. My corporeal being was really cueing up every defense strategy possible to get me to cease and desist all activity with this idea summiting. There were a few psychosomatic triggers and also what seems like supernatural events that will need unpacking at some point as the air got thinner and fatigue set in. At one point, I felt as if lightning had struck between my shoulder blades calling up past traumas that I had been carrying for decades. This lasted for a whole day of the hike then subsided kinda miraculously.
In one strange occurrence while totally relaxed, I felt as if a huge (other worldly) energy current surged through my spine and up my back into my arms as I lay down on the side of the mountain! And then there was (wow) the omnipotent dark, power that unleashed the night we began the summit of Kilimanjaro that was unlike anything I have ever encountered! It was a night of pain, as if I was weighted down, burdened with death or even annihilation.
I had to stay fortified. I realized how I chose to show up depends on me. I would take it one step at a time, setting micro goals for myself—literally 6”-8” between each stride—not the next campsite or next hill—the very next footstep. My gear arrived via porter on Day 4. Needless to say, I had to send him back down the mountain with about half of what I had brought. In that transition with my gear, I realized that I had been confronting this climb with a complete lack of confidence in myself. Every time I looked up, I’d get overwhelmed with the task in front of me. I could not stay with the idea of the “whole task” as that was too much to take in. I had to focus on becoming more present, mindful with my body’s movement and breathing. To confront Barranco Wall and that 3-hour vertical climb at 12, 795 feet was like flooding my body with an impenetrable humiliation. I had to shelve this. And, I chose to keep a single-mindedness of watching everywhere Omari planted his feet. It turned into a game, and slowly, in the rainy cold, I made it up that WALL!
I reflected on Hollis’ interpretation of Rilke’s poem, “Once I have been in the presence of the large, the timeless, the imaginatively bold, I can no longer be at peace with my own small purchase on life. It’s time to change—and in these moments of desperation the world gets in my face…forcing me to show up. Something is shifting inside. I cannot remain bound by fear, convention, or adaptation.” I have choices and I can let go of this self-imposed framework and “embrace” (as a matter of survival) this rite of passage. All of these evolutions of humanity must address survival. If my two biggest threats are fear and lethargy (as Jung and Hollis suggest) then I most certainly have spent more energy on managing fear through unreflective compliance and avoidance than any other value. I cannot choose to sleep my life away, drowning in distractions and never “awaken to the summons of the soul that resounds within each of us.” So, I wrote in my journal, I will make peace with my choice to do this and will watch how this mountain changes me.
The lessons poured in and I am humbled to tears realizing a big lesson for me is to let people help me. Take the support when it is offered. Letting my guide, Omari, take my pack was facing the part of me echoing weakness. I had to face this distress. And, in moments when I felt like I could not go on, I would glance down and see a rock shaped like a heart. I noticed these rocks were everywhere and showed up the entire length of the Lemosho trail. I have long associated these rocks as a symbol and a gentle reminder of the people in my life who have supported me (and continue to support me). And I definitely needed a reminder that I had people that were rooting for me the succeed. I was truly, spiritually, psychically not alone.
“If a man wishes to be sure of the road he’s traveling on, then he must close his eyes and travel in the dark.” --LaNoche Oscura del Alma
At 11pm we gathered to make our ascent. Terror. A difficult trial must be faced. I have never been so petrified at the thought that I could die doing this. The blowing sleet was cutting my face. About one hour into the switch backs I could feel myself getting increasingly sick! I experienced intense pressure in my gut and nausea. I had to immediately take myself off the path to relieve myself. To my horror it was diarrhea. I had to cut off my underwear that I had soiled and then pull off the trail several times, ugh, fending off how disgusted with myself. Although super embarrassing to admit this happened, it undoubtedly gives you an idea of the disturbance in my system and the depths to which I was experiencing—this dark night. I imagined that I might have just brushed up against my own death. Seriously. I was dehydrated, weak and my breathing was labored. I was afraid that I had altitude sickness (a reason that 50% of people fail who attempt this ascent). I fixed on the idea that I was physically, I mean literally shedding that which was weighing me down—I figuratively had to let go of all this shit—lol. I had to tell Omari what I was dealing with and we decided to split off from the rest of our hiking party and climb, just the two of us, at a much slower pace. At this point, I had to trust Omari’s experience and guidance. He demonstrated the sympathy and the encouragement I needed to deal with what was going on with me physically, mentally and emotionally. This struggle continued for fucking hours!!!
In a surreal shift of landscape, an amazing sunrise burst onto the trail as we got to the first goal—Stella Peak. It was a harsh, cold icy wind with gusts up to 30-40 mph and the sounds were like white noise broken up only by the crunch of crampons in the snow and gasping for air. But then, the clouds rolled out a white glistening carpet beneath me as the sun shone through the peaks of neighboring mountains. In that moment as Omari and I summited Uhuru Peak at 8am and we were the only two people at 19,341 feet—The Rooftop of Africa.
To reach the summit of Kilimanjaro was in many ways beyond words. I was confused by my weak yet energized state and I stood there in reverent silence as the sound of the high winds that roared. This was not a moment experienced in chronological time. It was a magnificent, divine expansion of time shrouded in a mystery that summoned the raw power of the earthen ice mountain below me. What I was experiencing felt…holy…sacred. It was as if I had a direct, intense communication with a Higher Power of a realm that I had not previously known existed. I was so incredibly humbled and expressed prayer and gratefulness to the Mountain for my passage. I felt transformed. Oddly, my sickness subsided and we started back down the trail.
Although the descent was initially a rocky unstable shale surface I was surprisingly not completely fatigued. To the contrary, I felt expansive. I had capacity. I felt an increased connection with others around me. I felt free; and in Swahili, uhuru means freedom. I had just climbed my way up to Uhuru. My Uhuru. And, maybe that’s one of the lessons unfolding for me post-trip. Freedom.
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what this world needs are people who have come alive.” Howard Thurman
References:
Hollis, J. (2018). Living an examined life: Wisdom for the second half of the journey. Sounds True.