Interesting encounters and tales of snow-capped Mount Kilimanjaro

I have been following Madaraka, son of Mwalimu Nyerere, and his interesting marathon bicycle trip from Dar es Salaam via Dodoma and Shinyanga, all the way to his home village, Butiama, in Mara Region.

His amazing posts include a stay at one of the lodges in Coast Region where their accommodation policy included allowing their patrons to park their bikes in the lodge bedrooms, much to his delight.

Another interesting experience was at one of the small tourist establishments on the fringes of the Serengeti National Park where he was not welcome. Apparently he had been there before when he was warmly welcome because he had arrived by car. This time the arrival with his bike did not raise the same hospitality.

Thankfully he has now arrived safely at his Butiama home. This gallant and tedious experience was, apart from enabling him to enjoy the scenic and beautiful Bongoland landscape, undertaken to also prepare him for his forthcoming expedition to climb the mighty Kilimanjaro. He undertakes these annual climbing expeditions to raise funds for some charity cause.

And that made me recall my close and interesting encounters with this majestic mountain. And they are several including my having climbed it thrice, twice reaching Gilman’s Point, the second highest, and once standing proud and shivering at the highest peak, Uhuru - and by so doing, re-arranging the order of nature.

Before one begins the scale the order is; ‘you, the mountain and the sky’. And once atop it the order becomes; ‘the mountain, you and the sky’.

I had been duped by my friends, the late Adam Lusekelo, an avid climber himself and his co-conspirators, Major General (rtd) Sarakikya and the late Sammy Mdee, former managing director of the Arusha International Conference Centre.

Then I had annually, for about ten years, escorted special diplomatic groups climbing the mountain to the Marangu gate and hung around those verdant Chagga slopes drinking bucketfuls of ‘mbege’ for a week until the groups came down to a ceremonious welcome.

On one occasion the three convinced me to escort the group up to the first gate, Mandara where I could bid it farewell the following day.

But that morning they again convinced me to escort the group to the second hut, Horombo so I could marvel at the ice covered peak of Mount Kilimanjaro.

Knowing there was no way I could go further than Horombo, because I had no climbing gear I relented.

The following morning I was shocked to find that the three had surreptitiously smuggled up the mountain my climbing gear which included all the warm clothes, heavy overcoats, balaclavas and gloves, not forgetting the walking stick.

They also argued that after having spent two nights up the mountain why not finish the last segment up to Kibo Hut and onward to the summit.

That sunny morning the regal ice peaked summit was also warmly beckoning me and I said why not.

It was the worst decision of my life. The horrendous experience I suffered on its sandy zigzag slope and numbing cold was something I never expected. Notwithstanding that, I managed to reach Gilman’s Point. I swore to never again go through that experience. But six months later I was back and suffered my way to Uhuru. A year later I suffered again to Gilman’s Point. And that was it.

I earlier said I had several encounters with the mountain. Well yes, but the first one was really very memorable. I was spending my Saturday night at the iconic Kibo Hotel at Marangu when I was rudely woken up that Sunday morning by a stampede outside.

Looking through my window I could see a mass of people – young and old, men and women - running towards one direction. I thought something was really grave. Most likely the mountain’s dormant volcano had suddenly become active.

In my pajamas and sandals I rushed out and joined the stampede only to realize its destination was the nearby Lutheran Church where everybody was singing ‘Loi Loi….’ and praising the Lord.

To say I was embarrassed is an understatement. I sheepishly walked back to my hotel. An hour or so later the same group was seen running away from the church – this time I was told they were rushing to the ‘mbege’ joints to booze. And again sing ‘Loi Loi….’ Praising the Lord!