by Various Orca
Reluctantly I nodded my head. What choice did I have? It wasn’t like I could make the climb without him…or could I? Of course not.
“Remember, reaching the top is always optional. Coming back down is mandatory.” He got to his feet. “We will meet tomorrow morning in the lobby at six. I wish you a good sleep and good luck, because you will need both to reach the summit.” He paused and looked directly at me. “That and a good dose of humility.”
I nodded and then turned to walk back to my hotel to sleep and eat.
TWELVE
The truck twisted and turned, bumped and snaked, roared and fumed as it climbed up the dirt road that led to the start of the trek. Doris was up front with the driver and Elijah. Sarah and all the other porters had already gone ahead. Apparently they walked this section that we drove. In the back with me were the other three members of our party. They hadn’t just missed the pre-climb meeting, they’d almost missed the whole trip. Judging from the smell of alcohol that was coming off them and the fact that they’d either gone to sleep or passed out almost the instant they got in the truck, they’d probably been out partying all night.
In the few minutes they were awake, it was obvious that they wouldn’t have been much for conversation with me even if they were conscious. One of them spoke a little bit of English and the other two spoke none whatsoever. All I knew was their names—Tomas, Joki and Kaarl—and that they were Finnish. They were young and looked fit enough to be professional athletes. I figured there’d be four of us who made the summit. At least assuming that there were no bars on the way up the mountain.
Between the fumes—diesel from the engine of the truck and alcohol from my fellow passengers—and the bumps and swerves of the ride, I was starting to wonder if I could keep my breakfast down. Maybe it would have been better to walk instead of ride this section. If the porters could do it, I could do it.
The truck came to a stop and the diesel fumes subsided. With one hand on the side rail, I got up just as Mr. Odogo appeared and lowered the truck’s tailgate.
“We are here,” he said.
I grabbed my pack and jumped down as the other three woke up. Mr. Odogo started to talk to them and I walked away, around the side of the truck, and there it was: the mountain. It filled the entire horizon. It took my breath away. Brilliant green forest filled the foreground, giving way to the grays and browns and black rock, finally topped by white—the snows of Kilimanjaro.
It was so big and so tall that as I stood there looking at it, I wondered for the first time, Can I do this? Can I do what Grandpa asked me to do? I swallowed those questions. There was no room for doubt. I turned away from the mountain. I had one more thing to do before I started.
I walked away until I was by myself and then pulled the second letter out of my pocket. I was at the bottom of the mountain. It was time. I felt a sense of anticipation, wondering what he’d written. I started to open it and then stopped. I really did want to read it, but I realized that after this one there was only one more letter to read—one more private moment to share with him.
I took a deep breath and pulled the letter out.
Hello DJ,
You must be looking at the mountain. The first time I saw the mountain I was young—not as young as you, but certainly a young man. After all that I’d seen and lived through during the war, I didn’t think anything could inspire such awe in me. I couldn’t believe anything could be that massive and beautiful and peaceful. It stood there silently. The gleaming white top descended to grays and blacks, finally swallowed by the forest at its feet.
At almost 6,000 meters it is the tallest mountain on the continent, the roof of Africa, the highest freestanding mountain in the world. The name Kilimanjaro comes from two Swahili words—kilima, which means hill, and njaro, which means white or shining, for the snow on its peak. The local people, the Chagga, claim that when you stand at the summit you are between heaven and earth. I know all the facts. I just never made the summit. I swore that I would, but somehow life got in the way. There was never time when I was there because there seemed to be so much time, and then I left so suddenly and never had an opportunity to return. I used to tell myself that I had flown over it so many times that it was as if I’d climbed above it. That was nothing more than a not very clever way of rationalizing my failure. Today you set out on a mission to finally bring me to the top.
I can only imagine what you must be feeling. I think I know what I would be feeling—excitement, anticipation and a healthy dose of fear and doubt. Can I make it to the top? Will the mountain defeat me or will I manage to subdue it long enough to reach the summit? For you those thoughts may not exist or they may be even stronger. Don’t let the weight of my ashes—the weight of my last request—be too heavy for you to shoulder. You have to know that while my request is that you take my ashes to the summit, all I really need is for you to try. You have succeeded by simply trying. That’s all I can ask of you. Not that I don’t hope that you will reach the top. Not for me, but for you.
There is a saying—if you wish to travel fast, travel alone; if you wish to travel far, travel together. You are part of a group of climbers, supported by porters and led by a guide. Travel with them. That’s important for the climb and in life. Don’t leave people behind—not your mother, not your brother, not your cousins—on your life journey.
As you trek up the mountain, I want you to stop along the way, enjoy each step, each moment. Breathe in the air, savor the view, live in the moment. Move slowly, enjoy. Remember not to wish away the minute or the days between now and the goal you are seeking. When you look up, you’ll see climbers farther along the journey. When you look back you’ll see those behind you. Don’t pity those below or envy those above. Life is a journey and not a destination; each must take it at his own pace. I’m so happy to be sharing this last journey with you.
And most important, remember how much I love you.
