Reisebericht • East Africa 2004 • Heiko Otto

The vibrations subside. The bus comes to a halt. Once again, several passengers want to get off, even though there is absolutely nothing to be seen outside: no village, no lights, just pitch-black night. As with previous stops, the conductor - who also doubles as the on-board mechanic - jumps out of the bus as well. Armed with a wrench and a hammer, he hurriedly inspects the wheels and axles. Shortly after, a loud banging signals to us that this stop will likely take a little longer. Like most of the other passengers, we take this opportunity to give our badly cramped muscles some much-needed movement.

A quarter of an hour later, the conductor - now quite smeared with oil - crawls out from under the bus. In his hands, he holds a large object that looks suspiciously like a brake cylinder. “Hakuna Matata” - no problem at all ! Without further ado, the part is heaved onto the roof and disappears somewhere among the stacks of luggage lashed down there. Before we know it, the driver honks and revs the engine impatiently. Our reckless nocturnal journey can resume. After all, who needs a single brake cylinder ? There are plenty more of them, anyway !

When re-boarding, we’re a hair faster than the other passengers and manage to snag the seats that have just been vacated. The rest of the journey now promises to be a fraction more comfortable. But sleep - no matter how exhausted we are after the long trip - remains out of the question on these worn-down benches that have mutated into vibratory plates.

The next few hours bring nothing new - aside from a few additional bruises and a minor gash on the head. Yet, as crazy as it may sound, I’m starting to enjoy this madcap ride more and more. Every single one of those countless jolts conveys the same message: You’re back in Africa ! The holiday has begun ! The incredibly smooth highway we traveled on to the airport barely 24 hours ago feels a whole world away - no, a whole lifetime behind us.

After two dangerous lurches that sent the bus tilting at breathtaking angles, the driver finally gives up his attempt to take the washboard road at full tilt. At a reduced pace, we approach our destination, arriving a good hour before sunrise. A muddy square marks the endpoint of this grueling journey. Like the majority of the remaining passengers, we stay in our seats to rest for at least a little while longer - to catch a few minutes of sleep.

6:10 AM, Sunrise, setting off. Despite our heavy packs, the few hundred meters to the Kenyan border post are quickly covered, and exit formalities are wrapped up in three minutes. We continue through a lane of magnificently blooming acacias. To reach the Tanzanian border station, we have to wade through a good three kilometers of muddy, semi-flooded clay track. Halfway there, we get a lift from a passing pickup truck. For entry into Tanzania - just like in Kenya the day before - we have to fork over a hefty $50 visa fee. Quite outrageous ! We continue in a so-called “Matatu” - a minibus. As is common in Africa, the driver circles the tiny border town until every last one of the 13 seats and 4 jump seats is occupied, and five more passengers, along with their extensive luggage, are somehow squeezed into the vehicle. Then, finally, we really get going. Even though the Matatu is - at least from our perspective - bursting at the seams, the conductor standing in the open door keeps soliciting new passengers in every little village along the way. And each time, we’re amazed all over again when yet another passenger manages to squeeze into the tiny bus. In stark contrast to the leisurely crawling through the towns, the stretches in between are tackled in true rally fashion. The jolting on the still very bumpy track has the practical side effect of “compressing” the occupants even further. At the next stop, an elderly woman with two trays of eggs actually manages to fit inside ...

Moshi, a town at the foot of Kilimanjaro. Even before we’ve properly unfolded ourselves from the Matatu, the first touts are already lining up: “Kilimanjaro ? Safari ?” Everyone has a “brother”, who runs the best, the cheapest, or indeed the only agency offering tours and guides. We patiently listen to the various offers, collect business cards or phone numbers from the most interesting-sounding providers, and then unceremoniously leave the whole crowd behind to first go and find some budget accommodation.

Less than two hours later, everything has been settled to our satisfaction: We have a clean room at the centrally located “Buffalo Hotel”, which we don’t even have to pay for. The bill is being covered by Collin, the head of “Collins Safaris Ltd.” as part of the agreement we made with him regarding the organization of a Kilimanjaro expedition. Although Africa’s highest peak doesn’t present much of a technical challenge, a climbing permit is only granted if a licensed guide, along with porters and - indispensable ! - a cook, has been hired. We knew from the start that this wouldn’t be cheap: In the end, we negotiated a price with Collin of $580 per person for a six-day tour - $405 of which goes toward the hefty national park entrance fee, leaving $175 for the guide, the porters, the cook, the food, and all other incidental costs. We’re set to head out the very next morning. With the logistics taken care of, we use the rest of the day to explore the city’s colorful markets and, above all, to sample the local cuisine.

