by Various Orca
“And you say that this is one of the hardest days,” Doris was saying to Mr. Odogo.
“Many think it is the second hardest.”
“And which is the hardest?” I asked.
“The day we summit. We will rise at midnight and walk six or seven hours to Uhuru Peak so that we can see the sun rise over the summit.”
“That sounds lovely,” Doris said. “I can’t wait.”
You might have to wait for another lifetime, I thought.
“And then we must start down,” Mr. Odogo continued. “We will walk another seven or eight hours. Some people think down is easy, but for many it is even harder.”
Everybody sat quietly around the fire, staring into the flames. There wasn’t much more conversation. I thought it was a combination of the thin air and the dead tiredness. I wasn’t going to admit it to anyone else, but today’s hike had been more than a simple walk in the park. I was tired. As well, my stomach was upset. It grumbled noisily, as if it knew I was thinking about it. Either nobody heard it, or they were being polite and pretending that they didn’t.
Slowly I got up. I had to go to the toilet. Again. I felt a little embarrassed. It wasn’t like there was really anything to be embarrassed about. We all had to go. I just seemed to be doing it more than anybody else and more than I wanted to.
I knew that the gurgling in my stomach would quickly become a rumbling in my intestines, which would soon become an explosion down below. There was an equation I had to figure out each time. I had to go far enough and fast enough to get privacy, but not so far that I could potentially fall off the side of the mountain.
At least at this elevation, the rainforest behind and below us, there really wasn’t much chance of running into a leopard, an elephant or even a semi-poisonous snake. At least that was the conversation that I was having with myself to induce a little bit of confidence. My stomach called out a warning shot, and I hustled a dozen more steps before I ducked down behind a big rock, sure that I was now hidden from those sitting at the campsite. Of course, if that rock was big enough to hide me, wasn’t it also big enough to hide a leopard?
I unbuckled my belt, pulled down my pants and squatted down. I hate squatting, but what choice did I have? It wasn’t like there was indoor plumbing on the mountain. Going to the toilet hadn’t really been something I’d thought about at all before I got here. But now that I was on the mountain, it had become a serious concern. Funny, I wasn’t as worried about not reaching the summit or falling off the mountain as I was about having a different type of accident…in my pants.
The cool air chilled my bare butt and I felt myself clench up. Being cold wasn’t the best condition for going quickly and I did want to go fast. Being exposed to the elements this way—pants down and squatting—made me felt incredibly vulnerable. I concentrated and things got rolling…well, running. As quickly as possible I finished up, including the paper work. Now I just had to—
“I need to talk to you.”
I jumped up, spinning and pulling up my pants all at once. Mr. Odogo was standing in front of me.
“I need to talk to you,” he repeated. He didn’t look any happier than he sounded.
“Yes, sir, what would you like to talk about?” I asked as I scrambled to do up my belt. This was embarrassing.
“Do you know why I am bringing you up my mountain?”
“Because of my grandfather,” I said, thinking about his ashes.
“Because of him and what he did for my father,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“My father informed me that your grandfather was a great man,” he said. “Do you think that you are a great man?”
I didn’t know what to answer. I was shocked and surprised by the question.
Mr. Odogo continued. “Because you are barely a man and greatness has not come to you, nor may it ever.”
“Um…yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”
“Do you think you have the right to come to this mountain and give orders?” he asked.
“I haven’t given any orders or—”
“You demanded that my daughter be one of your porters, did you not?”
“I don’t think I really demanded,” I said.
He looked at me questioningly. “My daughter said to me that you insisted—demanded—that she come along.”
Okay, this was all starting to make sense. This had to do with Sarah—again. It had been nothing but trouble, having her along.
“I didn’t really demand…it was more of a polite request.”
“Are you calling my daughter a liar?”
“No, sir. I’m just sort of saying that she’s… she’s very…very…determined.”
“She gets that from her mother.”
“That sounds a lot like my mother,” I said.
He smiled. Slightly. But even slightly was better than the scowl that had been there.
“So why then did you politely request that my daughter be one of your porters?” he asked.
Now I was caught. I couldn’t tell him the truth. That would be breaking my word.
“Um, I guess I just wanted somebody around who was my age.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen, well, at least on my next birthday.”
“My daughter is only fourteen. That is not the same age.”
She had told me she was fifteen, hadn’t she? “It’s closer than anybody else on this trip.”
“Four years. In my country many men marry girls who are four years younger,” he said.
“I guess that’s true in my country too.”
“So is that your intent? Did you invite my daughter along because you wish her to become your wife?”
“No, of course not!” I exclaimed.
“Do you think you are too good for my daughter?”