Grandpa.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I said under my breath. “And don’t worry, I’ll get you to the top.”
I folded the letter and carefully placed it back in the envelope and then put the envelope into my pack, right between the letter I’d already opened and the one that remained. It was time to try.
THIRTEEN
Sarah and the other porters were dividing up the things they were going to be carrying. She was so different from all the other porters. Not just female and younger, but smaller. If only I’d known what her request meant, I would never have agreed. Aside from the flack from Mr. Odogo, could she actually do this?
I walked over and watched the porters talk. Really, talk wasn’t the right word. They were arguing. I thought they were fighting about who should carry what and Sarah was at the center of the argument. She seemed to be giving as good as she was getting. Finally the arguing stopped. Sarah and the other porters gathered up their things and packed their duffels and lifted up their loads.
My second porter—I wish I could remember his name—lifted a gigantic load onto his back.
“Thanks for helping to carry my things,” I said to him.
He grunted, turned away and started up the hill, joining the line of porters.
“I guess he doesn’t understand English,” I said to Sarah.
“He understands you. He just doesn’t like you.”
“Why doesn’t he like me?”
“None of the porters like you.”
“But…but…why not? Did I do something to offend them?”
“Oh, yes, very much. They are very offended.”
“Tell them I didn’t mean to offend them. I’m really sorry and I’ll try to fix what I did wrong!”
“I know that you did not mean to offend them, but you cannot fix it now. It is done. You gave me your word.”
“You mean that this is all because I insisted that you come along?”
She nodded. “It is stupid but true. They do not like that I am the first female porter to climb the mountain.”
“Yo
u’re joking, right?”
“No. The first and the youngest as well. Usually even males do not become porters until they reach at least sixteen years of age.”
“I didn’t know that!” I protested. “I knew it was your first time, but I didn’t know you were the first female.”
“If I had told you, then you might not have agreed.”
“You tricked me.”
“I did no trick,” she said. “It is not my fault that you know so little.”
“Just tell them it isn’t really my fault—it’s yours. They should be mad at you.”
“They are mad at me. Nobody will be talking to me on this climb either. They hope I will fail. They hope we both fail.”
“That’s just stupid, especially the part about you being female and not being able to do the job. Where I come from, there’s no difference between males and females.”
She gave me a questioning look. “That must be very difficult…if there is no difference between males and females, how do you have babies?”
I felt myself blush. “No, we’re different…you know…we have different parts,” I stammered. “I just mean we’re the same.”
“Do you mean that your females are as big as you?” she exclaimed.
“No, no, not as big. I’m bigger than any female I know. It’s just…maybe I’m not explaining this very well.”
“You are definitely not explaining it well. What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean we’re equal…or we’re supposed to be equal. Women are as smart and capable as men.”
“Oh, those poor women, that is so sad for them.”
“Why is that sad?”
“Here, women are much smarter than men. It is sad that your women are only equal to men.”
“Very funny.”
“Not funny. It is a fact,” she said. “Here, women are superior.”
“If women are more capable, then why won’t they let women be porters?”
“We women usually use our heads and not our backs. I want to show them that I can use both. That is most threatening to them.”
“I guess that’s why you let them be in charge, so you don’t threaten their delicate egos,” I said sarcastically.
“That is exactly right. We women are so smart that we let the men think that they are the head. We women are the neck. We tell the head in which direction to look.”
I must have looked skeptical, because she said, “I do not really expect you to understand. After all, you are merely a male.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Yes, it is right. Let me try to explain,” Sarah said. “A little baby boy and little baby girl are born at the same time. The little girl will roll over first, sit up first, talk first and walk first. Eventually the boy will catch up—at about seventy years of age—and he will be so shocked he will die.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“No, of course not. You are too young. When you are about seventy you will understand. Of course then you will die. Now it is time to climb.”
I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t noticed that everybody else had started up the slope. Up ahead, the last of our party, Doris, was just making her way along the trail, and as I watched, she disappeared around a bend, hidden by the rainforest.
Sarah hefted the bag onto her shoulder.
“Let me help,” I said.
“No!” she said. “You may not help me.”
“But you’re carrying my stuff.”
“I am your porter. I am supposed to carry your things.”
“But I could help—”
“You cannot help. For two reasons. If you carried things, then the others would be right—a girl cannot be a porter. I must carry my share of things.”
“And the second reason?” I asked.
“You cannot carry your own things. You would never make it to the top carrying this much weight.”
“Look, Sarah, I’m twice as big as you and probably four times as strong and—”
“And I am Chagga. This is my heritage. This is what my people do. If I fail, or you fail because of me, there may never be female porters on the mountain. Not now and not for a long, long time, maybe never. I must carry the load and I must make the summit. We both must make the summit.”
“We will,” I said.
“Me, I am sure of,” she said. “You…I do not know. We shall see.”
