DAY 25: Mwanza Yacht Club to New Dodoma Hotel

 

Departure time

Riegardt’s Birthday! The usual coffee in the morning, tent-folding and yellow bag organising actions ensued while we waved goodbye at the overlander of fat Australians who we thought were on a weight-loss trip through Africa – at least they chose the right continent to do it in.  We guiltily giggled as they stretched and struggled to do push ups and sit ups, giving the appearance that they were rolling on the floor rather than exercising, each person trying to outdo the next.  Though anticipating a long, difficult road, we departed our camp site alongside Lake Victoria at 08:00.

 

Arrival time

We couldn’t have had any more warnings of the notorious Dodoma road undergoing restoration, with a 15km stretch of sandy road that was more enjoyable for the passengers than the driver.  Izel and I were thoroughly entertained when we deliberately refused to wear seatbelts so that every time we speeded over a bump, cooldrink in hand, we would fly off the seats, often hammering our heads on the bakkie roof, rendering the entire contents of Soek-soek coke-spattered.  The fun ended with the tar road, happily greeted by a war-torn Nico and sopping wet, sticky Elmien and the search for a leafy lunch spot began.  This task was slightly more difficult than we’d anticipated considering we were driving through arid land with nothing more than tumbleweed and thorn trees, though we managed to locate shade enough to protect our table for hamburgers better than Spur’s.  Thereafter we continued to the capitol city Dodoma where Suzie established herself as a slut to go with her many other titles when she led us through the dodgiest dark back lanes full of Nigerians and her fellow prostitutes before finally arriving at the New Dodoma Hotel.  Too lazy to set up camp we booked into the hotel for the night, keen for double beds and television, and after a reasonable supper to celebrate Riegardt’s birthday, we lost ourselves in the soft beds of the new hotel.

 

Weather conditions

Still hot

 

Campsite conditions

We were happy to note the hotel offered a gym and sauna, although none of us made use of the facilities, all too wrapped in the promise of hot water and catholic toilets - pleased to notice the absence of Muslim holes in the predominantly Arab city.

 

Personal

You must understand what it’s like for me as the only English person on our African expedition out of a group of Afrikaners.  My taal is more than satisfactory, although there are times when the ooms and tannies enquiries are beyond me, and I merely nod my head, regardless of whether or not it’s a yes or no question, hoping my innocent smile will explain the confusion.  Only until a few days ago did I realise a kremetart was actually a baobab and not the evening’s pudding, leaving me quite disappointed after every meal when my expectations weren’t met.  Nearly a month on the road has offered many instances where I’ve been lost in translation, although this day, when instead of singing veels geluk for Riegardt, Corinne led the others in a “Lekker verjaar” chorus.  I was very confused, though lucky for me there was lots of repetition in the liedjie for me to follow. 

DAY 24: Serengeti to Mwanza Yacht Club

 

Departure time

We woke up early without coffee or a shower.  It was still dark when our tents were folded and keys in the ignition were turned, beginning the day’s drive on an eager note to chase the tail of the migration before 06:00.    

 

Arrival time

Driving through the wide open plains, it became apparent why we upset our beauty sleep as the naartjie red sun rose slowly over the horizon, lighting the sky with a faint pink glow.  Blaring Lion King’s opening song and Circle of Life, we admired the surrounds for which the Serengeti is so well known, acknowledging the magnitude and variety of wild animals roaming the savannahs.  An hour later we negotiated turning back, under the impression we had missed the migration, however, a further 10 minutes down the road we were met by a herd of over a thousand wildebeest.  From there on, the amounts multiplied, hundreds of thousands of the black animals grazing on the yellow grass.  The extent of the migration tail was more than we’d expected with the numbers of wildebeest extending to the horizon and beyond.  Despite the greatness, there’s only so long you can park patiently, waiting for the beasts to cross the crocodile infested waters.  When they hadn’t so much as sniffed the bank, we decided to move on with the knowledge that this movement of courage could take weeks.  By 11:00 we had moved on and exited the Serengeti, satisfied that the migration had been worth the cost.

