“Pole, pole, my brothers” hollered Bosco from twenty feet behind our clustered and quickly advancing group of six friends and rookie mountaineers. Bosco was our weathered thirty-eight year old Tanzanian guide who had traversed  Mt. Kilimanjaro’s veins for more than twenty-five years.  And with that sage advice to proceed “slowly, slowly”,  our band of six brothers —  with support from a legion of twenty-six porters carrying our cargo on their heads, and three local guides — set off on a six day expedition on Mt. Kilimanjaro’s most challenging route: Machame. “Just respect the mountain”, the guides kept insisting,  leaving plenty of room for doubt to creep into our once unshakeable confidences. Over the next six days, we would come to understand the wisdom of several life enhancing concepts our journey revealed: advance (and sometimes retreat) slowly to allow the mind and body to habituate to new conditions; be mindful and grateful for the simplicity found in natural adventure; engage in the present moment by listening to the undulations of one’s unconscious breath; and, perhaps most importantly, recognize the equality of the awe-inspiring Uhuru peak (19,248 ft. above sea level) when juxtaposed to the fifty or so unnamed miles we traversed to get there. The developed world we left was fast-passed, eternally connected, and unforgivingly results oriented. Tanzania’s “hakuna matatta” mantra permeated the mountain culture and offered a welcome respite from a focus on performance and finish lines, and redirected our energies to the simple joy of being.

Each day of our climb presented a new combination of challenges, defined by quick fluctuations in tropical to arctic weather, slippery and steep terrain, and ascending altitude. A mountaineers success on the mountain depends largely on his ability to adjust to these conditions outside of his control and still move forward. Stunning landscapes along the way could easily fill a hundred pages of a coffee-table book — unfortunately, they don’t give the once magnanimous volcano justice.

 Our final climb to the summit commenced at midnight after a final tea in the cold group tent. Quietly preparing nearby were a hundred or so other aspiring submitters. The otherworldly landscape from our last camp to the summit, akin to the surface of Mars, was softly illuminated by the full moon and also by our head torches and the centipede-like lit movements of the twenty groups behind us. After six hours of merciless high altitude climbing, we finally reached the Uhuru peak. I recognized, as a l hoped I would, that reaching the summit — the finish line we had chased for four days — wasn’t as much the point of the journey as it once seemed. The six of us exchanged high fives and low fives several times over, then arranged for several pictures in the bitter arctic cold just before the night gave way to morning at 5:57 AM. As assuredly as the rest of our days, the great sun pushed aside its full moon reflection and began spilling its rays over our mountain and through the clouds, gently awakening wild Africa to a golden new day — a stunning sight we won’t soon forget. 

Personal challenges like climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro are needed in order to disconnect and foster growth. The pain and struggle experienced in undertaking a true challenge allows us to push our seemingly restrictive limits and advance into something far greater. Even great challenges, the one’s that are seemingly insurmountable from the bottom,  can be achieved if we insist on progressing one step at a time — even if that advancement is barely an inch forward on the last escarpment on Mt. Kilimanjaro.

Essay: Touching the Roof of Africa

“Pole, pole, my brothers” hollered Bosco from twenty feet behind our clustered and quickly advancing group of six friends and rookie mountaineers. Bosco was our weathered thirty-eight year old Tanzanian guide who had traversed  Mt. Kilimanjaro’s veins for more than twenty-five years.  And with that sage advice to proceed “slowly, slowly”,  our band of six brothers —  with support from a legion of twenty-six porters carrying our cargo on their heads, and three local guides — set off on a six day expedition on Mt. Kilimanjaro’s most challenging route: Machame. “Just respect the mountain”, the guides kept insisting,  leaving plenty of room for doubt to creep into our once unshakeable confidences. Over the next six days, we would come to understand the wisdom of several life enhancing concepts our journey revealed: advance (and sometimes retreat) slowly to allow the mind and body to habituate to new conditions; be mindful and grateful for the simplicity found in natural adventure; engage in the present moment by listening to the undulations of one’s unconscious breath; and, perhaps most importantly, recognize the equality of the awe-inspiring Uhuru peak (19,248 ft. above sea level) when juxtaposed to the fifty or so unnamed miles we traversed to get there. The developed world we left was fast-passed, eternally connected, and unforgivingly results oriented. Tanzania’s “hakuna matatta” mantra permeated the mountain culture and offered a welcome respite from a focus on performance and finish lines, and redirected our energies to the simple joy of being.

Each day of our climb presented a new combination of challenges, defined by quick fluctuations in tropical to arctic weather, slippery and steep terrain, and ascending altitude. A mountaineers success on the mountain depends largely on his ability to adjust to these conditions outside of his control and still move forward. Stunning landscapes along the way could easily fill a hundred pages of a coffee-table book — unfortunately, they don’t give the once magnanimous volcano justice.

 Our final climb to the summit commenced at midnight after a final tea in the cold group tent. Quietly preparing nearby were a hundred or so other aspiring submitters. The otherworldly landscape from our last camp to the summit, akin to the surface of Mars, was softly illuminated by the full moon and also by our head torches and the centipede-like lit movements of the twenty groups behind us. After six hours of merciless high altitude climbing, we finally reached the Uhuru peak. I recognized, as a l hoped I would, that reaching the summit — the finish line we had chased for four days — wasn’t as much the point of the journey as it once seemed. The six of us exchanged high fives and low fives several times over, then arranged for several pictures in the bitter arctic cold just before the night gave way to morning at 5:57 AM. As assuredly as the rest of our days, the great sun pushed aside its full moon reflection and began spilling its rays over our mountain and through the clouds, gently awakening wild Africa to a golden new day — a stunning sight we won’t soon forget. 

Personal challenges like climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro are needed in order to disconnect and foster growth. The pain and struggle experienced in undertaking a true challenge allows us to push our seemingly restrictive limits and advance into something far greater. Even great challenges, the one’s that are seemingly insurmountable from the bottom,  can be achieved if we insist on progressing one step at a time — even if that advancement is barely an inch forward on the last escarpment on Mt. Kilimanjaro.