Nov 27, 2004, 8:45 AM. A Matatu is ready and waiting for us. Standing before it is Ernest “Massai” Moses, our mountain guide, who uses a map to brief us on the details of the upcoming ascent. Then we’re off, heading straight toward the majestically towering Kilimanjaro. Gradually, the narrow and surprisingly good road begins to climb, winding through coffee and banana plantations and countless tiny villages. Here and there, Massai has the driver pull over to haggle at small roadside stalls and stock up on our provisions. We use these brief stops to catch a fleeting glimpse into the lives of the mountain farmers, who - as it quickly turns out - are no less curious about us strangers. Time and again, we are asked if we truly intend to climb “Kibo” - the summit of Kilimanjaro. And time and again, we are amazed that this fact still inspires so much awe today - even here, where other climbers must pass by almost daily. Well-supplied with fruit and fresh meat, and a good dozen photos later, we resume our journey - now on a track dangerously furrowed by water and growing ever steeper.

The barrier at the “Machame Gate” marks the end of the drive. The banana and maize plantations, so omnipresent until now, also end here. Kilimanjaro National Park lies immediately before us !

“Machame” - alongside the issue of cost, the ascent route had been one of the most important points of negotiation with Collin. We absolutely did not want to use the “Marangu” or “Coca Cola Route” - as it is mockingly called - which is preferred by the vast majority of tourists and is consequently quite trodden down. The “Umbwe”, “Shira”, and “Machame” routes were discussed as alternatives, with the latter sounding the most interesting to us. And so here we are, at the starting point of this route, haunted by the question: Will we make it ? Before we can find out, however, there are still some formalities to take care of: Our details are meticulously entered into a visitor’s log, and the entrance fee is counted two or three times over right before our eyes. Meanwhile, Massai assembles the group of porters. The luggage is divided up, with the weight being strictly checked using a spring scale. No porter is allowed to carry more than 15 kg (33 lbs) plus their own supplies. When my own pack is about to be assigned to one of the porters, I insist on carrying it myself. Incredulously, Massai asks if I am sure. No, I am not sure; I don’t know if it’s a mistake, or if I might fail precisely because of the extra weight. But if I do make it, I want it to be entirely by my own strength !

10:00 AM, Passing through a gauntlet of onlookers, street vendors, and men waiting to be hired as porters, we begin the first leg of our ascent. A well-maintained path leads from the park entrance, located at approximately 1,800 m (5,905 ft) above sea level, up to “Machame Camp”, nearly 1,200 m (3,937 ft) higher, winding through dense mountain jungle dripping with moisture. Giant ferns and moss-covered forest giants line the path and limit our visibility. The screeching of birds and other animals accompanies us, giving way to an almost eerie silence only to start up again shortly after. Unfortunately, we rarely catch sight of the creatures making these noises - and then only for a few seconds. We climb steadily, not excessively steep, but enough to work up quite a sweat. For now, we are accompanied only by Emanuel - our cook and second guide. Massai follows somewhere behind us with the porters. A short but heavy downpour brings some cooling and forces us to take our first break. Massai, who has since caught up with us, shows his dissatisfaction: We are going too fast. “Pole pole - slowly, slowly !“ he admonishes. All right then. At a small waterfall breaking through the thicket of plants, we take a longer rest, eat the contents of our assigned lunch boxes, and give the porters - whose exact number we still don’t even know - the chance to overtake us.

