2022 started out rough! I was racing against a writing deadline, while also trying to plan a trip to southeast Africa in efforts to escape another mid-west winter. I had spent the previous 6 months writing a hiking guide for Wisconsin where each of the treks ended at a scenic waterfall. This involved traveling to all corners of the dairy state and walking, mapping and GPS navigating 25 different waterfall trails. I had devoted my last few weeks in Wisconsin to sitting in my pajamas, sometimes not showering for days, and finishing the first 25 chapters. They were due January 5th. As the new year approached I still sat dissecting and re-organizing the last several months of data, notes, photographs and maps scraps. Approximately one week before my chapters were due, as I stayed awake well past midnight writing, squeezing the last out of my adrenal glands, I realized that I was NOT going to accomplish my writing goal. I can’t recall a time in my life that I felt this defeated, but in that brief period of darkness I revisited a valuable lesson I’d encountered many times before: the universe has a sense of humor and it will fuck with you.
The Universe WILL Fuck with you
Whether you put your faith in Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Elvis, Goddess or the Divine Intelligence, when you muster up all the grit you think you can harness and catapult yourself towards a noble and worthwhile pursuit, the universe is going to show you it has a sense of humor. It’s going to “fuck with you”. Forgive the crude language here, but believe it or not, these words were carefully selected. I don’t believe the universe “messes” or “screws” with us. Those phrases/sentiments are reserved for sibling rivalry and/or teammates of organized sports. When you have a perceived unattainable goal, when you have a deadline, when you NEED to see something to fruition despite the odds stacked against you, you will be “fucked with”, tested: to see how bad you really want it.
So……while scrambling to submit my work, chomping at the bit, I tested positive for Covid-19 four days before my deadline and was gifted all the nasty symptoms that the current variant promised. Fortunately, my editor gave me an extension, however the last 48 hours of frantic typing consisted of me revisiting the self-destructive procrastination behaviors of my university days. Isolated in a room. Ferociously writing. Neglecting to eat. Overly caffeinated. Descending into delirium.
Fist stop: Austin, TX:
I kicked off my 2022 travels visiting my friend Ellie in Austin, TX. I stepped off that plane a hot tired mess. Austin was yoga, nature hikes, vegan food, dog walks, live music and vision boards. I began my 2021 winter travels in Austin with Ellie as well and, comically, she still had an abundance of my things that I couldn’t bring on the plane with me the previous year: a heavy yoga mat, a menagerie of supplements, 2 lbs. of spirulina.
Next Stop: Vail, Colorado
I then went snowboarding with my friend Jessie in Vail, CO. My Vail experience was a combination of over-priced mountain life, snowboarding, hiking, dog walking, lots of sunshine, fresh powder and live music. Jessie and I have the same exit strategy each January, where we leave Wisconsin nearly at the same time. Jessie heads to the mountains in search of fresh snow. I go someplace warm and exotic. He has been trying to convince me for years to join him snowboarding/skiing for the month of January, but the idea of leaving cold snowy Wisconsin for even colder and snowier Colorado…well… I made an exception this year and it was honestly pretty awesome!
The cool thing about both Jesse and Ellie is that they prioritize doing daily yoga practice and eating a diet of mainly plants, so I was able to regain my physical and emotional strength in preparation for my trip to Africa. On my way to the airport, I swung through Denver and caught up with an old friend and his lovely family in Denver. My buddy Andrew Heard has known me since I was a kid: well over twenty years. He’s one of those friends who has seen me through nearly every awkward phase of teenage years, young adulthood and perceived professionalism. He is currently the art director for Liquid Death Mountain Water. He hit me up with an abundance of swag for the road, so if you see me sporting liquid death gear in my photos and videos, you can consider it my “official unofficial” sponsor.
