by Various Orca
“Great, just what I need.”
“I just think it’s so unfair that DJ is being treated so badly,” Doris said. “I think it’s actually gallant for him to do as he did.”
“Gallant? I do not know that word.”
“It means brave, gentlemanly, treating a young woman with respect. He was gallant to invite you along,” she explained.
I was none of the above—at least not right now. It hadn’t been bravery but stupidity and a total lack of understanding. If I’d known all the trouble it was going to cause, I would have insisted on her not coming along. Doris didn’t know about Sarah basically blackmailing me and keeping me in the dark, but Sarah certainly did.
I turned at the sound of somebody coming up the trail behind us. It was five climbers, bookended by two guides. Three of the climbers appeared to be in their twenties or early thirties. The other two were a couple in their fifties. Old, but not as old as Doris. I hated the idea of being passed, but at least they could see that Doris was with us—a built-in excuse for stopping that didn’t involve me.
The guide called out a big Jambo and offered a smile. Then he saw Sarah and the smile faded. He said something to her in Chachagga and they had a rapid-fire exchange. The guide at the back didn’t say anything but looked equally annoyed.
“I didn’t understand the guide,” Doris said, when the other group had moved on, “but he didn’t seem particularly friendly.”
“What did he say?” I asked Sarah.
“He had heard that there was a female porter on the mountain but he did not believe it until he saw me. He said he wasn’t surprised to see me sitting because women sit so much when they wash clothes and cook. He told me it was not too late to go home.”
“What a jerk,” I said.
“And what did you say to him?” Doris asked.
“I told him he probably wasn’t smart enough to do either of those things himself, or handsome enough to attract a woman who would do them for him.”
“That must have been when he stopped smiling,” I said.
“He then told me I should respect my elders. I told him that respect is earned and not given because of numbers on a calendar.”
“You really have a way of making friends,” I said.
“Who would want to be friends with such a man?” she said.
“Do you know what would be even better?” I said. “Let’s catch up and pass them.”
Sarah smiled. Doris got to her feet and said, “I think that would be simply brilliant!”
Time and distance blurred together. Yesterday’s hike was a walk in the park compared to today’s march. What made it even worse was that over an hour and a half ago the end had been in sight. We had seen our camp up on a plateau. But what we didn’t know—what even Sarah didn’t know—was that we had to descend over 300 meters down a gorge and then climb back up to the plateau. Going down wasn’t easy, and it was made worse knowing that each step downward would translate into a step up on the other side. I hated that.
The last part before we hit the bottom was the hardest. Our path was a small stream running down from one of the glaciers, so cold that there were little patches of ice. What a combination to have underfoot: water, ice and slippery wet mud. A few times I’d come close to slip-sliding down onto my butt.
The thing that kept us all moving was wanting to keep in front of that rude guide and his party. I wish I could have taken a picture of his face as we passed them while they sat having lunch. We stopped just after that for a few minutes to get our own lunches out, but we kept moving, polepole, and ate as we walked. That suited me, and, really, it wasn’t like I had much of an appetite.
We finally reached the bottom of the gorge, which wasn’t at all flat, and Sarah didn’t hesitate. She just started up the other side.
I turned to Doris. “Are you all right to climb or do you need a little break?”
“Up might feel good,” she said. “At least for a little while.”
I was happy to keep moving, but I might have been even happier to rest. I was starting to realize that, more and more often, Doris was asking to stop just before I would have asked. I was feeling tired, my legs heavy, and my whole digestive system was keeping up a steady symphony of sounds.
Suddenly Sarah stumbled, toppled forward and fell down! I rushed forward as she struggled to regain her footing. She got to her knees before I could reach her.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said. She looked embarrassed.
“Here,” I said, offering her a hand. I was surprised when she didn’t brush it away. I pulled her to her feet.
“I am fine,” Sarah said. “We need to go.”
“No,” Doris said. “I need to rest. I need a break.”
“I could use a rest too.” I pulled off my pack and set it down on the ground. “Let me help you with your load,” I said to Sarah.
I went to help her remove the first pack. I half expected her to argue, but she didn’t.
“Wow, this is incredibly heavy!” I exclaimed as I set it down and then helped her with the second, which was equally heavy.
“I can’t believe all the porters carry this much weight,” I said.
“They do not,” she said.
“Some are carrying more?”
She shook her head. “I am carrying the most.”
I was shocked and speechless.
“Does your father know they are making you carry more?” Doris asked.
“He knows.”
It was wrong that the other porters were treating her so badly, but to get that treatment from her own father? That was just mean. Giving me a hard time was one thing, but that was no way to treat his daughter. It wasn’t very gallant.
SIXTEEN
I was tired. So tired. And sore and achy and my stomach was upset and I’d gone to the toilet four times and I had had to force myself to eat supper. Other than that I was fine. What I needed to do was go to bed. It was only seven thirty, but it was dark. I was about to climb into my little tent and curl up in the sleeping bag when Mr. Odogo walked into the camp. I had something I wanted to do before I slept. He wouldn’t like what I had to say, but what did it matter? Unless he was going to throw me off the mountain, he couldn’t really treat me any worse.