We’ve discovered that the walkie talkies have different ring tones.  Nico spent over ten minutes playing with the buttons listening to each tone, ultimately choosing the original tring-a-ling.  It’s a good thing Nico discovered the fascination before Elmien; who knows how long she would’ve spent trying to get the device back into talkie mode after pressing so many buttons.  Pleased with the outcome of his expedition, we drove along the Tanzanian roads with Lake Victoria, our planned destination, apparent on the right of the road.  We drove into Mwanza, a rather large town with an Israeli/Turkish appearance with little grey houses stacked against the side of the mountain overlooking the lake.  Pulling into the yacht club rather early, Izel and I decided to explore the neighbouring Tilopia hotel after we had unfolded the roof tent.  Yet another bright orange hotel greeted us as we climbed the stairs to the restaurant, passing a light blue, clear swimming pool and deck chairs.  We returned later that night to celebrate Nico and Elmien’s 27th wedding anniversary with cocktails and dinner, followed by the Ghana/Uruguay quarter final where Izel’s sunshine-yellow vuvuzela attracted much popular attention. 

 

Weather conditions

It’s a wonder our tent didn’t blow off the bakkie roof in the night.  I was fiercely shaken awake on too many occasions by the strong gusts to rest in peace, waking in the morning with our tent at a 30’ angle to the ground as a result.  

 

Campsite conditions

On arrival, we viewed the dirty white walls with scrutiny while paint peeled off the gate, yet we entered and were pleasantly surprised with the clean catholic toilets despite the absence of hot water. 

 

Personal

Our list of highest, greatest and largest was growing.  Having just arrived from the tallest peak in Africa, we camped alongside the largest lake in Africa, soon to visit the biggest waterfall in Africa.  This holiday is going to be one to remember, there’s no doubt in my mind.

DAY 23: Ngorogoro Resort Campsite to Serengeti

 

Departure time

If we’d realised we’d pitched our tents next to Ngorogoro local crèche we possibly would have relocated before Izel noticed the sweet children on the other side of the fence.  The girls with bright elastic bands tied around the little knobs on their heads were very cute until their innocent calls for “chokalatie” became insistent foot-stomping demands.  Luckily we were back to the familiar swing of things, falling easily into the smooth pack-up-and-go routine to make our hasty get away from the screaming children.  We had our coffee and rusks while Elmien attempted to shoo the brood, eventually forcing Nico to throw lollipops at them.  We finally departed the suddenly quiet campsite, excited to visit the origins of the Lion King surrounds and the great migration, hoping to see a million wildebeest eaten by fat crocodiles.

 

Arrival time

We hadn’t exactly planned our return trip with as much detail as the journey to Kilimanjaro, therefore the refusal to re-enter Ngorogoro crater free of charge in order to get to the Serengeti should have been expected.  Slightly frustrated with the Tanzanian authorities, we repaid the Ngorogoro National Park fees per person and vehicle to skirt through without even entering the crater, continuing to Serengeti National Park.  Perhaps it was excitement that inspired Nico to speed through the bush as if Soek-soek had suddenly become a Ferrari, but we happened to get lost in the vast numbers of impala, zebras and wildebeest, not realising Jimbo had popped a wheel on the rough sandy terrain.  On our ace with our friends in the already travelled distance, we maintained our lead, hoping the others didn’t spot anything we had failed to.  Game viewing and predator spotting in the Serengeti is remarkable with the wide open plains stretching for kilometres, allowing us to notice when 30 game vehicles surround a rock, signalling sightings of Simba.  We sped further to see the golden predators nestled in the shade of large rocks, lazily swinging a tail to attract the attention of tourists and setting off the camera flashes anew.  We decided to wait for Jimbo and the Land Rover to catch up, however when the real African lions became boring and the vehicles still hadn’t gained ground, we continued, sighting more lions eyeing an innocent gazelle.  Eventually we arrived at the camp, followed by the others who had meanwhile gained speed, though after we had set up tents and already made our first cups of coffee, the manager or someone who thought he was very important ordered us to move as a result of our vehicles in the campsite.  I don’t how he expected our roof tent to fold open without the bakkie, or the Lovetts to sleep without their trailer-top tent, neither did he ponder how we would get food, drinks and supplies without the fridges plugged into all three vehicles, but after we eventually got those points across to him, he and his Bluetooth headset turned away.

