On Mount Kilimanjaro, celebration of a summit — and inspiration in a song

It was dark, except for the dim glow of our headlamps.

It was cold. So cold I was trembling. So cold my water was nearly frozen.

And breathing? I’ve never had so much trouble breathing.

Not because I was tired — although I was bone tired — but because of the altitude.

Taking off a glove to pull a Mars bar from my pack, adjusting my buff to cover more of my freezing face — those small tasks zapped me.

I felt like I was trudging up the mountain under water, wearing cement shoes.

Then my guide, Hardson, said something I’ll never forget: “Three hours to go.”

Three hours!

Hardson was trying to be encouraging, but I thought we were closer than that. A lot closer.

I wasn’t the only one.

“We were tired and dragging and didn’t know if we could make it, no matter how many times (Hardson) told us to be positive and hakuna matata,” said Courtney Flatt, my friend and frequent partner in adventure. “You could just feel the energy of the group deflate after he said, ‘Hey, three more hours!’ ”

I felt like crying. I felt like throwing up.

I did neither — at least not right then.

I did, eventually, make it to the top.

About three hours later, Courtney and I dragged our tired bodies to Uhuru Peak — the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro.

Standing at the famed summit sign at last, we hugged and high-fived.

We posed for photos with our group and snapped a selfie to mark the occasion.

For me, it was a meaningful moment — one I’d worked toward for months and dreamed of for years.

But now that I’m home and reflecting on the trip of a lifetime, it’s not what stands out most.

Instead, I’ve been thinking of those difficult steps hours before, in the middle of the night. They’re the most special of my life.

I’ll try to explain why.

‘Pole, pole’

At 19,341 feet, Mount Kilimanjaro towers above the East African country of Tanzania.

One of the famed Seven Summits, it’s the highest point in Africa and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world.

To put it in context: it’s 4,930 feet taller than Mount Rainier — Washington’s highest peak. And it’s 9,688 feet shy of Everest, the highest point in the world.

Courtney and I started planning our trip to Kili early this year.

Like me, Courtney is a journalist — she’s based in Richland and covers the environment for EarthFix and Northwest Public Radio.

Also like me, she loves the outdoors. In our years of friendship, Courtney and I have hiked the Kalalau Trail on Kauai, the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in Peru, climbed Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens in Washington, plus Oregon’s South Sister and several other regional peaks.

On the Kili trek, we were joined by five friends we met on the Inca Trail, plus five new friends from around the world.

We made the trip through G Adventures, which arranged for guides, porters and supplies on the trail.

Our crew took Kilimanjaro’s Machame route, one of several routes to the top.

On the morning of Oct. 4, we arrived at Machame Gate.

A couple things became clear right away. First, we wouldn’t be hiking fast.

On Kili, a common phrase is “pole pole,” meaning “slow” or “go slowly” in Swahili. It could be the mountain’s creed.

Kilimanjaro isn’t technically difficult to ascend. Unlike Rainier, for example, you don’t need to rope up or navigate crevasses to get to the top.

But it’s so high that altitude sickness is a real concern. Thousands of tourists attempt Kili each year, and only something like half reach the summit — with altitude as the main culprit.

Going slowly and drinking lots of water are keys to helping your body acclimate.

The other thing that was immediately clear: guides and porters are the backbone of the mountain. They seem almost superhuman.

Our group had five guides, who all grew up in Kili’s shadow. We also were helped by a small army of porters.

These men and women haul heavy loads — tents, sleeping bags, food — over the mountain’s steep and rocky terrain, racing to set up the next camp.

Along the way, they can often be heard singing.

Music is a great tradition on Kilimanjaro — beautiful, buoyant tunes that are passed down through generations.

At the end of our second day, at Shira Camp, we first witnessed the joy of Kili songs.

Our porters gathered in a semi circle and began to sing. Soon, Courtney and I and the rest of our group — plus other hikers drawn to the music and fun — were smiling, singing and dancing along.

“Jambo! Jambo bwana! Habari gani? Mzuri sana!” Hello! Hello, sir! How are you? Very fine!

“Wageni, mwakaribishwa! Kilimanjaro? Hakuna matata! Guests, you are welcome. Kilimanjaro, no problem!

“Tembea pole pole, hakuna matata. Utafika salama, hakuna matata.” Walk slowly, slowly, no problem. You’ll get there safe, no problem.

‘It was joyous’

Our group hiked six to eight hours a day, on average.

We passed through a muggy rainforest, through an alpine desert dotted with whimsical, Seussian plants, and along the thrilling Barranco Wall.

It was wondrous, stunning. Courtney snapped some beautiful photos along the way.

One of my favorites shows the sun setting at Shira Camp, on our second day.

Another shows hikers on an outcrop, set against a technicolor sky.

Courtney and I got lucky. While we were tired at the end of each day, both of us felt strong and healthy as we ascended.

When we reached Barafu Camp, our final stop before the summit push, we’d largely avoided the nausea and headaches that hit some others in our group.

As we drifted off to sleep, catching a few restless hours at 15,200 feet, I wondered if our fortunes would shift once we set out toward Uhuru Peak.

I wondered what the long night ahead would hold.

We took off at midnight, aiming to hit the mountain’s highest reaches around sunrise and then descend as far as we could in daylight.

It was bitterly cold, and Hardson warned us to wear multiple layers and to wrap our water bottles in extra clothing to keep them from freezing.

We did, but the cold still cut through. Before long, icicles began forming on my bottle’s lid.

In the thin air, every breath took effort and every step felt like a Herculean feat.

I stumbled on a rock and spent the next few minutes panting, my heart racing.

Courtney started to shiver. One of the guides helped her put on an extra layer; she was too tired to do it on her own.

It seemed like hours had passed. In the dark, I couldn’t see the top, but I was sure we were close. We had to be.

Then, Hardson made his announcement. Three more hours. My heart sank.

I didn’t consider turning back. Neither did Courtney. We’d saved, planned and trained for months. We were getting to the summit.

But it was so cold. We were so tired. And we had so far to go.

Then, we heard it.

Hardson and three other guides were with us on the summit push, along with five porters, who weren’t carrying gear but were on hand to help. They started to sing.

They sang the Jambo song. They sang another tune, a call and response, that was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes.

I later learned it was a prayer that we’d make it to the top.

“(The singing) lifted everybody’s spirits,” Courtney recalled. “I’m sure you could hear it down the mountain. It was joyous.”

It really was.

I felt a rush of gratitude. I felt a rush of joy.

I felt lucky to be in that special place, to breathe in that cold, thin air.

To be able to walk on two weary legs as high as I could go.

Roof of Africa

We reached Uhuru Peak not long after sunrise.

We hugged and high-fived. We posed for pictures and tried to cherish our few moments on the Roof of Africa.

About 30 hours later, we were back at the base of the mountain. As new groups started their treks, we said goodbye.

The other day, with a couple weeks’ perspective, Courtney and I talked about what we’ve taken from the adventure.

“It’s all so cliche,” she said — that perseverance pays off, that a strong will can go a long way, that friends make challenging journeys sweeter.

But it’s also true.

So is this:

“Hardson — we were the 179th trip (to the summit) for him. I doubt he’ll ever think of me again in his life. But all the guides and porters, they impacted me probably more than I know,” Courtney said. “Their strength and outlook on life — their joy in showing us this place that they love.”

Their voices, their songs.

For me, I’ll think about the summit, sure.

But also about those dark, cold steps, when joyful notes urged me on.

This story was originally published October 28, 2017 at 12:14 PM with the headline "On Mount Kilimanjaro, celebration of a summit — and inspiration in a song."