Mweka Gate (Day #10 Feb 21 2011)

This was it. It was a great nine days.  The four of us had been to the Roof of Africa.  This was going to be our last day on our mountain.  After the rain, snow and fog of the first seven days the last three were bright and sunny.  It was a refreshing morning.  I packed my stuff as usual, but with a small difference.  I bagged a bunch of my stuff which I had no need for back home in the US, stuff that I had more of and stuff that I would not ever use unless I planned another mountain in the future.  And this was unlikely, what with my thighs feeling as if they had been neatly skewered and grilled to perfection, my right big toe with the large clot under the nail, promising to come off in the very near future.  No, I did not need those things; expedition grade wool socks, the old Gore-Tex jacket and fleece combo, the gaiters, the old pair of sneakers, a pair of fleece pants.  All stuff that I knew the porters treasured.  They could do with some "new" gear.  Hell, some of them were worn just a few days.  And that brings me to the subject of personal hygiene.  None of us had showered for the last 10 days, not since that last trickle of warm water dribbled down our bodies from the jungle shower at the Ndarakwai Ranch.  I had with me a pack of Adventure Medical Kits Fresh Bath Wipes.  They were the next best thing to a bath.  I am not kidding.  Each evening, on getting to the camp, I usually bathed with those towels and I swear I smelled like a "rose"!!  I am not sure that's an accurate description, but it sure sounds good and I didn't smell bad either.

Well, we got breakfast done and slowly started making our way to Mweka Gate, a quick 3-hour walk,  all down hill and a nice well-marked path, slick at places from all that moisture in the tropical rainforest, through which we were now making our way.  We had passed through the rain forest on our way to Moram Gate, but that had been in the confines of the Land Rover and we never got to experience it.  Now the music of the jungle was all around us.  In moments of quiet respite, the sounds of the jungle emerged from its depths, the twitter of birds, the far away holler of the monkeys, a branch  broken by an unseen hand, the playful jabber of the mountain stream as it made its way to the plains.  All these and more we heard and then moved on, the silent ferns marking our passage with nary a nod.  These were some of the largest ferns I had seen, some of them growing at least twelve feet or more.  The rays of the morning sun competes with the canopy for a chance to bathe the undergrowth with a little brightness.  The waning moon was still in the West reluctant to give up the night,  Mt. Meru reaching up to meet it.

Waning moon over Mt. Meru (Photo by Nora/Renee)

The trail ends about two miles or so from the gate.  There is now a dirt road where an ambulance might come to the trail head to transport an incapacitated climber or porter.  Long before we got to the gate we could hear the bustle of the vehicles and the throngs.  We round a bend and the vehicles came into view first followed by the buildings.  There was a crowd there now.  It looked like a Calcutta market place, with a "corporation" of vendors selling trinkets and souvenirs.  And then there were the shoe washers.  Our shoes were understandably dirty and a good clean wash was what was needed.  There were a bunch of young 'uns who wanted to have a go at my shoes, but I gave that privilege to a wizened old lady who did a wonderful job with my shoes.  Walking into the rest room was a shock.  I hadn't looked into a mirror for the last 10 days and for a moment there I did not recognize the scruffy grey bearded man looking back at me.  Once we were all freshened up, we signed-off the mountain in a massive ledger at the office and then got together with the rest of the team for a "champagne" lunch.  It was time for the certificates.  Bernarde gave a short speech and distributed the certificates with much joy all around.  There was dancing and laughter.  I then gave my little note of thanks … in Swahili.  I had stayed up late for the last few nights and rummaged through the little phrase book and pieced together a few sentences.  I then got my friend Prosper to correct it for me.  Here's how it went:

"Shikamoo." (greetings)  "Habari zena." (How are you) "Asanti sana" (Thank you very much)"
Turning to Bernade and Goody I say, "Asante kwa kwangazu safari nzuri sana"  (Thank you for running a great safari)
Turning to the porters, " Asante kwa kubeba mizigo yetu" (Thanks for carrying our bags)
To Richard, the cook, "Chakula kitama sana."  (The food was delicious)
"Napapenda hapa" (I like it here)
"Nasi kitika kidogo" (I am a little sad), "Lakhini nadhani nimeugua kwa sababu ya kimo" (But I think I am suffering from mountain sickness)
"Mia sita hamsini (600) katika 'in' bahasha"  (There is $600 as tips in the envelopes)
"Nimefurahi kukfahamu" (It was great meeting you)
"Heri zotei" (God bless) and "Bahati njema" (Good luck)

Most of our team along with the hoard of vendors and hangers on found it amusing.  That must have been one of the worst renditions of the Kiswahili language  they had ever heard but I am quite sure that it was also one of the few "thank you" speeches that they understood fully.  The tips were distributed, all were happy.  It was sad to part, Nora, Renee and Ken had a safari to complete and I had lives to save!  Naseebo helped me carry my bags to the Land Rover.  He had been a good man.  I liked him.  I slipped him an extra twenty.  He was happy too.  I hate to think that we may never cross paths again but I hope some time in the future I get a chance to meet up with some of them.  To my fellow climbers, Renee, Nora and Ken,  I owe my thanks and gratitude for the memories, for the friendship and for the trust we placed in each other.  May y'all climb to greater heights in life but always remember the snows of Kilimanjaro.  (Sorry Papa)

Asanteni sana.