Shortly after 3:00 PM, we reach the upper limit of the jungle. Almost abruptly, the forest gives way to scrub and moorland, opening up a view of the mountain world ahead of us. Clouds cling to the slopes, lying like cotton candy over the “Shira Plateau” and shrouding the summit of Kilimanjaro. The path winds through giant heather towering meters high. We take one last short rest and let the completely transformed surroundings sink in. Barely twenty minutes later, we reach the first campsite - the “Machame Camp”. The first leg is done - and we feel magnificent ! As it turns out, the porters, under Massai’s direction, have already done a fantastic job: The tents are pitched, and hot water for washing is ready - pure luxury ! While we register in a guest book of sorts, more porters arrive. A ranger double-checks the weight of the loads. I take the opportunity to have my own pack weighed as well: 19 kg (42 lbs) - good heaven, what on earth am I hauling up this mountain ? And what exactly are all these porters carrying ? Do they all belong to our group ? With slight unease, we note the twelfth, then shortly after the thirteenth and fourteenth porter - all of them loaded with impressive bundles, baskets and sacks. A few minutes later, we are wiser: Six other hikers arrive at the camp; a Polish woman, a Canadian, and four Swedes. Just like us, they hope to reach the summit via the “Machame Route”. Meanwhile, our cook has finished his work - and he has truly outdone himself: broccoli soup, pancakes with honey, chicken drumsticks on vegetable rice, and fruit await us on a tablecloth draped between the rocks. A meal we couldn’t have found better in any restaurant in Moshi. Compliments to the cook ! We spend the rest of the evening exploring the immediate vicinity of the camp, having a bit of a palaver with Massai, our porters, and of course, the other climbers. Shortly after sunset, everyone retreats to their tents. It’s time to gather strength for the second leg.

Nov 28, 2004, 6:30 AM. Right on time as agreed, one of the porters knocks on our tent. The basin of washing water is freshly filled, and breakfast isn’t long in coming either. The camp is a hive of activity. Tents are being dismantled and the loads distributed. Everything runs like clockwork - and whenever there is a hitch, Massai is on hand to restore order. A good hour later, everything is ready for departure. Just like yesterday, we are the first to begin the ascent - and just like yesterday, we are accompanied for now by Emanuel, our cook. The path, now significantly narrower, winds through a bizarre world of boulders, scrub, and giant heather - the so-called moorland and heathland. Long, fibrous curtains of pale green lichen grow profusely from the currently bare branches of the heather, looking like ancient, weathered bunting. Veils of clouds and wisps of fog drift lazily across the mountainside, lending the scene an almost mystical atmosphere. Only rarely do the clouds part, revealing a glimpse of the mountain forest lying deep below us for a few seconds, before gathering again shortly after - even denser than before. Suddenly, visibility is limited to a few meters - concentrating the gaze on the small details along the path. Beautiful flowers grow here, their delicate, bright red bell-shaped heads forming a contrast to the gray rock that could hardly be more striking. And there are other interesting plants to discover: Yucca-like plants with enormously large perennial blossoms, strawflowers and everlastings, blooming thistles, and giant groundsel - a plant we were particularly fond of. Seen from a distance, this “herb” looks more like a palm tree, though instead of palm fronds, a tuft of leaves crowns the trunk. It is not uncommon for this trunk to branch out like a gigantic candelabra, reaching a height of three, sometimes even four meters (10-13 ft). Between the plants, conspicuously patterned mouse-like animals scurry about, vanishing in a flash if we get too close. Massai calls them “Four-stripes mountain mice” - a very fitting name. Enthralled by the bizarre landscape with its unusual flora and fauna, we gladly follow our guide’s instruction, taking short breaks again and again, thus giving the porters the opportunity to overtake us.

2:20 PM. Faster than expected, we reach our second destination: “Shira Camp”, located at 3,840 m (12,598 ft) on the plateau of the same name. Just like the day before, a pitched tent and a small refreshment await us. And just like yesterday, the first thing we must do is immortalize ourselves in the camp’s register. Fifteen minutes later - we are just getting somewhat settled in - we witness a breathtaking natural spectacle: A gust of wind tears through the cloud cover hanging low over the plateau and pushes it down into the valley. Suddenly, there is blue sky above us; we are above the clouds ! Like the peaks of a black reef, the jagged crags of “Shira Ridge” emerge from the billowing sea of clouds. Hastily, we grab our cameras, dropping everything else to capture the event on photo and video. In the opposite direction, “Kibo” still stubbornly wraps itself in its veil of clouds. Full of anticipation that the wind might sweep away this curtain as well, we seek out an even better vantage point and get our cameras into position. But our patience is put to the test: Agonizingly slowly, the clouds dissolve, revealing now a section of gray rock face, now the brilliant white ice of a glacier. Only a few minutes before sunset does the summit of Kilimanjaro reveal itself in all its glory. Finally ! And it is a sight truly worth the long wait: arching over the small dome of our tent is the massive dome of Africa’s highest mountain, bathed in an almost unnaturally red light by the last rays of the sun ! Back at camp, we are already being waited for impatiently. Dinner is ready: vegetable soup, savory beef goulash with sweet potatoes, and fruit - another small culinary masterpiece by our cook. What more could one possibly wish for on an evening like this ?

