Kilimanjaro

We had a terrific, if harrowing, weekend excursion to a great a little lodge about 9000 feet up Mount Kilimanjaro, roughly the halfway point to the summit. At roughly 19,000 feet, Kilimanjaro is both the tallest mountain in Africa and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world (meaning not in a range with other mountains). We arrived in the rain after an hour an a half ride on a bumpy road that made some of the safari roads we had previously bounced along seem like the Pacific Coast Highway. Bone jarring. We actually did not make it all the way to the lodge. The car spun out on the mud, narrowly missed going down the embankment, and crashed (gently) into a tree. We weren’t far from the lodge, so we happily walked the rest of the way. The kids, who were completely freaked by the drive, did not even complain about the .5 kilometer walk straight up hill in the pouring rain. Some local children ran out with umbrellas for us (indicating that our experience was not particularly unusual) and women from the Chaga tribe greeted us with a beautiful dance. At 9000 feet, the weather was cooler than anything we have experienced thus far in Africa—and no mosquitoes! The mountain was covered in clouds when we first arrived, but then the rain stopped, the clouds parted and we were treated to a magical view of the snow capped peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. It’s quite extraordinary to see this majestic mountain covered in snow rising from the dusty African savananah. I have truly never seen anything like it and it was immediately clear why so much literature has been inspired by the sight.

We had the lodge to ourselves and, after a lovely one hour walk in the rain forest on the mountain, we were treated to more Chaga dances, drumming and even a sing along. This was clearly a bit of a show for the mzungas (white people), but unlike similar scenes I have witnessed in other countries where they seem to be going through the motions, there is a sense here that the singers and dancers are genuinely enjoying sharing their culture. Nonetheless, the whole scene reminded me of IKAR. The women started dancing, the men slowly joined it and soon the entire place was swept up in the joy and rhythm of the dance, including me (of course), Emma, Adam and, briefly and exceedingly reluctantly, Maya. Adam displayed his usual facility with rhythm and vocal abilities and we all, including the locals, had a nice laugh. Adam and I enjoyed our first evening alone together since this adventure started and we awoke to a glorious view of the mountain.

We hiked to a beautiful waterfall called Mnambe, apparently a sacred and spiritual place for members of the Chagga tribe. The walk there was easy and pleasant, if somewhat slippery and muddy. The return journey was straight up hill in the blazing sun for 2.5 hours. The kids kvetched and begged us to call a car (as if we could) but they persevered and made it up, and were both pleased with their accomplishment.

If the trip up the mountain was bumpy and slightly jarring, the ride down was absolutely terrifying. A few minutes into the trip, the rain started again and our minivan slid around the road like an out of control beginning skier on an icy black diamond run. Or, perhaps, like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride—without the track…or seatbelts… or risk of death. Indeed, we learned that slick mud can be every bit as hazardous as snow. Much to my irritation, Adam kept looking back at me with a panicked look, which made it harder for me to assure the girls that all was fine. The driver seemed reasonably unperturbed during the most treacherous parts so I chose to believe that this was not particularly extraordinary. However, when the rain stopped and the road evened out a bit, he turned around and said “we are safe now” ominously indicating that we had not been for the previous 30 minutes. Needless to say, the familiar sight of our little village of Rau was a welcome one.