I was almost too stunned to answer, but I had to. “No, sir, of course not. It’s not that I’m too good, sir. It’s just that…just that…she really wanted to be a porter and I was trying to make her happy. That’s all there is to it, sir, honestly.”
His expression didn’t change. He stared right into my eyes like he was trying to see inside of me to tell if what I’d said was true. He stepped forward until he was standing so close that our chests were almost touching. I had to fight the urge to step back even though I was so much bigger, so much taller than him that he had to look up at me.
“I think I believe you,” he said.
I felt a rush of relief.
“But you need to know,” he continued, “that while you are bigger and taller and younger, and probably even stronger, than me, I am her father. If you were to do something that harmed or dishonored my daughter—”
“I would never do that, sir!” I said, cutting him off.
He reached up and placed a hand on my shoulder. “That is good to know.” He smiled. “Because this is a high mountain and there are many dangers. I certainly wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you on this climb.”
My stomach answered—a big, thundering gurgle that we both heard.
“Maybe you need some more privacy. I will go back to the fire.” He turned and walked away.
I took a deep breath. The cool air traced a path down to my lungs. I took another breath. I suddenly felt so very tired. I needed to climb into my tent, get into my sleeping bag and fall asleep—pass out. My bowels rumbled. One more thing to do first. I undid the buckle one more time.
“Perhaps you should wait a minute before you do that.”
I turned around, shocked and surprised again. It was Sarah. Was the whole family going to sneak up on me tonight?
“I followed my father. I overheard.”
“You heard him threaten to throw me off the mountain?” I asked. “He wouldn’t really do that, would he?”
“Of course not,” she offered reassuringly. “He is a guide. He is sworn to protect those he takes up the mountain.”
“Yeah, I figured he was just—”
“He would wait until
he brought you safely down off the mountain before he was to harm you.”
I startled slightly before realizing that she was just fooling…or was she?
“I am grateful you did not tell my father the truth about why you had to bring me. He would not be happy that either of us went out to retrieve your belongings from the street kids.”
“I gave you my word.” Besides, I didn’t want him to be any angrier at me than he already appeared to be.
“Thank you.”
She got up on her tiptoes and before I could step away she kissed me on the cheek! What was she doing! If her father saw us, there was no way I was ever going to make it out alive!
“You are much too old for me.” She walked away, leaving me stunned and scared, and with my bowels about to let loose again. I decided I had better get used to unexpected crap. Of all kinds.
FIFTEEN
Doris and I sat in the little eating tent, finishing up our breakfast. The Finns had already finished and left, which didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like we could communicate with them.
“You’re not eating your porridge,” Doris said.
“Calling it porridge is stretching it.”
“I must admit I’ve never eaten anything quite like this before,” Doris said.
“I’ve never seen any food this color,” I replied. “It’s sort of cement gray.”
“I think that makes sense. It does taste like what I imagine cement would taste like. Thank goodness for the sugar.”
Doris dropped in another heaping spoonful of brown sugar. I didn’t bother. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway.
“Even that wouldn’t change the texture,” I said. “It looks sort of like…like…”
“Diarrhea?”
I nodded. I hadn’t wanted to say it.
“At least the fried egg and potatoes are good,” I said.
“It would be hard to do those wrong,” she agreed. “Although I’m not really sure what this is.” She held up the little sausage-like thing they had given us.
“I wonder what type of meat it is?” I said.
“I believe it is wise that we don’t ask,” she replied. She held up her cup. “Cheers.”
We clinked our little plastic cups together and drained the last of our tea.
“Any luck communicating with your family?” she asked.
I pulled out my phone. “Still no signal. I thought once we left the forest we might get something, but nothing.”
“Maybe as we climb higher you’ll have better luck. We’ll certainly be closer to the satellites. That’s another reason we should get started. I think we better get ready to leave,” Doris suggested.
“Probably not wise to keep Mr. Odogo waiting.”
We stepped out to find the porters buzzing around, breaking down the camp. Mr. Odogo was yelling out orders. He didn’t seem to need to say the same thing twice. It appeared that I wasn’t the only one who was afraid of him. I could have asked one of the porters what he was saying, but there was no way I would have gotten an answer. They were still treating me as if I were invisible. They weren’t unfriendly or disrespectful. They just looked right through me. The first of them, loaded down with gear, started up the trail. Right behind him went the three Finns. I guess I wasn’t going to be with them on day two either. Actually, Doris was good company. At least she spoke English. I just wished she walked a little faster.
My tent was already packed up. My backpack was sitting where the tent used to be. I slipped it on and had the strangest thought: if I left right now and moved quickly, I could catch the Finns and—
“Do you know what today’s journey will be like?” Doris was beside me, her pack on her back, walking sticks in hand.
“From what I read in the guidebook, I think we leave the forest behind completely and spend most of the day walking through heather.”