The night, however, becomes unpleasant. A drilling headache keeps me from falling asleep. Jörg, in the sleeping bag next to me, is feeling much the same. Are these already symptoms of altitude sickness, or just nasty side effects of the malaria pills we had to swallow yesterday ? The hours drag by agonizingly slowly, keeping me trapped somewhere between half-sleep and torturous nightmares: ... we won't make it ... have to turn back just before the summit ... all for nothing ... all for nothing ...

A knock on the tent jolts me out of this hardly restful drowse. The new day has begun; high time to get up. Jörg, too, looks like he hasn't slept a wink all night. As if in a daze, we go through the necessary motions and choke down the breakfast, which actually looks quite delicious. Shortly before setting off, Massai comes over with his map to explain today’s two possible routes. From camp, we are to climb up to the 4,570 m (14,993 ft) high “Lava Tower Pass” and then back down into “Barranco Camp” - our next destination. Halfway there, there is an option to take a shortcut and bypass the pass. A tempting thought, even though the longer route would be more beneficial for our acclimatization. We postpone the decision for now, letting it depend on how we feel in the hours to come.

Nov 29, 2004, 8:15 AM. Together with our porters and the other climbers, we set off, following the barely discernible path across the gently sloping Shira Plateau to the east, heading directly toward the summit of Kilimanjaro. The “Kibo” lies before us, flooded with sunlight, appearing almost to hover above the vast highland plain. The landscape is strewn with boulders of all sizes. Nothing remains of the diverse vegetation of the lower regions. Only tough, yellow tufts of grass and occasional low scrub break up the dreary grey of the rock, becoming sparser with every meter of altitude before finally disappearing altogether. We have reached the region of the alpine desert.

In the course of the morning, clouds move in again, shrouding the “Kibo” and eventually limiting visibility to a few hundred meters. Gradually, the climb becomes steeper. The noticeably thinner mountain air forces us to take short breathing breaks again and again. Yet, the strenuous march also has its upside, as it distracts us from the headaches; eventually, it lets us forget them altogether. Involuntarily, we pick up the pace and begin to overtake the porters walking ahead of us. Immediately, Massai is at our side, slowing us down: “Pole pole - slowly, save your strength !”

At 11:15 AM, we reach “Junction Point”, the previously mentioned fork in the path. Without further ado, we opt for the more difficult but arguably more interesting route - the way to “Lava Tower”. This means another hour of climbing somewhere between rocks and clouds, piercingly cold wind, and drizzling rain; an hour in which the weight of my backpack seems to double, and in which I ask myself several times why we didn’t choose the easier path like the porters - but also an hour in which we can increasingly acclimatize to the harsh conditions at this altitude.

12:15 PM. The dark silhouette of the “Lava Tower” emerges from the low-hanging clouds. A cairn, a small stone pyramid, marks the end of our ascent. In the lee of the sheer rock walls, we take a break and eat our lunch: sandwiches and water. To our amazement, we spot one of the nimble little mountain mice, lightning-fast as it secures the breadcrumbs that have fallen to the ground. Who would have thought that these cute animals could be found up here, in such a seemingly hostile environment !