She turned and started up the hill, chasing after our party. I pulled on my backpack and started after her. I wanted to catch up to continue our conversation, but she was moving quickly. I doubled my pace. At least I tried to double my pace. The mud on the ground was thick, and I was sinking in deeply with each step. Sarah, who was carrying more weight on her back but far less on her body, didn’t seem to be sinking nearly as deep. It was almost as if she was skimming over the ground while I was plowing through it. With each step I’d sink in and then have to work to pull out my foot as the mud tried to keep me in place. This wasn’t easy, and I could feel the strain, not only in my legs but also in my lungs.
Sarah continued to pull away, getting farther ahead of me with each step. I was, however, slowly catching up to Doris. The three Finns were farther ahead, almost out of sight, and moving quickly.
I changed my goal. It didn’t look like I was going to be able to catch Sarah, but I should be able to close the gap between me and Doris. Wow, that was my goal…to outwalk a senior citizen. A great way to succeed was to set the bar low enough, but this was aiming pretty low.
The path was a muddy rut, a little reddish-brown ribbon that sliced through the green rainforest that pressed in on both sides. It was so close, so dense, that it was almost suffocating. It felt like the forest was sucking the oxygen out of my lungs, which of course made no sense. Forests gave off oxygen. I couldn’t help but think about what might be hiding in the forest. Were there really leopards in there? My head started swiveling back and forth, side to side as well as up and down. The forest was now not just pressing in on both sides, but was starting to overhang the trail. If I were a leopard, that’s where I’d be, sitting up there, waiting to pounce.
I looked up the trail again. Doris had vanished. She’d gone over a little rise and disappeared. I was alone. If there was a leopard, it would just be me and it. I didn’t think I could outfight or outrun it. I wished I had something I could use as a weapon. I thought about my pack. I guess I could throw a roll of biodegradable toilet paper at it, or hit it with my walking stick. The best thing was not to be alone. I had to catch up to Doris. Not that she could protect me, but I figured that even if I couldn’t outrun a leopard, I could outrun a senior citizen.
What a terrible thing to think! I wouldn’t really abandon her if we were attacked, but still…being with somebody would make me feel better. I just had to—
There was a crash above my head, and I jumped to the side. It was a little monkey, leaping from one branch to another. It stared down at me. It looked like it was smirking. I was being laughed at by a monkey. I guessed that was better than being dined on by a leopard.
I dug in a little deeper, straining up the little hill and over the top. Doris was there, just in front of me, doubled over! She’d collapsed! I rushed over, only to find her sitting on the ground, camera in hand, taking a picture of one of the little flowers that littered the floor of the forest.
“I love flowers,” she said.
“Yeah, they’re nice.”
“I think as you get older you learn more and more to stop and smell the flowers…and take pictures of them.”
“My grandfather loved flowers.”
“Loved…past tense,” she said. “Your grandfather died?”
“A little while ago.”
“And you’re here now?” she questioned. Instantly she looked sorry for asking. “I understand. It’s hard when plans have been made and it’s impossible to rearrange things. I’m sure your grandfather wouldn’t have wanted you to miss this.”
“I’m h
ere because of him.”
“He arranged your trip?” she asked.
“Arranged and financed. It was one of his last requests. He asked me to climb the mountain to…” I stopped myself. I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody what I was doing, but it felt like I needed to tell her. “He asked me to scatter his ashes at the top. They’re here in his walking stick,” I said, turning around slightly so she could see the stick tied to the back of my pack.
“That is such a wonderful thing for you to do!”
She got to her feet, reached up and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me down with such force that I almost tumbled over on top of her. She was shockingly strong. She released me from her grip and I straightened up. She wasn’t just old, but small, very small.
“He must have been very special to you.”
“He was the best.” I felt tears coming to my eyes.
“I’ll do anything in my power to help you.”
I couldn’t help but think that the best thing she could do was to drop out of the climb right now so she wouldn’t slow me down.
“I know you’re probably asking yourself what an old woman like me can do to help you.”
I felt guilty. “No, that wasn’t what I was thinking at all,” I lied. Hopefully it was a convincing lie.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” she said.
“Thanks, and I’ll be there for you,” I said. Why did I say that?
“That is so sweet,” she said. “I guess we better get climbing again. The summit isn’t coming to us. We just have to remember to go polepole.”
“Yeah, slowly,” I muttered.
“That comes a little more naturally at my age, but remember that slow and steady wins the race.”
I smiled at her and nodded, although I really didn’t agree at all. Moving slowly had never won any race, game or assignment that I’d ever been involved in. But right now, at least for the next hour or so, I’d be moving slowly whether I wanted to or not.
FOURTEEN
Darkness came quickly and early. It was only six thirty and it was already completely black, the only light coming from the small campfire and the millions of pinprick stars that filled the sky. The three Finns had already turned in for the night. I could hear them talking in their tent. Finnish was certainly a strange language, and I didn’t understand a word of it. I didn’t understand our porters either. They spoke among themselves in Chachagga, and they seemed to be having a good time, talking and laughing. They seemed very happy and were very friendly—except to me and Sarah. None of them had said a word to me or given me a glance. My things had been carried up, my tent set up, my meal cooked and things were cleaned up, all without a word being exchanged. That left Mr. Odogo, Doris, Sarah and me sitting around the little fire. All the other porters sat well off to the side.