Monduli

Today was my first day in Monduli, a district nestled in the fertile Monduli mountains. Today also happened to be Sunday - the day in which there is big outdoor market in Monduli juu. Even though I arrived in the later afternoon, far after prime shopping time, there were still stand after stand displaying vegetables, baskets, clothes, and other day to day supplies.

Market day, of course,  is not just about getting goods for the week. It's also about connecting with the community. I saw many empty-handed women, chatting with neighbors, passively perusing goods.We ran into a number of my friend's students - mainly boys walking hand-in-hand trying to spot some of their classmates and trade stories about their experiences taking the A-level exams and their plans after Form 4.

Safari

This baobab tree is so massive, you can barely tell I'm in this picture.

The elephants were powerhouses. We saw them knocking down trees in the savanna all day. If you'd like to see elephants climbing mountains, let me know. It's a sight to be seen.

Many of the baboons stick around the elephants to pick up any of the nuts they knock off of trees, but this one is feasting on some berries.

My long-necked friends were chilling all afternoon.

I think impalas are so beautiful.

Look at the wildebeests run! (Please note that wildebeests are typically pretty dumb animals. They basically just follow the zebras around since they can't figure out for themselves when predators are near or where they might find food).

A big debate occurred in our safari jeep about whether zebras are white with black stripes or black with white stripes.

These birds don't even seem anatomically possible. Look how little his legs are!

It's the whole animal family.

We even got a glimpse of a lion!

The big takeaway

Mt. Meru Day 4 (Bahati, Rogers & Me)

What goes up, must come down. And so after a short rest and snack at the summit, it was time to pursue the long way dback to camp. Typically, when descending Meru, hikers return to Saddle Hut, eat lunch, and then continue downwards to Mirakamba hut for the night (unless they opt to take a vehicle the rest of the way down).

I, however, was on my own different track. While, I gained some energy from the food and daylight, it was still painfully slow for me to move down the mountain. The downward trek caused a constant pounding of my big toe into the tip of my boot, resulting in me opting to walk the last 4 miles in my socks. By the time I finally reached Saddle Hut, with my hiking shoes in hand, no one expected me to walk any further.

And so on Day 4 of my trek, I only had two travel companions: Bahati and Rogers.

Bahati's name means "luck" in Swahili, which is a great moniker for a Park Ranger. Rangers are required for every hike up and down Meru as they are armed with a rifle and ready to take down bisons or other animals that may attack.

Bahati was a pretty loquacious,16-year-old guy. He told me about certain plants and their nicknames (like nature's toilet paper, pictured below). He told me how that he was 5 years into his 6 year park service commitment, which meant that they would soon send him and pay for him to attend university to study forestry. He even told me about his last gig as a ranger at the Serengeti national park, which made him feel like like a ranger and more like an enlisted solider, as he frequently had to protect the animals from Somali poachers.

Rogers, of course, was my guide. And over the last 24 hours, I had gained a sort of affection for him. He was like my Haymitch, a little bit of a mess up, who came through when it really mattered. And despite the fact that I was complete pain, I think he had grown fond of me too.

Rogers gave me my first Swahili lesson, and I mastered counting to 10. He joked around about my terrible state the day before. And he entertained me with stories of rescues he had led down Kili. During one of these, he mentioned having to carry one of his 300 pound clients down the mountain. Which caused me to pause. I had to ask why he hadn't offered to carry me when I was tired, vomiting and shoeless.

His reply: "you were still walking."

Mt. Meru (Day 3: The Summit)

I thought that I had asked Rogers, my guide, all of the questions that I would need to successfully prepare for the Summit Day.
What time do we leave? Midnight
What will the temperature be like? Very cold
How long will it take to get to the top? 6 hours
How many hours till I get my first break? 1 hour
Is it easier or harder than Day 1 of the hike? Easier
Than day 2 of the hike? The same
And how many hours till my second break...

So when I at 11:30 PM, a mere 6 hours after my return from Little Meru, bundled up in every article of clothing that I had packed and a head lamp attached to my head, I felt READY.