 

Road  and campsite conditions

Considering the price for the experience of driving through the Serengeti, you would think the conditions would be similar or even better than Kruger, however the Tanzanian tourism department obviously believes dusty, untarred roads, muslim toilets and dirty long drops are the better option.  Maybe we’re just spoilt by having a famous National Park on our doorstep, expecting the Serengeti to be as tourist-friendly and well maintained as the KNP. 

 

Weather conditions

Hot

 

Personal

Since summiting Kilimanjaro, all Riegardt has been able to say is “Serengeti Baby!” Anyone who knows him will be accustomed to his random musical outbursts, singing Lion King songs with great gusto.  To live the Lion King adventure in real life has clearly been his dream since his youth.  Unfortunately we didn’t find Pride Rock.

DAY 21: Springlands Hotel to Ngorogoro Resort Camp site

 

Departure time

I’ve decided the view of the sunrise at Stella Point isn’t as near to heaven as I thought at the time, no, opening your eyes to discover white sheets and a duvet, that’s heaven.  We showered just because we could and made our way to the restaurant for a cucumber-soup-absent meal.  Our climbing gear that we were once so impressed with was chucked into crates to be opened only once we were safely home with a washing machine, and packed onto the roof to be avoided at all cost.  Unfortunately, whist packing the bakkie, we missed our friends’ departure to the airport, although we followed their tracks on the dusty road as we pulled away from the orange hotel before 10:00.

 

Arrival time

Nico is beside himself with excitement that the internet is finally working.  He spent most of the morning connecting, so naturally Jimbo and the Land Rover had to wait once again for Soek-soek as our bakkie was packed – some things never change.  Along the road we stopped at a Cultural Village in Arusha, although in desperate haste to shop, Nico locked me in the car while I turned off the internet.  I hooted to my heart’s content before Nico realised halfway to the building that it was in fact his car making violent sounds and then only later realised it was me pressing the hooter when Izel grasped that I was absent.   Eventually the bakkie was unlocked and I was free to explore the open air beyond the bakkie. 

In the cultural centre we browsed the Tanzanian curios and artefacts, congratulated by shop stewards who undoubtedly noticed the obvious red noses and chapped swollen lips from sunburn that we were all eagerly medicating with Zam-buk.  Our intense shopping efforts due to a week’s long absence from the real world had left us quite parched, so to quench our thirst we drank vibrant fruit juices in all shades and surprisingly tasty avo milkshakes.  After lunch we continued along the road to Ngorogoro Resort Campsite, though after arriving at the place, thought it couldn’t possibly be the one we were anticipating.  We drove back looking for the resort, only to be redirected to the same campsite where Nico was greeted by a patient smile as he frankly told the owner to upgrade his facilities.

 

Weather conditions

Now accustomed to the icy winds and cold temperatures, the warm sun was pleasant and we didn’t complain when Elmien turned the aircon off.

 

Campsite conditions

Perhaps the name Ngorogoro Resort Campsite led us to raise our expectations.  At first glance, the area looked run down and in need of repairs, however, after fully inspecting the facilities, we discovered that the bathrooms had hot water and the bar that only had half a bottle of gin also sold coke and beer.  I wish the British colonised Tanzania before the Arabs, introducing catholic toilets rather than the muslim holes in the ground – they’re most impractical. 

DAY 22: Ngorogoro Crater

 

Departure time

I thought I was having a nightmare when I heard the familiar tapping sound on the tent signalling us to rise and shine, though after Elmien opened and closed the bakkie door with enough vehemence to trigger an earthquake, I realised I was safely snuggled on Soek-soek’s rooftop and not on the mountain.  We’d been warned of the long lines of tourists entering into the crater, therefore organised for a bokkie bus to collect us from the campsite before sunrise, so with eyes still full of sleep and hair unbrushed we climbed onto the eight-seater fighting for window seats.  You’d think in an environment notorious for survival of the fittest, Ryan and I would have acquired the chairs with a view, however Izel bit and clawed her way next to the window and poor Ryan, the tallest of the crazy eight had to hunch his back and drop his neck every time he wished to look beyond the vehicle’s interior.  Excited to see real African wild animals (not like the common ones in Kruger), we began our drive to the famous natural zoo. 