“Excuse me, Mr. Odogo,” I called out.
He turned, nodded and came in my direction.
“How was your day’s trek?” he asked.
That sounded friendly. Voice, expression and question. What was going on?
“It was good. Hard but good.”
“Mambiri said you are doing well.”
“She’s doing well,” I said. “You must be proud of her,” I added.
“I have always been most proud of her. She is a good daughter.”
I thought for a second and then decided to jump in. “Then why are you making her carry more than the other porters?”
“That is the way things must be done,” he said.
“Because she’s the youngest she has to carry the most? That isn’t fair.”
“She is carrying the most because she is the newest. The newest porter always must prove himself and carry the heaviest load. Even if that porter is my child. Even if that porter is my daughter. That is fair.” He paused. “Are you questioning my decisions or orders?”
“No. I mean, I guess I was. I understand, now that you explained it. It’s just that it’s so hard for her.”
“It is not easy for me to witness,” he said. “But it is the way it must be. She is lucky to have a friend along who cares. Thank you.”
“Um, you’re welcome.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “But you are not to question any more of my decisions. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go to bed. You look tired.”
SEVENTEEN
Doris was standing at the edge of the camp, looking off into the distance. She’d been there for a long time. I wanted to give her some privacy, bu
t I was a little worried. Quietly I walked over until I was right behind her. I cleared my throat to let her know I was there, and she turned around.
“Good morning,” she said.
“A little chillier than I thought it would be.”
“We are gaining altitude,” she said. “I was just thinking how much my husband, Samuel, would have loved being here.”
“My grandpa too. It was his dream to climb Kilimanjaro.”
“Samuel’s too. I guess because it wasn’t mine, he never got to realize his. Did you ever think about climbing this mountain?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Never thought about it. Probably never would have.”
“It’s sad that the two who wanted most to climb it never did, and the two who didn’t are climbing it,” she said. “Sometimes life works out that way.”
I didn’t know what to say. Not that I thought she was wrong.
“It is beautiful,” she said.
I looked out over the edge of the plateau to where she was staring. It was amazing, although I didn’t know if I’d use the word beautiful to describe it. It was stark, desolate, filled with rocks broken up by only an occasional cluster of stunted trees. And of course in the distance was the summit.
I saw it more as an obstacle, something I had to overcome to get to where I was going, than a thing of beauty. I thought about what my grandfather had written—about enjoying the steps along the way. Did that really apply to everything? Should you enjoy going to the dentist, having a headache—which I had now—going to a funeral, or climbing a mountain? Sure, I had goals and dreams, but climbing this mountain wasn’t one of them. Sure, I was going to do it, but did that mean I had to enjoy it? It seemed more like something that I had to endure. Like training camp or practice. Nobody enjoyed those. You just did it so you could get to the game.
“Our Finnish friends don’t seem as chipper this morning,” Doris said.
“They were a little less enthusiastic,” I agreed. “I guess we’re all a little tired.”
“That’s almost reassuring. I was beginning to think it was only me.”
“I’ve felt better. It all starts to wear you down after a while,” I admitted.
“I guess all we can do is eat, drink, rest and try to stay strong. After all, we have a couple of people counting on us. We can’t let them down now, can we?”
“I guess not.”
“Perhaps we better get ready to go.”
“The sooner we start, the sooner we finish,” I said.
Polepole. Polepole. Polepole. It was starting to be like a rhythmic chant in my head as each porter who passed us imparted those words of wisdom. It felt more like a taunt. They raced by, carrying and balancing loads on their heads and backs, and told us that we were slow and they were fast. I would have argued if it wasn’t so obviously true. It still didn’t make me like it any more.
A couple of times I’d tried to pick up my pace, staying with them and leaving Doris behind. And every time I had to abandon the attempt because my legs and lungs just couldn’t keep up. I hated it, but I had no choice. Mr. Odogo had pretty well given up on the Finns—they couldn’t really understand much English so he couldn’t control them—but he still was intent on keeping me from going too fast. At least instead of looking like a loser, it looked like I was following orders—polepole—or being kind to Doris. I had to admit that she was pretty easy to be kind to. She was a nice old lady. So it was me, one nice old lady and our guide in a little line, going up the mountain.
Earlier in the day one of the other trails up the mountain had merged with ours. That meant that the number of climbing parties had doubled. It wasn’t really crowded, but it was definitely more populated. Occasionally we passed other parties or were passed by them during rest breaks, but mostly we saw porters. There were a lot of them, and each carried a heavy load: bags, barrels, chairs and tables, large cartons of eggs, cookstoves, and in one case a toilet—a sit-down toilet. It seemed so unnecessary and so wonderful all at once. I wondered if I could rent it.
I liked when we passed porters from other parties. They didn’t know that they shouldn’t be friendly with me. They yelled out greetings and encouragement, and despite the sweat and strain they were smiling and happy. They were always talking among themselves, laughing and sometimes singing.
“It is time to rest,” Mr. Odogo finally said.
