Mt Kilimanjaro & Me. Annette Freeman
and nowhere to stand properly. Blood was flowing copiously from the gash in his forehead, but thank goodness he seemed alert and coherent, not concussed. I had a few first aid supplies, and staunched the flow and applied a bit of bandage. We retrieved his spectacles, which had survived intact. No need to send Jimmy for help, thankfully.
Now we just wanted to get off dear old Roland as fast as possible but it took us several more hours to descend. Possibly the most difficult section of all was the steep path in the foothills, which had caused so much puffing on the way up. Descending it was hell. Smooth, slippery dust underfoot made sliding inevitable. I finally came up with an awkward technique of placing my feet sideways. The muscles in my legs took a beating that day, mostly from this descent, and I could barely walk for days afterwards.
The whole excursion took about seven hours but we drove home triumphant, Neil and I battered and bruised in various ways, and Jimmy completely unscathed. He may have found the whole thing a bit boring; he didn’t say much. But I believe he enjoyed the Devonshire tea.
Chapter 2: The Great Barranco Wall
My rock scrambling experience on the flanks of Roland turned out to be a minor rehearsal for a much greater, and scarier, scramble on the flanks of an African rock wall of much more significant proportions. Five days into the climb of Kilimanjaro I found myself stuck high up on a daunting, legendary feature known as the Great Barranco Wall. On the instructions of the African guide, who was somewhat improbably named Brian, I carefully reached out for the rocky handhold he indicated, and equally carefully moved my feet onto an eight centimetre wide ledge. I was to ease myself around the rock face to the comparative safety of the next small crack between the boulders. Brian would then reach down and haul me up another few feet. I was wearing a crash helmet, prettily pale blue. This had been issued at the base of the rock face. As far as I could recall, this had notbeen in the brochure.
Clinging to the rocks, I looked down and back. An incredible view spread out far below, if I could spare a little corner of my attention to appreciate it. Opposite and below me, on the other side of the valley, a glorious waterfall plunged down. Spread further back was the amazing Barranco Valley, through which we had just trekked that morning, with its unique and other-worldly giant senecio plants, arms up-spread like weird candelabra, and mysterious spiky giant lobelia. Beyond the waterfall were the colourful dots of the tents at the Barranco Campsite, far behind us. I gave it all about three seconds of attention.
It took me about one and a half hours to climb the Great Barranco Wall. I started up boldly, full of courage, but rock-scrambling isn’t my thing (as I may have mentioned) and one and a half hours is a long time to keep up the bravado. Possibly the hardest thing was to keep the fear out. That cold gripping feeling located usually in the pit of the stomach, foretelling the first signs of panic. Loss of control would have been bad right then, very bad. There were several moments when it almost snuck in – that glance back at the waterfall was one. So were the demoralising false summits. Just as I thought I was at the top, higher and ever-more-difficult bits revealed themselves. If I had let the fear sneak in, I think I’d still be there, clinging pitifully to The Wall in my pale-blue crash helmet.
My companions were the key, of course. They got me up that Wall. Apart from the strong and calm Brian, hauling me up rocky steps higher than me, I also had the company of fellow-trekker Peter, from San Francisco. Peter was nearly twenty years younger than me, which was kind of reassuring. He had a ready sympathy and patience, and a particularly fetching sunhat that made him look a bit like Paddington Bear. He had done his training riding a bicycle on San Francisco’s hills, which is no mean feat. He said The Great Barranco Wall was a doddle in comparison. But it wasn’t the physical effort of the wall which stymied me. Looking back, I can say that I managed that quite well, if a little slowly. The mental effort to hold back panic and stay focussed was the greatest challenge. I was way out of my comfort zone. The secure back-up and professional assurance of the African guides, and chatting distractedly to Peter about anything and everything, helped enormously.