 

The crater

The warnings were indeed a true story: the gate was ridden with loud Americans and hairy Germans clad in khaki hunter hats and hiking boots for an authentic African Safari.  They looked at us as if we were out of place in our short shorts and slops; nevertheless, we entered the Ngorogoro National Park excited and eager.  We viewed the crater from a lookout point above the scene, 21 by 19km in size; whist Riegardt told us an animated story of a meteor that had landed on the African landscape millions of years ago, hollowing the surface and creating the Ngorogoro crater as we recognise it today.  Only later did we realise we’d all been fooled when Elmien read facts about the crater out loud from her tourist-friendly information book, discovering the crater is in fact the result of a collapsed volcano.  Circling the flat, open bushveld, we viewed spectacular sightings of lions, elephants, a pair of cheetahs and buffalos.  We enjoyed snacks whilst watching a family of jackals playfully going about their lives and a mating herd of horny wildebeest, thereafter lunching beside a small lake dotted with lazy hippos, unaware of the birds of prey circling above us so eager for their share of steak wraps that they dive-bombed our party, forcing us to seek shelter in the vehicle.  Satisfied with our crater experience, we departed Ngorogoro National Park, waving goodbye at cheeky baboons along the way, arriving at our campsite mid afternoon.

 

Weather conditions

In the African bushveld you want nothing more than warm weather and a cool breeze blowing on your face through the top of the bokkie bus; nah, not with our luck - the day we climb into an open vehicle where an aircon isn’t necessary, we get cursed with cold weather.

 

Personal

The boys decided an afternoon nap was necessary when the ladies wanted to shop for Maasai curios.  I live in South Africa where public transport is less than satisfactory, therefore it is no wonder I’ve never caught a taxi, however, we had no choice but to hail the music-blaring, tyre screeching, speeding transport means.  Approaching the tinted-window vehicle cautiously, grateful for the silence of the radio, we studied the child-like stickers across the dashboard and steering wheel, aware of the fluffy neon dice hanging from the review mirror.  The four of us squeezed onto the backseat like chickens on an African truck whilst Ryan lounged comfortably on the spacious front seat.  The music began, first a slow-cap RnB track blaring through the vibrating speakers behind our heads, followed by doef-doef Swahili kwaito where our driver, Constantine, hooted to the beat.  He transported us to the local market that smelt of rotten carrots and bleeding fish, where we tried with best efforts to communicate in broken Swahili-English to purchase a bucket of onions and paw-paw from a smiley man as black as the night.  Safely seated in the taxi, we asked Constantine where we could find Maasai cloth and curios; he clearly misunderstood the question as he took us to a Nigerian store selling Chinese fashion, followed by a dark dusty shop of beaded jewellery.  We eventually found a market of sorts where we negotiated a ‘nice price’ for the cloth and Ryan spoke business with Constantine about some musical contraption wire thing for his Land Rover.  Boys and their toys again...

DAY 14-20: Kilimanjaro (Machame Route)

 

The climb

Day 14: Machame Gate (1828m) to Machame Camp (3020m)

It seemed slightly puzzling waking in a bedroom as opposed to the now accustomed roof-top tent, however, excitement and nerves replaced the confusion as reality rolled in.  Fully geared in First Ascent kit and hiking boots, we entered the hotel restaurant for breakfast with what we hoped was a composed and confident appearance, before climbing onto the Zara bus with our toothless driver, Slim.  We arrived at Machame gate eager and ready to begin the climb; however our embarking was delayed by the five luggage-less friends who drove to Kilimanjaro airport to receive their duffel bags and climbing kit.  Standing in the tropical rain with day packs on our backs, we waited for our team to arrive, enthusiastically waving at Mr Smit’s video camera every time we shouted “Kilimanjaro, baby!”  Eventually we began our slow ascent with the guides’ constant “Pole-pole” reminder through the lush vegetation of the rain forest.  Trudging single-file through the thick mud, we entertained ourselves by singing every song that came to mind, quoting Shrek and telling jokes, though, after the steep climb had evaporated our very last drops of energy, we discovered we were only halfway.  With less enthusiasm we continued, trying with all might to ignore Mr Putter’s attempts to encourage us with his “Its-a not so bad” song from the back of the line.  Elmien soon became the pace setter at the front, winning the favouritism of one of the guides, Kabila 2, who for the duration of the week referred to her as Mama Simba.  Slowly placing one foot before the other behind her, we eventually arrived at our campsite, met by the image of eleven bright blue Zara tents, 3020m above sea level.