Refreshed and at least somewhat rested, we continue our journey half an hour later. Massai leads us through a narrow cleft in the rock - the actual pass. Beyond it, the path drops steeply over treacherously loose scree. In stark contrast to his usual reminders to go as slowly as possible, he sets a hellish pace on the descent. Jörg and I struggle to keep up. And the slope seems endless. The vast scree slope continues further south, into the narrowing valley of a mountain stream. Gradually, my knees begin to ache, and the pack presses uncomfortably on my shoulders. Clouds and mist still restrict our visibility, shrouding everything more than 50 meters away. Regardless, we descend deeper and deeper, step by step approaching “Barranco Camp”, located 630 m (2,067 ft) below the pass. In a spot sheltered by rock walls, we spot the first larger plants: gnarled groundsels - a sure sign that we are approaching the vegetation zone and thus the campsite. And indeed, ten minutes later, we reach the camp. The third stage is behind us.

Naturally, the porters are already there, and the four Swedes, who had opted for the easier route, are also already sitting in front of their tent. We register in the camp’s visitor book and then join the Swedes. However, after only a short chat, I grow restless. The veils of mist hanging over the valley begin to dissipate, revealing more and more details of the surrounding area, which is quite obviously far too interesting to waste the rest of the afternoon in camp ...

“Barranco” - the gorge. As we suddenly realize, this place does not bear its name in vain; an impressive ravine borders the eastern side of the camp. Several mountain streams converge here, pouring over cascades into the abyss, perhaps 20 meters deep. Giant groundsels thrive in the perpetually damp gorge, forming an almost primeval thicket at the bottom of the ravine. The first rays of sunlight break through the thinning cloud cover, illuminating rock walls and plants, slowly but steadily dissolving the last remnants of haze. Finally, the view opens up to the breathtakingly steep rock dome to the north of the gorge: the summit massif of Kilimanjaro, now appearing close enough to touch. Suddenly, the hardships of the past hours are forgotten, as is the thought of a restful afternoon in camp. Armed with our cameras, we set off, leaving our rather puzzled-looking guide behind in camp as we search for a viable path down into the gorge.

The descent isn’t too difficult; however, the path across the bottom of the gorge is a different story. Knee-deep mud makes the forest of giant groundsels, which felt so close, seem distant once again. Damn ! How to proceed ? Logic says “end of the line”, but the lure of unique shots is too great - far too great ! Cautiously, I feel my way forward, staying close to the stony banks of the mountain stream. Time is of the essence, as the sun is already dangerously low on the horizon, providing optimal photo light for only a few fleeting seconds. Now or never ! Ignoring the squelching bog, I start to run, straight into the thicket of plants. The snow-covered “Kibo” towers high above this bizarre world of gnarled trunks and crowns of leaves, appearing to grow directly out of it. The “Heim Glacier” stands out in brilliant white against the steel-blue sky, framed by the lush green of the vegetation. There’s no doubt - this shot is worth the soaked, mud-caked boots !

Dinner in front of our tent becomes a truly special event - and that’s not just due to Emanuel’s remarkable culinary skills. The magnificent view we enjoy while eating contributes in no small measure to the gourmet experience. The “Kibo”, illuminated in orange-red by the last daylight, provides us with an extraordinary spectacle: a narrow band of clouds has wrapped itself around the summit like a giant ruff. From the valley, wisps of mist drift up, shrouding the base of the mountain and gradually rising higher, transforming the peak into an island in the middle of a white-grey ocean. Gusts of wind ensure constant change, keeping the scene captivating until the sunset finally fades. The alpenglow dies out - the performance has come to an end.

After dinner, Massai joins us and asks if we’ve already inspected tomorrow morning’s climb, pointing with a grin at the rock face that borders the “Barranco Gorge” on the opposite side. We laugh, too, taking it for a joke. Seen from camp, the wall in question looks very steep, almost vertical, rising 70 or perhaps even 80 meters high. Massai turns serious: No, it’s no joke. “That becomes your second breakfast.” Well then, bon appétit ! Long after Massai has left us, we continue to stare at the wall, wondering where the path might be hidden - for there must be some kind of trail ... well, pretty sure. How else would the porters overcome this obstacle with their often quite unwieldy loads ? Besides, we lack the equipment for a proper climb - so there must be a path somewhere, even if we can no longer spot it in the fading light. Full of anticipation for what the morning will bring, we finally retreat to our tent. Another uncomfortable night lies ahead of us ...