Ethiopia Air: “Bringing Africa Together and Beyond”
No one on that 11-hour flight probably understood how excited I was. I was the only Caucasian on the plane, and everyone around me was dressed in brightly colored kitenge clothing and/or sports apparel from their favorite soccer team. My fellow passengers spoke in a combination of Ahmaric, Oromo, Swahili or one of the hundreds of native dialects spoken by local tribes. I didn’t understand a single word, but every unfamiliar word, phrase, expression, laugh, sneeze or mumble in these various foreign tongues instantly re-ignited by love for travel. Everyone smelled wonderful. The moment someone attempted to communicate with me, usually expressing a greeting or simply saying, “excuse me, I’d like to get passed you to use the bathroom”, I jumped up with child-like excitement as if they were asking for a hug. As I exited the plain to catch my next flight, a gentleman asked me wearily, “How was your flight?” and to his utter confusion I replied, “It was AWESOME! How was yours?”.
After another short 3-hour flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and I landed in Moshi, Tanzania, the gateway town of Mount Kilimanjaro. I arrived at my hotel and promptly fell asleep for 15 hours. My goal in Moshi was to organize a trek up Mount Kilimanjaro. Everything I read online from fellow travelers emphasized the importance of finding a reputable company, who was socially and environmentally responsible, and paying a premium price. The reason being that companies which sell you cheap tours historically pay their staff poorly. There is even a risk of having faulty equipment, which is the last thing you want at 5,895 meters on top of a freezing mountain. Fortunately, the taxi driver who brought me to my hotel from the airport recommended a tour agency that he vouched was both environmentally and socially responsible.
I spent an entire day walking around Moshi investigating various mountain outfitters and talking with local guides and porters. There appeared to be a resounding consensus that the tour company recommended by my cab driver was a reputable one who treated his workers well. Jet lagged and under-prepared, I booked my hike for the following morning. I was introduced to my mountain guide, Thomas Lister, and he accompanied me to my hotel to examine my gear. After careful examination of my personal affects, he ascertained that I would most certainly die on that mountain if I didn’t invest in renting some equipment. He brought me to a mountain outfitter and $90 later, I was in the possession of a sub-zero sleeping bag, snow pants, heavy winter jacket, mittens, a balaclava mask and a head-lamp. All were designed to keep me warm as I ascended Mount Kilimanjaro, particularly the last 1,222 meters (4,009 feet) from basecamp to the summit which is the most challenging part.
Day 1 Mount Kilimanjaro: Elevation 9,302 Feet
“Salt and Peppa and Heavy D up in the limousine.”
The first day involved packing my bags, loading a van, meeting my porters and stopping for mountain snacks before hitting the trail. I was brought to a very small supermarket on the way to the trailhead where I was told I could purchase some much-needed energy bars for the hike. Much to my dismay the wall of snacks I was presented with were NOT the conventional energy bars I was expecting: nut/grain/seed bars bound together by dates, honey and dried fruit. These were conventional American and European chocolate bars: pasteurized dairy, white sugar, processed chocolate and preservatives. I was told, “Load up. You will need these”. I don’t recall the last time in the United States that I bought a candy bar, but here in Tanzania I spent nearly $35 on a whole cluster of them. I never did eat one on the mountain, but they came in handy one day when I threw an impromptu celebration for my mountain guide’s birthday and used them in place of birthday cake.
The first day of hiking was relatively easy. A slow ascent through the rainforest. My guide Thomas and I chatted it up and got to know each other. We discussed international film, old school hip hop and the effects of Covid-19 on Tanzania tourism. Thomas and I both loved Wu-Tang, Notorious B.I.G. and KRS-One. We recited the lyrics of Sound Of Da Police by KRS-One and Juicy by Notorious B.I.G. We rapped all of our favorite songs line for line until the altitude got the best of us…. well, got the best of me. Thomas, like my porters, was a stellar high-altitude athlete: an invincible mountain god who was not even slightly phased by the increasingly thin air.
Day Two Mount Kilimanjaro: Elevation 12,303 Feet
“Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from god”. -Kurt Vonnegut
Today I got to see a change in bio-regions. High-elevation rainforest turned to short succulent shrubs and later sub-alpine cloud forest. The scenery just continued to get more and more beautiful. I snapped so many photos, until I finally stopped, realizing that I would never be able to explain this to anyone back home. Instagram and Facebook would never do it justice. I could never show anyone an image on my phone and explain the sensory overload that I experienced on the mountain’s surface.
