mount kilimanjaro

A few days before I’d board my three connecting flights to Tanzania, I was sitting in a café in Charlotte, steeping in my last few moments of home with a mug of Earl Grey. Somewhat serendipitously, I realized the café I’d chosen to try out was named Summit Coffee—fitting considering what I’d be attempting in the next week.

Summiting Mount Kilimanjaro begins at midnight. Weather at the 19,341-foot peak changes rapidly, so reaching as soon after sunrise as possible can help avoid harsher conditions. We took off in a trance, not quite awake yet, the small circles of our headlamps only illuminating our next step. Right, left. Soon our lights caught flecks of snow as they coated the upward winding trail. If you had enough energy to lift your head, even for a second, the city lights of Moshi were a difficult view to forget.

It was our fifth day of hiking using the Machame Route, but we were entirely unprepared for the physical and mental fortitude it would take for summit day. The elevation gain that day is not proportional to the rest, taking a break becomes riskier as the oxygen level lowers, and you need to begin descending after your Uhuru Peak photo op as soon as possible. I was baited first by the sunrise—surely, we must almost be there—but we still had around 2 hours to go. Then, baited by Stella Point, which has a tauntingly similar sign to the one at Uhuru Peak—still an hour away.

One way or another, we made it to the summit. All eleven of us, despite our respective battles. It was surreal to know that something I’d been planning with fellow Morehead-Cain gappers for months—something Katarina, Philip, and I would joke about prepping for while backpacking Europe—was now done.

War was not over. Turns out descending can be just as taxing, and without the reward. We’d been hiking for more than 12 hours since starting the summit. Regaining oxygen felt nice, though.

Someone at our hostel called what we just did “Type II Fun.” Something that only seems fun after it’s done. Which I feel holds up—I remember feeling wet and miserable for the majority of the hike, and the euphoria of summiting did not hit in the moment whatsoever. But when I think about the moments I shared with the people I was with—while hiking, at dinner, and tucked in our sleeping bags—the whole thing was quite enjoyable.

There’s so, so much more I could say about this trip. About the bonds I formed with some incredible individuals I have the honor of going to school with in the fall. About the Swahili words and songs I learned. About the vast array of stunning landscapes we got to witness on the very same mountain. But it feels wrong to post this without a mention of the phenomenal hiking crew—53 strong—that made it possible.

I was perpetually in awe of our porters, who carried our equipment weighing up to 20 kilograms on their backs, no hiking poles, and somehow leaving us in the dust each time to set up camp so it would be ready when we arrived. The meals we had on the mountain always looked and tasted like they were prepared in a restaurant kitchen. Our guides knew the route like the back of their hands, and when to anticipate our needs before we even knew to voice them. There aren’t enough asantes in the world to thank them.

more photos!

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