I was grateful. I had wanted to stop for the past twenty minutes but didn’t want to be the one to ask. We pulled off our packs and sat down on some rocks. There was never a shortage of rocks to rest on.
“We will have afternoon tea,” he said as he pulled a thermos out of his pack.
“That seems so civilized,” Doris said.
“My grandpa used to say that.”
“One of the best things left to us by the British was tea,” Mr. Odogo said. “Shame that there are not crumpets and scones and marmalade to go along.”
“When we get back to the hotel, perhaps we can share afternoon tea,” Doris suggested.
“That would be most wonderful,” he agreed.
“And we can raise a toast to our successful summit,” she added. “Mine, DJ’s and, of course, Mambiri’s.”
“We always celebrate all who reach the summit.”
“When did you celebrate your first summit?” Doris asked.
“Many, many years ago,” he said and laughed. “I was only twelve.”
“So even younger than your daughter.”
“Even younger. I climbed with my grandfather.”
“That must have made it even more special," Doris said.
Mr. Odogo nodded his head and smiled at the memory. It was becoming more obvious what Doris was doing—trying to make him feel better about Sarah being along. I couldn’t get away with it.
“We need to finish our tea and continue, or none of us will summit,” Mr. Odogo said.
I got up to my feet. I wasn’t really ready, but I couldn’t let anybody know—especially Mr. Odogo.
EIGHTEEN
The pressure in my bladder woke me up again. I didn’t want to get up. My sleeping bag was warm and outside wasn’t. I wanted to lie there and wait for my body to somehow reabsorb my urine, but I wasn’t tired enough to be able to convince myself that was possible. Sooner or later I was going to have to get up, and the sooner I did, the sooner I could get back to sleep.
I crawled out of the sleeping bag and slipped on my sandals. I was already wearing so many clothes I didn’t bother putting on my jacket. It was cold, and it was going to get colder as we kept climbing. When I clicked on my headlamp, the tent was bathed in light. The tent zipper stuck and then opened loudly, the only sound in a silent night.
I crawled out of the tent and was greeted by the cold air and the damp mist that still clung to the ground, obscuring my view. It was the same fog that had been with us since we had arrived at the campsite—although it wasn’t really fog. It was a cloud. We were sleeping at cloud level.
The light from my headlamp bounced back after a meter or two, leaving me unable to see much ahead of me. Aside from my tent, the rocky ground at my feet, and Doris’s tent next to me, I could see nothing else. I could have been anywhere. Thank goodness I didn’t need much more than a place to empty my bladder.
I sidestepped around the rocks and between the tents. In this thick mist, two dozen steps away would leave me lost. I could fall off the mountain or—more realistically—not be able to find my way back to my tent. I wasn’t going to chance either. Still in sight of my tent, I began to relieve myself.
It was a thick, long stream that kept coming and coming and coming. That was good. Water in and water out meant that I was hydrated. Never before had I been so aware of my urine. Never before had I had so much of it to be aware of. Increased altitude just pushed it out of you.
I tucked myself back in and did a quick physical inventory, starting at the bottom. My feet were fine except for one little blister on the little toe of the left foot and a bruise on the
big toe of my right foot where I’d kicked a rock. Sore but okay. I still hadn’t taken my sock off to have a look.
Next were my ankles. Fine: no twists, no sprains, no strains. Knees were good, a little sore, but they were always a little sore. Football did that to a guy.
I took a deep breath. My lungs filled with the cool air. No problems breathing; it felt very natural. It was different when I was climbing, but as long as it returned to normal when at rest, I was okay.
Next I placed a hand on my heart. Slow, steady, regular beat. No problems there either. My head was a little achy. I had a slight throbbing at the base of my head but figured that had more to do with my neck being kinked when I slept than it did with mountain sickness.
Finally, I did feel a bit tired, but what could I expect? I’d climbed close to 2,400 meters and walked almost 25 kilometers. I deserved to be tired. And the only cure for that was to get back to sleep.
I couldn’t believe how focused I was on how my various body parts were functioning. Never had eating, sleeping, eliminating wastes and inventorying my body parts taken up so much of my attention. Normally anybody this concerned should consult a doctor—a psychiatrist, probably—but of course this situation was far from normal.
As I stood there, I realized that the cloud was dispersing. I could see farther and more clearly. Above me the moon poked free of the clouds. It was nearly full—bright and white and glowing. Around it little pinpricks of stars became visible, filling the night sky and adding to the natural light. I turned off my headlamp, and I could see better without it.
I was standing on a fairly flat plateau that held nine little tents. Over to the edge, on one of the drop-offs, stood the outhouse. Even in the dark it looked neither safe nor solid. In the other direction I could pick out other lights, not from the sky but from the ground. They were the lights of civilization. Was that the town of Moshi down there…way down there?
Behind me, pressing in, was a solid wall of rock. I tipped back my head, following it up, looking for a top I couldn’t see, lost in the darkness and distance. It was high; I just couldn’t tell how high. I didn’t know which way we’d be traveling tomorrow, but I did know which direction we wouldn’t be going. But regardless of the direction, I had to get back to my tent and sleep as long as I could, until my bladder forced me out of my sleeping bag again.