The higher you get on an African mountain, the less vegetation you come across, but what you do find is uniquely beautiful and fragrant. My guide kept showing me plants which looked extra exotic and smelled AMAZING. He called them “everlasting plants” indicating that they were quite industrious and some of the few species that you could grow well into the upper regions of the mountain/hike. As we walked he pointed out different wild herbs and flowers which I collected in bundles, burying my face in them as I inhaled deeply. By the end of the day I had a collection of plants, which bound together, smelled like a premium-priced botanical underarm deodorant for my fellow hippies.
My mountain guide Thomas also gave me Swahili lessons today. We both laughed as I attempted to say, “Jambo Jambo rafiki yangu” and “Mambo ni moto”. He taught me the Swahili word for “white people” (Wazungo) which I immediately began to abuse by taunting fellow climbers yelling, “Wazungo pandam m’lima Kilimanjaro!” (White people climbing the mountain!). I thought I was hilarious until I had to start making oxygen choices and the altitude made it too difficult to laugh. #Karma
Day Three Mount Kilimanjaro: Elevation 13,107 Feet
“You need to step up your orifice game.”
Day three on the mountain we continued hiking through indescribably beauty. I developed a headache and my digestive tract began giving me indications that it wasn’t happy to be deprived of oxygen. At one point during the days trek we approached some climbers and I heard, in crystal clear Midwest English, “No diarrhea? No vomiting? No blood? Dude, you need to step up your orifice game!” Coincidentally three guys from Milwaukee, WI were climbing the mountain at the same time I was. The night before one of them had 3 episodes of altitude sickness which involved a variety of bodily fluids being ejected from multiple orifices. This was foreshadowing for what I would witness in the toilets at future camps as well as symptoms I would succumb to as I reached higher and higher altitudes.
Each day all of the hikers arrived at designated camps where they would acclimate, regroup, eat and rest. These camps were equipped with vault toilets: well-built structures, reminiscent of a tool shed or ice shanty, consisting of nothing more than an impossibly small whole in the floor. These were the proverbial “squatty potties”, and it would take an expert marksman to successfully use these commodes without making a horrible mess. The majority of the climbers were from outside Tanzania and were not acclimated to the altitude. As a result, they often had emergency “orifice issues” in the middle of the night – with little warning. By morning these facilities were atrocious and smelled like two dead people having sex in a kiddy pool of human urine…mixed with shit.
It was on day three that I got my first altitude headache. I fell asleep after dinner and slept 12.5 hours.
Day four Mount Kilimanjaro: Elevation 15,331 Feet
“Jambo, jambo! Akuna matata! Pole pole!”
I woke up on day four feeling amazing! I hadn’t realized that I was so affected by jet lag. That combined with the altitude had been kicking my ass. Today we hiked through a variety of beautiful terrain which included waterfalls, unusual rock formations and plant life unique to high altitudes. At certain points in the day, the climbing felt like a leisurely stroll in a national park. Other times I was required to scale boulder-strewn bluffs fit where if I didn’t physically keep my chest and face pressed up against the rock I would have most certainly fell. I was doing this while carrying a modest sized backpack, but my guides and porters were scaling the same rocks, much faster than I, carrying significantly more weight.
As we continued to ascend, we eventually reached an elevation where nothing can grow. The landscape resembled what I assumed planet Mars looks like: rocky and desolate, with no vegetation. You see hardly any wildlife this high up. I had a headache and I found it mildly hard to breath. A few hundred meters from basecamp, a girl was being escorted past me with a mountain guide. They were walking in the opposite direction. I tried to smile and say hello, but she shot back a very irritated glance. This was the first person I saw walking down the mountain, against climber traffic. AND…she was being chaperoned. This was bad. Something went wrong.
We arrived at basecamp and as we began to set up camp, it started to rain, then sleet, then snow. In preparation for summit day, the guides and porters feed you early and then you try to get to bed around 5-6pm, because they wake you up at midnight to begin hiking. If you are a relatively proficient hiker you should arrive at the summit in time for sunrise. I ate dinner and immediately crawled into my sleeping bag, but didn’t really sleep. My altitude headache and nausea combined with the excitement of climbing to the rooftop of Africa, prevented me from getting much rest . When my guide woke me at midnight, my entire tent was covered in a sheet of ice. I was given coffee and cookies (which I couldn’t bring myself to eat) and then put on all of my warmest gear and began to climb.