Nov 30, 2004, 6:00 AM. We are woken a little earlier than usual. Naturally, our first glance goes to the ominous rock face on the other side of the gorge. And indeed, something is moving there. A first group of porters is already on its way - a chain of colorful dots moving slowly but steadily up the wall. An adventurous sight !

6:37 AM. Sunrise. We have barely finished our breakfast when Massai appears to ask if we are ready for the ascent. Of course we are - and highly curious to see what the mysterious path through the rocks will actually look like. After a few final preparations in camp, we set off, following Emanuel, who once again takes the lead. First, we have to cross the gorge. As it turns out, there is a much better way to do so than the one we found yesterday evening. A beaten path a bit above the camp leads quite comfortably down into the valley. Balancing on boulders, we cross the mountain stream and traverse the valley floor, which is easily passable at this point. Then, the moment arrives: We stand directly at the foot of the rock face. The path seems to end here - but first impressions are deceiving. Emanuel climbs about three meters up a ledge and reaches a traverse in the rock. We follow him and find ourselves on a narrow but reasonably passable ledge. Following the very edge of the abyss, it continues upward. Half walking, half scrambling, we quickly gain altitude. Soon, the valley floor and camp lie deep below us as we approach the middle of the wall. A magnificent panorama makes us forget the effort of the climb. From up here, the forest of giant groundsels looks tiny; the waterfalls on the far side of the gorge are clearly visible. We zigzag higher and higher. Gradually, the incline levels off, and the ascent becomes easier. Finally, barely an hour after setting out, we reach a small plateau. The most dramatic section of this mountain tour so far has been conquered. Huge respect for the achievement of the porters, who conquered this steep face alongside us, most of them balancing their loads on their heads !

The following section, nearly six kilometers long, is relatively easy to manage. At an altitude of a good 4,100 m (13,451 ft), we follow the southern flank of the mountain and reach the edge of “Karanga Valley” - another deep ravine - roughly two hours later. Our next destination is already visible on the plateau on the far side, but instead of just 500 meters ‘as the crow flies’, a tricky descent and a grueling climb separate us from our well-deserved lunch break at “Karanga Camp”. Loose scree and meter-sized boulders make the trek into the gorge difficult, and the heavy pack doesn’t make it any easier. Lush vegetation thrives at the bottom of the valley, even though the stream that created this gorge is currently dried up. A shimmering blue bird - a Malachite Sunbird - flits around the blooming plants, providing us with a great photo opportunity and a good reason for a short break. As we continue, a shoulder strap on my pack snaps. Just what I needed! I make a makeshift repair to the strap with a piece of heavy-duty wire - which significantly reduces the carrying comfort. However, the makeshift construction seems to hold. The climb out of the valley is less steep than expected, and the prospect of a longer rest spurs us on.

11:45 AM. Lunch break. Sparrow-sized birds - known as “Chats” - boldly seize every opportunity to steal a few crumbs from our lunch boxes. We let them be; we have more than enough to spare, as Jörg, plagued by symptoms of altitude sickness, consumes hardly more than the birds do. An hour later, Massai is already urging us to set off again. There are still around 600 meters (1,968 ft) of elevation to overcome before we reach the final and highest camp - “Barafu Camp”. The Swedes are finally left behind. Two of them are suffering severely from altitude sickness. Jörg looks miserable, and I don’t feel much better - but for now, we still have enough strength to push on.

The next three hours demand everything we can muster in terms of energy and willpower. Massai guides us through a chaos of lava boulders, clouds and dense mist. Laboriously, we follow him - meter by meter, swaying, stumbling, stoically. I have to fight more and more fiercely against the temptation to just drop, to give up. To distract myself, I start counting my steps, estimating how many might be left until we reach camp: 100 ... 500 ... 1000 ... ? The wretched climb simply won’t end - and visibility is once again limited to just a few dozen meters !

Then, finally, we stand at the edge of “Barafu Camp”. Like out of nowhere, a first tent materializes out of the veils of clouds. Hallelujah ! Two of our porters have already arrived and are in the middle of setting up our tents. Naturally, we lend a hand - even though the temptation to just drop everything and not lift a finger is immense. Within minutes, the tents are ready for us. Break ... shut down ... sleep !