We set off at midnight and at first I was loving it. There is something magical about hiking underneath an expansive African sky, peppered with hundreds of stars, and free from the stresses of the physical challenges that might be coming your way. It wasn't until about an hour and half in that this romanticism faded away, and I realized the question I failed to ask Rogers the day before: will it be a fairly straight path or will we be walking across dangerous terrain that would challenge even the most skilled and sighted climber?

Yes, I think it was around 1:30 AM when we went off the path and had to scale a rocky mountain wall at some height that I couldn't even fathom because it was outside of the range that my light could cover. But with each step I took, I heard pieces of rock giving way into a dark abyss and I was fully afraid. I reached for Rogers hand, and as he took it, I could smell the stench of liquor on his breath, and at that moment I thought to myself: this is the craziest thing that I have ever done or even conceived of doing.

I wish I could say that this was the worst of it. But soon after, we had to climb up a steep and gravely section of the mountain. Most of the other climbers easily cleared this section with their hiking sticks, but I was without them, and I couldn't manage to get my footing in this loose terrain. It was the classic one step forward, two steps back scenario, and it was through the strength of Rogers half pulling me that I made it up to steadier ground.

And it was just at the top of that section where the thought crossed my mind: I don't think I can do this.

Now for any of you hikers out there, you know this is danger zone. Climbing is mostly a mental game, and the seed of doubt can destroy your efforts completely. So immediately after thinking that I started pulling tools out of my mental toolkit. I tried to pair each step with a breath. Then I tried reminding myself that hiking was really just walking, and I've walked 6 hours in a day before. I even tried visualizing -- seeing myself at the summit jumping up and down like Rocky Balboa.

All of these failed.

I'm not sure what triggered the weeping, exactly. I don't know if it was when the nausea bubbled up from my anti-malaria medication. Or if it when the exhaustion from 15 hours of hiking with little sleep settled in. Or maybe it was sight of snowflakes reminding me how deeply cold and incredibly dark it was up there. But tears were running down my face, and I just kept repeating that I couldn't do it.

Rogers to his credit vacillated with ease between motivator ("You will miss this view, come here and see") and drill sergeant ("Stop crying. It will make you lose energy."). He also managed to stay strong against my appeals for a break ("It is too cold; you will lose heat if you stop walking).

I dry heaved on the side of the road, multiple times. Rogers cleaned the snot off of my face. And when there was still 2 hours to go, he finally relented and granted me a break, pulling my head on to his lap, and folding himself over me, so that we didn't freeze during my seven minutes of rest.

By the time I saw the Tanzanian flag atop the summit, I couldn't care less about reaching the top. For the last hour, I had been fighting for every step. Rogers hand was literally on my sacrum to help propel me forward with every meager lift of my food. And as I looked at the steep, jagged and rocky final climb - just 30 more minutes after I had already walked 7.5 that morning - and I felt so sure that I didn't have it left in me.

And then suddenly, in a Holland Reynolds-inspired act of tenacity, I dropped to my hands and knees and half dragged and half-crawled my way to the top.

In the early morning light, I saw an impressive view of Kilimanjaro. Was it worth it? I'd be lying if I said it was. But I learned more that morning about myself and fear, hopelessness, and grit than ever before in my life.

Mt. Meru (Day 2)

Goal of Day 2 of trek: Do not embarrass myself.

Day 1 of the trek brought me to Miriakamba Hut, a fairly basic hiker's lodge located at 2500 meters. After heading straight to my room and using the warm water bucket they typically give out for hand washing to soak my aching feet,I resolved to do better on Day 2.

And do better I did. For the first 2.5 hours of the 5 hour hike to the next hiker's lodge (Saddle Hut 3500 meters), I kept steadily in the middle of the pack. And while I did lose steam toward the end, the number of times people asked me in a gentle, condescending manner whether "I felt tired" decreased by at least half from the day before.

I felt so good that I didn't even complain when my guide, Rogers, woke me up from my mid-afternoon nap to climb up to Little Meru.

OK, I complained a little, but relented when he explained that it was to help get acclimatized before the summit the next day.