Day Five Mount Kilimanjaro, Summit Day: Elevation 19,340 Feet
Here is the honest truth which I don’t think is shared much on people’s social media posts when they exclusively show their heroic photos from the top of Kilimanjaro. Today’s hike to the summit was fucking awful! It consisted of climbing snow-covered rocks on a very steep slope in the dark and freezing cold. I have never felt so fatigued and nauseous for such an extended period in my life. I vomited three times and had a variety of other “emergency orifice” issues. I was overcome with waves of emotions which ranged from blind unfocused rage to episodes of uncontrollable crying. As I stumbled up this snowy mountain in the dark – sick, fatigued, angry and questioning my life’s choices – my guides and porters continue to be as calm and collected as Hindu cows.
The view from the summit was astounding. I tried taking selfies and recording short videos of myself speaking, but my face was a combination of sunburned, windburned, and early stages of frostbite. My face looked like a pepperoni pizza. The pain in my head was killing me. My mouth was completely incapable of forming coherent sentences and my emotions and facial expressions were completely out of sync. I took as many photos as I could on the summit and then Thomas, my guide, told me, “You have to keep moving or else you’ll freeze. We have to get you down the mountain”. It was an agonizing three-and-a-half-hour descent back to base camp. Exhausting! My guide gave me climbing poles, because my legs stopped being able to support my weight. The sun was out in full force and was outrageously bright and blinding. My close proximity to the sun combined with the reflection off of the snow caused my face to burn at an accelerated rate. We arrived back at base camp and I was told that I had one hour to rest, before packing up and heading down the mountain. I was ILL and all I wanted to do was sleep. I kind of lost my shit on my guide. I couldn’t comprehend why we had to keep moving and couldn’t just stay here for a few more hours or at least one extra day. Unbeknownst to me, my guide wasn’t trying to follow a regimented schedule or get the excursion over with. He was trying to keep me alive.
Here is what I learned:
Altitude sickness is no joke! An average of 10 fatalities are reported on Mount Kilimanjaro each year. The cause of altitude sickness is the decreasing amount of oxygen available as altitude increases. Essentially, your cells become deficient in oxygen and you begin to die. The most common death from altitude sickness is called HAPE (High-altitude pulmonary edema) where fluid builds up in your lungs and becomes life-threatening. The most severe form of altitude sickness is HACE (High-altitude cerebral edema) where fluid builds up in your brain. Little did I know that my guide’s and porters were constantly monitoring me for altitude sickness: looking at my face, watching my breathing, monitoring my behaviors. The girl I mentioned earlier who was being escorted down the mountain, I later found out, was suffering from HACE. I ran into her on a safari a few weeks later and she explained that her guide noticed her head began to swell and it was decided that she needed to get to a safe elevation immediately.
Returning to the bottom of the mountain took approximately a day and a half. Even after 6 days my guides and porters continued to be some of the hardest working, hospitable and cheerful humans I have ever encountered. I took them all out for beers and we had a gratitude ceremony. They sang me songs and performed traditional dances and I tipped them as well as I could and explained how grateful I was for their service. They dropped me off at my backpacker hostel where I showered and fell asleep for 13 hours.
It is important to note that for every social media post you see from some Wazungo (Swahili word for “White Person”) climbing Mt Kilimanjaro, there is a team of local mountain guides and porters behind the scenes who carried them to the top (figuratively and literally). Many of the guides and porters do this climb 20-30 times each year, many trips back to back, with minimal clothing and water…AND with 40-60 lbs on their backs!! They are high-elevation mountain gods and they are not getting street cred or Instagram “likes” for each of their summits. In fact, one guide told me that he has hiked Mount Kilimanjaro over 100 times and he has never taken a single photo.
This post was possible thanks to the relentless efforts of Tom Africa Abenteuer aka Thomas Lister, Edward Mariwa, Joakim Mariwa, Peter Mshanga, Hussen Hassan, and Marki Antony. This was my crew of guides, chefs and porters who helped me reach the rooftop of Africa. Without them I would not have made it!
“Rafiki yangu! Mambo ni moto!”