Day 15: Machame Camp to Shira Camp (3847m)

Woken by the porters with coffee, I removed the four layers of summit clothing I had slept in to shield myself from the icy conditions that froze our water in the night.  After breakfast and morning prayer, we departed the blue campsite, beginning the days hike on a high with the view of the snow-capped peak evident close to three kilometres above us.  Time passed slowly as we snailed the trail towards the next camp, our mud-clad hiking boots eventually taking on a dusty-white shade from the change in terrain, and gradually, the jokes and loud singing were replaced with heavy huffing and puffing as energy was reserved for the monotonous ‘pole-pole’ motion, broken occasionally to glance below at the clouds that blanketed the world beneath us.  After one of our frequent loo/drinks/snacks/breathing breaks, I joined the back of the group tailed by Mr Putter, who, undeterred by his exhausted fellow climbers, broke into loud song and laughter at his own jokes every third second: whether this was more motivating or annoying is debatable.  Amongst our group he was referred to as P-Dog or simply Sir, although due to our noisy nature and Mr Putter’s shouts of “I see you!” at unsuspecting Germans urinating off the path, we became known notoriously as the ‘South Africans’ by other groups.  Perhaps as a result of the noise emanated from the back of the line or symptoms of altitude sickness, Nico and a few other climbers suffered from headaches, adding strain to the difficult upward climb to the campsite, however our pain lifted as we reached the highest point of the day to view the familiar blue tents on Shira plateau below, our camp for the night.

Day 16: Shira Camp to Barranco Camp (3984m)

The angels disguised as porters tapped our tent at sunrise with the early morning coffee call, uprooting our sleepingbag-snuggled bodies.  According to the typed Zara description of the day’s route in Elmien’s diary, we were to expect to climb nearly a kilometre in elevation to Lava Tower, and then descend to 3984m in Barranco Valley, less than 40m above the previous camp.  The 7km hike to the lunch spot was slightly less enjoyable than we’d hoped, with slight headaches and nausea intensifying fatigue.  To keep up appearance, the ‘South Africans’ sang along to Mr Putter’s “It’s-a not so bad, shut up in your face” song, however even he, the ever-positive and motivated spirit, couldn’t find will to yell inspiration.  The clouds rolling in behind us, creating the illusion we were pacing faster than we believed, were conversely countered by each glance up at the Indian chief-shaped mountain that seemed further every step we took closer.  Eventually we fell into the practised monotonous motion, the Kili-jive, mindlessly following the feet in front of us to the base of Lava Tower where we clumsily entered the dining room tent for much appreciated chicken and chips, at the time, better than KFC.  After lunch and exaggerated breathing break, some braved the technical climb to Lava Tower, 4688m above sea level, whilst others proceeded with the equally daring steep descent to the camp.  I wish someone had told me that heights would play a factor in the rocky climb of which I was not a fan.  Nevertheless, after successfully managing to summit the tower with eyes closed, I posed in front of amazing views of the peak above and valley beneath, then began the descent to the camp nestled amongst aloes in the Barranco Valley. 

The guides really have no accurate concept of distance and time.  According to Haji, if it weren’t for the mist clouding our vision we would’ve been able to see the camp a km away.  2km further down the path, he informed us it would take an hour to walk an additional kilometre - we arrived at the camp 2 hours later.  Tired, yet grateful to enter dry tents, we slept a well deserved sleep.   