This was also the day I first met Francis, an assistant guide. After about ten minutes on The Wall, Francis offered to carry my day pack. I accepted gratefully – gift horses’ mouths and all that – and he carried it every day from then on. In fact, Francis became my main man, giving me the valuable gift of an extra reserve of energy, as well as his comforting, if mostly silent, company. ‘We together,’ he would say to me. Indeed we were.
Chapter 3: Motivations
Sydney is a sunny, well-heeled town, with all mod cons and a laid-back leisurely lifestyle. The downtown office high-rises provide sleek and modern workplaces, handy cafés, year-round air-conditioning. The weather is great for driving a convertible with the top down, and the sea sparkles invitingly at weekends. The arts scene is vibrant, the opera fresh, the seafood delicious and the people frank and friendly.
In Tanzania, only twenty percent of the roads in the country are paved, and many of the rest are close to impassable. When it rains, all is mud; and when it’s dry the dust clogs your pores. Elephants, zebras and wildebeest roam about on the endless Serengeti. Beaches trim the eastern sea-board and the exotic island of Zanzibar. Around the foot-hills of Mt. Kilimanjaro, lush coffee plantations and sugar cane create a green belt. In the courts in Arusha, UN people peruse evidence in the Rwanda genocide investigation.
Travelling from the cosy and familiar world of Sydney to Arusha in Tanzania is a fascinating and challenging shift. Tanzania is bordered by Kenya in the north (travellers from the northern hemisphere often approach Tanzania via Nairobi). Malawi, Zambia and Mozambique touch its borders in the south and Burundi, Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo are to the west. Uganda borders Lake Victoria and touches the northern edge of Tanzania, so in total Tanzania has eight neighbours, as well as a sea coast. Tanzania’s land borders are defined by three large lakes: Victoria, the second-largest freshwater lake in the world; Tanganyika, second only to Lake Baykal as the deepest in the world; and Lake Malawi. Three great African rivers have their origins in Tanzania – the Nile, the Zambezi and the Zaire.
The modern nation was formed in 1964 when Tanganyika united with Zanzibar, giving the elided name of ‘Tanzania’. Julius Nyerere was its charismatic socialist leader, who preached nationhood rather than tribal rivalry, and declared Swahili the national language. The seaside city of Dar Es Salaam (‘Dar’ to the locals) is the largest city and probably the best known in Tanzania, although the official capital is a rarely-visited inland city called Dodoma. The palm-fringed islands of the Zanzibar archipelago, once the hub of the ancient spice route and an Arabian stronghold, retain their own character - and occasionally separatist tendencies. But Tanzania as a whole is a relatively stable and well-integrated African nation, experiencing less tribal conflict than some of its neighbours. This is an achievement in itself, considering that Tanzania has around 120 different tribes, plus a whole polyglot of other races, including European (it was part of German East Africa during the years of colonial occupation), Asian and Arabic.
Around Mt. Kilimanjaro, Arusha and the neighbouring town of Moshi are large and bustling centres, serviced by Kilimanjaro International Airport. In addition to coffee, sugar and the unique blue gem tanzanite – mined only near Arusha – the region boasts another great economic draw card, enough to support the building of an international airport: Mt. Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. The constant stream of tourists who visit to climb the mountain provides some economic stimulation to an otherwise poor country.
Mt. Kilimanjaro is a trekking peak, meaning that ordinary hikers can manage it. No technical climbing with ropes and pitons and karabiners and so on is required. It is, however, rather high. At 5895 metres, there is a serious risk of high altitude sickness particularly for those who make fast ascents. Some hardy (or foolhardy) souls buzz up Mt. Kilimanjaro in three days. The usual routes take five or six days. The longer routes take seven, eight or nine days, and traverse across the mountain from the west, rather than heading straight up. The valuable advantage of taking a longer route (despite extra expense) is the opportunity to acclimatise, and also to see more of the mountain.
Kilimanjaro is a large free-standing mountain, sixty kilometres long and forty kilometres wide, which rises in more or less solitary splendour out of the East African plain. Despite