December 21, 2010
In less than a year I will be leaving Tanzania and all those who I have come to know and love. I have especially been thinking about Yuda. I do not want to give him a lot of things, but I do want him to have many pleasant memories of the times we spent together. Yesterday I took him and two other Tanzanian children on a day hike up Mt. Kilimanjaro. I prayed that it would not rain and would you believe it was a gorgeous day? As the bus pulled into Marangu, we could clearly see the mountain, Kibo Peak smooth and covered with snow and Mawenzie Peak, stark and rugged, standing high above the landscape of lush green banana trees. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. Gloria and Yuda have lived on the slopes of Kilimanjaro all their lives, but since they had never traveled to the lowlands, they had never seen the entire mountain. They were so excited!
We arrived at the bus stand in Marangu and we were met by our guide and his assistant. We hired a taxi to take us to the Kilimanjaro National Park gate, and the six of us piled in: me and the three kids in back and the guide and his assistant sitting in the passenger seat. Even in taxis, we ride like bananas.
We arrived at the park and the guide registered us and paid our fees, most of the cost was for me. The guide appeared a bit distressed and then explained to me that he had left his license, insurance card, and some other important documents on the bus traveling from Moshi. He was going to send his assistant to find them while he took us on the hike.
We hiked from Marangu Gate to Mandara Hut, a distance of slightly more than 8 kilometers but almost 1000 meters rise in elevation. The hike up took about three hours but the hike down was about half that. The guide encouraged us to walk steadily on the way up while it was cool and we were fresh. He told me we would have time to take pictures on the way back down. So without our assistant, we began our hike, the guide, Yuda, and Gloria taking turns carrying the backpacks. Beatrice is a city girl and not use to hiking long distances, so she concentrated on walking. I am the “mzee”, the old one, and was not allowed to carry the bags for any long distance.
The kids seemed so happy as they walked along the path. The guide told me that very few Tanzanians climb the mountain. At the start of the hike I felt bad for them. At the end of the hike, I realized that they are not fools. Seriously, I had a great day. The scenery was beautiful. It was like walking on an uphill tread mill for three hours in the African Pavilion at the North Carolina Zoo. The main difference was that this was real. Only at the end of the hike did I have to force myself to continue climbing. My legs were tired but I think it was more a matter of running out of fuel. My two slices of peanut butter bread at six in the morning had been depleted. At one point, I asked the kids if they wanted a water break. They said yes, but as I was pulling the water bottle out of the bag, they were running down to the stream. I guess we were all drinking Kilimanjaro water; I just prefer mine boiled and filtered.
We passed many porters on the path carrying large bags full of gear and supplies for the foreigners. We passed a few of the foreigners as well. When we reached Mandara Hut, Beatrice exclaimed “Hallelujia!” Yuda and Gloria said, “Amen.” We had arrived! Gloria asked me, “Madam where is the mountain?” I said, “We are on it.” She expected to see the peak but we were still too low. We had passed through the forest and had just begun to enter the Moorland, but it would take another day or two to reach the Alpine desert and see the peak once more. However, the kids were glad (me too) to rest and eat. They had made a bunch of chipatis the night before and I had made banana bread. Cheryl had given us peanuts and small packages of cookies. I had thought I was hungry. The chipatis were delicious, but I could barely get one down. Water was what I wanted most. After eating, we toured the hostel to see where the foreigners sleep when they climb the entire mountain. The kids were impressed by the long room full of bunk beds. They had to try them out and have their pictures taken.
After a short rest, we began our descent. This, I must admit, was the highlight of my day. The guide sent Yuda and Gloria to the front and they fairly flew down the mountain. He took my bag, leaving me with only my camera, and told me to be free. Come at my own pace. Then he walked along with Beatrice who was still tired from the climb.
I was alone to enjoy the beauty of the mountain. I walked slowly taking pictures of wild flowers: orchids, violets, and Kilimanjaro impatiens. The sunlight dappled the path ahead. Massive trees, adorned with vines, stretched out their arms to shelter the way. I listened to the rustling of the breeze in the forest canopy. Trees rubbing together sounded like organ music. I could hear the bubbling of the brook and water cascading over a small waterfall. The birds were singing with delight, and I imagined I heard monkeys chattering overhead in “monkey trees”. It was nature’s concert, soothing and refreshing, just what I needed after the past few weeks. I could have stayed here all day.
However, we had to return home and still had a way to go. Back at the gate, we met the assistant again. He had found the guide’s documents and for the guide, that made his day. We walked across the parking lot to the taxi and it started to rain. God does listen to our prayers, doesn’t he? We crowded into the taxi and returned to town. We were going to get sodas and something to eat, because I knew the kids would be too tired to cook tonight. As we walked from the taxi stand toward the restaurant, Yuda took my hand and smiled at me. The hike had been wonderful but this truly was my reward. I thought of his mother and wondered if he remembered her. How old had he been when she died? Was she watching her baby from heaven? I had hoped this trip would be the memory Yuda would cherish, but suddenly I realized that for him, maybe it would, instead, be the memory of a mother’s love.
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