The descent to Mweka Camp (Day #9 Feb 20th 2011)

 

Sunrise from Stella Point looking towards Mawenzi (Photo by Ken)

I slept soundly until about 4am, when I awoke to the pitter patter of tiny feet, nah, it was the clomp clomp of hiking boots not feet from my head.  She spoke in whispers, this unseen lady who had made it to Stella Point from Barafu Camp, considerate of the sleeping climbers, at least one of whom was awake, noting her passage to the summit.  They stopped awhile and were gone.  More came, most not very considerate of the sleeping climbers.  Some whooped their achievement in the stillness of the night.  Most just talked loud, you could have heard them a mile away.  Maybe, they were just jealous of us, who were asleep.  They came in batches, a cacophony of different languages, and a myriad of accents, only to fade away as they climbed into the darkness, that final steep ridge above Stella Point.

In the pre-dawn, Adam made his rounds with his cups of tea.  I would love to say it was a refreshingly cool, but it was not.  There was a bite to the wind that morning.  It was time to leave.  Bernarde asked Ken and me to descend with Goody, Prosper and Mwelu.  Before long Ken was way ahead of me, his athletic physique enabling him to easily maneuver the steep descent like a champion downhill skier, while my ponderous body "polé-poléd" its way downhill.  It was painful.  The scree was a lot worse here than on the side we had climbed.  Our feet sunk in a good three inches or more and there was no grip to speak of.  When the sunken foot and scree came across a sizable rock it stopped your foot moving and that gave you a chance to take the next step.  By the time we were at Barafu camp I was moving slowly indeed, very slowly.  Each painful step supported by the hiking sticks, without which I am sure I would have had to be carried down.  My thighs felt like they were on fire.  My right big toe reminded me of its painful presence with every step.  And we were only three and a half hours into an eight hour trek.  I was not going to make it at this rate.  I limped into Barafu where we met up with the remainder of the camp staff who did not come to Stella Point.

Here we reunited the luggage we had taken with us to the top with all the rest of it that had stayed back. We rested, I stretched out on a chair, the pain eased to a throb.  I got Prosper to redo my shoes.  He tied it nice and tight, for, you see, there lay my fault having not tied the shoes tightly, leaving my foot to move within the shoe and slamming my first toe against the front with each step.  Refreshed, we take leave.  This time it was just Ken and I and Prosper and Miwelu, Goody having stayed back to ensure all the stuff left Barafu in an orderly fashion.  Prosper was a great guide.  He knew all the plants and pointed them out to us.  We stopped at regular intervals to rest for a few minutes. It was a few minutes down this path that Prosper gave me some very valuable advice.  He tells me that, "polé-polé" was all fine when going up but when descending you go as fast as you can and take long steps rather than short ones.  That bit of sage advice made all the difference.  The longer steps and the tighter shoes made the rest of the descent a helluva lot less painful.  My toe still hurt but at least it was not getting worse.



At Millennium Camp we stopped for lunch.  There were already tents here awaiting climbers who had gone up from Barafu in the dead of the night on their summit bids.  We rested here.  I took off the layers down to regular pants and a base layer for the top.  It was getting warmer.  I gave my Gore-Tex pants to Bernarde.  It had served me well but  I had no use for it once I came off the mountain and he could make use of it .  Lighter, and much refreshed we started towards Mweka Camp.  Before long the trail gave way to a well-marked path lined on each side with small logs of wood, perhaps to keep the trail from getting washed away.  We went through all the different climactic zones we had been through on our way to the summit albeit at a much higher speed, as we passed through all five zones in a single day.  By the time we got to Mweka Camp, the humidity and the temperature were noticeably up.  At the main office we checked-in in the large bound register and then got us all a nice can of Kilimanjaro Beer.  I am not sure how good it is, but on that day and at that moment it was awesome.  We found our camp and before long the ladies were at camp too, having survived the descent in a not too shabby fashion!  The night sky was phenomenal once again.  Ken saw his second satellite.

Dinner was chicken "stew" and rice, fruit and all the usual makings.  It prompts Ken to say, "Nimeshiba", a respectful way of saying, "I am full" (the food was great).  Ever since we started eight days back the two guides would sometimes join us for dinner, but would then go over to the kitchen tent to eat Ugali, the stuff that "gives lots of strength and stamina"!!!  I was keen to try it out but did not want to take the risk on the way up, and I had asked Richard to include me for Ugali on our last night on the trail.  Ugali is a staple of Tanzanian food and is quite similar to polenta, only a little tougher.  I break off a small piece, dip it in the chicken sauce and with a piece of chicken to accompany it, soon it was nimeshiba for me too.