Hardly have we lain down when Emanuel appears at the tent entrance with a pot full of pasta. No ! Neither Jörg nor I feel the slightest desire to eat anything right now. But Emanuel remains adamant: we must eat - no arguments ! Fine, then. Driven by the hope of being left in peace afterward, we laboriously choke down two ladles of goulash. Yet, idleness remains out of the question. Moments after Emanuel leaves with the half-full pot, Massai calls us out of the tent to discuss the details of the upcoming ascent: We are to set off shortly after midnight so that we can watch the sunrise from the summit. Let’s hope the practice goes as smoothly as the theory. After all, we still have seven hours to gather our strength for this, the hardest stage of all. But even though we are finally left alone, sleep refuses to come. A mixture of anticipation and malaise keeps us awake. The minutes crawl by, stretching out, refusing to pass. Finally, it grows dark outside, but the longed-for sleep still eludes us. Every few moments, one of us flicks on the flashlight to check the time: What ? Only 8:00 PM ? - Frustrated, we decide to kill time with a game of cards.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out after all, and I am quite surprised to find that by the next time I check my watch, midnight has already come and gone. In an instant, I am wide awake: Damn it, we’ve overslept ! As I struggle to free myself from my sleeping bag in the dark, there is movement in our companions’ tent as well. Massai calls out to get up ! Minutes later, our small camp is a hive of hectic activity. An ice-cold night wind drives the last vestiges of sleep from our limbs and spurs even the porters to breakneck speed - after all, they can crawl back into their warm sleeping bags once we’ve departed. Now, everything runs like clockwork. While we double-check our carefully assembled gear one last time, one of the porters hands us water and provisions for the climb; another prepares a light breakfast. Fifty minutes after Massai’s belated wake-up call, everything is ready for us to head out.

Dec 1, 2004, 1:20 AM. Accompanied by Massai and Emanuel and a wealth of well-wishes from our porters, we begin our ‘summit push’. This is it ! In the meager glow of our headlamps, we traverse the deserted-looking camp and tackle the first of the remaining 1,345 meters (4,413 ft) of altitude, navigating a reasonably manageable rock cascade. Massai has taken the lead of our small group; Jörg, Emanuel and I follow in single file. Through a gently ascending valley, we gradually approach the flank of the volcanic cone, visible only as a faint silhouette against the pitch-black night sky. Now that the first steps of this decisive stage have been taken, I feel better - significantly better ! The pounding headache has vanished, and every meter of the nocturnal ascent restores a bit of my self-confidence. Finally, an almost euphoric mood takes hold of me: We can do it ... we will do it !

It is pitch black all around us. The moon is nowhere to be seen, and the beams of our headlamps wrest only fleeting slivers of our immediate surroundings from the night. All the more magnificent are the thousands upon thousands of stars in the nearly cloudless sky. High above us, flanking the peak, the ice of the “Rebmann Glacier” reflects this faint glow, serving as a beacon toward our goal.

Gradually, the ascent grows steeper and more taxing, the air thinner still. Massai keeps a strict watch to ensure we don’t move too fast. “Pole pole - slowly, slowly !” we hear for the umpteenth time. Yet his warnings are entirely unnecessary this time, as every step taken too quickly is punished with severe breathlessness.

2:30 AM. By now, we are directly on the steep flank of the volcano. Loose scree covers the ground, giving way beneath our feet and making our progress significantly more difficult. At irregular intervals, we take brief breathers, granting our strained lungs a few moments of recovery. And then it's onwards again - slowly, step by step, meter by meter. The tiny points of light from our headlamps dance in rhythm with our steps, flitting across bizarre lava formations, gray rock, and, time and again, more scree.

3:15 AM. A crisis seems to be looming for Jörg. He sways and stumbles more and more often, requiring a little longer at each rest before he can continue. Massai reckons that we are likely at an altitude of 5,000 meters (16,404 ft) now. For us, this is not particularly motivating news, as we had assumed we were already much closer to the summit.

3:40 AM. Jörg has collapsed. After a brief rest, Emanuel is to descend with him back to camp. Even though I’ve been expecting this for the last half hour, the reality of it hits me like a blow. To think we’ve come this far together ! Of course, we deliberately took two guides for exactly this kind of emergency. But even if Massai and I continue upward - a victory at the summit will only be half as sweet without Jörg ! But wait, it’s not over yet: Suddenly, Jörg is standing beside us again, asking for a piece of chocolate, and is firmly determined to continue the path to the top with us ! Massai is skeptical; he points out the risks of another, perhaps even more severe collapse. But Jörg insists on pushing on - and finally, Massai relents.