“Wonderful. Our second climatic zone. I’m sure there will still be some flowers.”
“We’re only walking five or six kilometers, but we gain over eight hundred meters, so it’s got to be pretty steep.”
“Oh, dear, I hope not too steep.”
Mr. Odogo walked over. “We will soon start. This section is very challenging.”
“DJ was just explaining that it’s quite steep,” Doris said.
He looked at me questioningly.
“It’s in the guidebook,” I explained.
“Perhaps you think because you have a guidebook that you do not need a guide.”
“No, sir. I just like to know what’s coming.”
“What is coming is that we need to move polepole, and all stay together,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“What?” he demanded.
“I don’t think we’re all going to be staying together.” I pointed up the slope at the Finns.
He saw them just before they disappeared over a rise. He turned back toward us. He didn’t look happy.
“Mambiri!” he yelled out, and Sarah came running over. He spoke to her and she nodded repeatedly.
He turned back toward us. “My daughter will guide you. I must go.” He rushed after them, moving even faster than the Finns appeared to be moving. I would have loved to move fast. Instead it was going to be another day of polepole with Doris as my companion and Sarah as my guide.
The whole world around us changed as we walked. The last vestiges of the cloud forest had completely disappeared and the heath had taken over. Strangely shaped plants, some tall and distorted, others just bushes and brush, dotted the landscape. I couldn’t help but think that if Dr. Seuss designed plants, this is what he’d create. Among the plants were rocks carved by wind and rain and time. They were as bizarrely shaped as the plants. More Dr. Seuss.
As well, without trees to block the view, the mountain was a constant presence, looming in front of us. Below, when I was blocked by foliage, I couldn’t look far ahead. Here it was impossible to not let my eyes drift forward. The slope we were on was steep but steady. It went on and on until somewhere on the horizon it met the rising grade of the mountain where the white fingers of the glaciers extended down from the top.
I’d read that the first European explorers didn’t believe that Kilimanjaro existed because they couldn’t possibly imagine snow at the equator. But there it was, so high that at the top it looked and felt polar, even though it was on the equator. I wondered just how cold it was going to be up there. Down here, even two days into the trip I was still wearing a T-shirt and sweating up a storm. The snow didn’t seem that real, even though I could see it.
“It is time for a rest,” Sarah said.
I was tired but reluctant to stop. I’d been catching glimpses of other climbers up ahead as they appeared and disappeared around rises in the trail. It was another party, and I was positive we were gaining on them.
“Couldn’t we go a little bit longer?” I asked.
“I’m okay to continue a little bit longer,” Doris said.
“So we can stop in—”
“We stop now,” Sarah said, and she halted in her tracks. She turned to face me. “I am the guide.”
“I thought you were the porter.”
She shook her head. “No wonder my father is annoyed by you.”
She unburdened herself of her load. Her two bags were both bigger and bulkier than the little I was carrying on my back. I didn’t know how much weight she was carrying, but it was clearly more than I was. She hadn’t been complaining, but from the few missteps and stumbles I’d seen, it had to be heavy.
We all pulled out our water bottles and drank. It felt so good. My body was craving the water despite the fact that I’d already guzzled more than a liter. The water didn’t just quench my thirst, it also seemed to settle my stomach, which had been grumbling and gurgling all morning. That breakfast just hadn’t been enough. If they served that same porridge tomorrow, I’d have to follow Doris’s lead and spoon on enough sugar to make it edible. Maybe the secret would be to close
my eyes while I ate.
“Sarah,” Doris said, “I notice that your father doesn’t usually call you Sarah…he calls you Mambi… Mambir…”
“Mambiri,” she said. “It is my Chagga name.”
“I know that Chagga names most often have meaning. Does your name have a special meaning?” Doris asked.
“It means ripe melon.”
“You’re a ripe melon?” I chuckled.
“At least I have a name!” she snapped. “Not like you, who only has initials!”
“Initials stand for names. My name is David.”
“That is the D, but what is the J?”
“It’s Junior. I’m named after my grandfather and I got called David Junior and then it was shortened to DJ.”
She shrugged. “At least that makes sense. It is good to be named after your ancestors. My name is that of my mother and grandmother. We Chagga believe that we were created in a melon patch, so many of us are named because of that. Of course it is just a story. We here in Tanzania know the difference between males and females and where babies come from.” She gave me a sly little smile.
“Whatever you say, my little ripe Mambiri,” I joked.
“It is a very pretty name,” Doris said. “Would you mind if I called you Mambiri instead of Sarah?”
“They are both my names. I know it pleases my father when I am called by my Chagga name.” She turned to me. “Perhaps you should call me that too… unless he thinks you are being forward because you have designs on me.”