5:00 AM. A crimson glow on the eastern horizon heralds the break of dawn. A dense blanket of clouds has formed several hundred meters below us, resting like a cotton ball over the saddle between “Kibo” and the neighboring “Mawenzi”. Only the jagged crest of the 5,148 meter (16,889 ft) sub-peak towers above the cloud bank. In the past hour, despite Jörg’s ongoing struggles, we have made good progress and now find ourselves approximately 5,500 meters (18,045 ft) above sea level. The first outskirts of the “Rebmann Glacier” lie within arm’s reach before us.

5:40 AM. Jörg collapses for the second time. This time, it is Massai who offers him words of encouragement. Only a few dozen steps separate us from the crater rim - and we will take them together !

5:56 AM. Just in time for sunrise, we reach “Stella Point” - the crater rim at an altitude of 5,745 meters (18,848 ft). Icy gusts of wind greet us, piercing through our clothing and freezing our very breath. Despite the feeling of being turned to ice by the cold, we linger, captivated by an overwhelming panorama: To the north, the massive crater of Kilimanjaro opens up before us. Vast glacial walls - the so-called “Ice fields” - border the crater on three sides, their brilliant white hue forming a stark contrast to the dark lava rock. To the west, the jagged outskirts of the “Rebmann Glacier” stretch out. To the south, the crater wall drops steeply, disappearing into a billowing sea of clouds and haze, while to the east, beneath a flaming red morning sky, the black, jagged silhouette of “Mawenzi” towers upward. The cold is biting, numbing my fingers as I take photographs. But the scenes are so diverse, so unique, so fleeting, that I don’t even take the time to warm my aching hands in my gloves for a few seconds. Rapidly, the western sky loses its blackish-blue tint as the light gains the upper hand over the final remnants of night. The first rays of sun shoot out like spears from between the low-hanging clouds, causing the sea of clouds to glow brightly. Light floods over the crater rims, lending color and contour to the crater floor. What a sight !

Our two guides, who are clearly suffering more from the cold than we are, finally urge us to move on. While Massai and I continue toward the actual summit, Emanuel intends to descend to camp with Jörg. However, after only a few minutes, we see the two of them following behind us. Spurred on by the ‘summit victory’ - and reaching “Stella Point” can certainly be counted as such - Jörg now wants to make it all the way to the top. What are a few minor ailments compared to an experience like this ? We push onward through a wonderland of glacial ice and lava rock, following the curve of the crater rim to the west. The “Southern Icefield” now towers steeply to our left - a nearly straight wall of white-blue ice, easily 20 meters (65 ft) high and 1,000 meters (3,280 ft) long. A bit further on, the “Heim Glacier” follows, which we had already seen from “Barranco Camp”.

The final meters seem almost like a stroll. The air remains thin and cold, but in the certainty of having reached the long-awaited goal, none of that matters much anymore. At last, a rather unremarkable hill rises before us: “Uhuru Peak” - the summit of Kilimanjaro, the highest point in Africa !

Dec 1, 2004, 7:15 AM. A wooden sign marks the end of our ascent: “Uhuru Peak” - the “Peak of Freedom” - 5,895 meters (19,341 ft) above sea level ! After a final stage of nearly six hours, we stand - Massai, Emanuel, Jörg and Heiko - on the Roof of Africa. An almost unbelievable sense of happiness spreads: We’ve made it - together, despite all obstacles ! The hardships and sacrifices of the last few days were not in vain. Now we can grant ourselves a break, enjoy the fairy-tale view, and take those long-awaited summit photos. Eventually, Massai urges us to depart. What will surely be a very interesting descent via the ”Mweka Route” lies ahead of us - followed by two more magnificent weeks in fantastic East Africa ...

East Africa 2004

... Hakuna Matata ! (Jörg Prüger and Heiko Otto)

... Hakuna Matata !
(Jörg Prüger and Heiko Otto)