Day 17: Barranco Camp to Karanga Camp (4040m)

It appeared when we woke on the fourth morning that the mist from the previous day had failed to lift and had in fact frozen every surface, including our tent zips that refused to open.  Slightly weary of the Africafe coffee, I declined the offer the angels brought us in the morning, forced to rely on Game as fuel for the cliff face awaiting us: Barranco wall.  Laden in summit layers and gloves to keep us warm, we made the mistake of beginning the vertical ascent before the porters who all passed us to the intense disapproval of Mr Putter and Andrea who wished to overtake all the other groups and reach the top of the wall in record time.  After finally getting to the top, we collapsed exhausted, eager to summit the following day and begin the descent.  From here, with the begin of the unavoidable distance to Karanga camp, 4040m above sea level, we began the countdown to the first sip of coke, the bright orange hotel, that desperately needed shower and facebook, all only 3 days away. 

Day 18: Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp (4680m)

We merely grunted a sleepy “no” as the angels tapped on our tents the day of the summit.  Eager to reach the camp in the close distance ahead of us, we finally mastered the desired speed as we paced with desperate haste to cross the final space between us and Barafu camp at the base of the summit route.  Moving through dust and small stones, Elmien’s hiking boots gave up, their soles flapping more than Mr Putter’s mouth at that stage, a difficult task considering the excited spirit emanated by the ‘South Africans’.  Even the steep final climb couldn’t evaporate the energy in no short supply as we neared the final ascent camp, songs lead by the onboard choir, Desire and Grace, and laughter shared by everyone.  We arrived at our campsite before most our bags, tents and supplies had been brought by the porters, therefore allowing us to stare in amazement at the massive mountain alongside, so much nearer than we’d believed possible.  Encouraged to sleep, we spent the afternoon in slumber, then forced spaghetti down our throats whilst introduced to our extra guides that were to accompany us up the iced mass shadowing us.  Anticipating the climb, we were sent to sleep at 18:00, to be woken a few short hours later to begin the summit.

Summit: Barafu Camp to Uhuru Peak (5895m)

It took ages to fall asleep after supper, made further impossible by the fact that we idiotically chose the tent next to Francis and Luke who decided to inform all the other tents of their life stories and fantasies through the night.  They eventually listened to the “Shut up and go to sleep please!” yells and the rest of us eventually drifted into excited/nervous slumber, only to be woken what felt like moments later by the angels, tapping once again on the bright blue tents close to 23:00, following Nico and Elmien who began their summit at 21:00.  We began the ascent with enthusiasm emitted through happy song and excited exclamations despite the middle-of-the-night detail. Gradually, the fervour faded as we climbed the vertical ascent, placing one foot before the other with great effort, however helped by the songs of motivation from the guides.  I hadn’t quite grasped the concept of 13 guides, yet as I fought for breath and energy, their slight efforts of support encouraged me up the steep slope by simply taking my back pack and lightly placing a hand on my back to either push me when I struggled or keep me on the path in fierce winds.  The further we climbed, the stronger and colder the wind became, ultimately blowing the sanity of some of the climbers along with it.  Illusions became a common concept for a few friends, convinced of dinosaur sightings and pants that changed colour.  It’s a wonder Izel reached the top due to her unnecessary attempts to step over invisible boulders that apparently blocked our path, confused that the person in front of her seemed to pass through them without notice.  After 4 days and 8 hours of hell, we were met with closest view of heaven at Stella Point, 5752m above sea level, where we were congratulated by a fabulous pink sunrise and the bright full moon still high above us.  Some collapsed exhausted against rocks, though were constantly violently shaken by guides to keep awake, whilst others found new energy with the end of the summit so near.  We continued along the ice alongside blue-white glacial cliffs, trudging with the familiar slow pace to Uhuru peak where Mr Putter read an extract from the bible and Raymond practised his golf swing, the little white ball disappearing into the mass of ice, snow and clouds – yes he did carry his driver in his back pack the entire way.  It seems silly to have climbed all that way, struggled through hours of mental and physical strain only to reach the top for 15 minutes to pose for a photo wherein you can’t even be identified due to layers of clothing and balaclavas.  Nevertheless, the majority of our group summated the mighty beast with the exception of Michael who got hyperthermia halfway up, his dad who turned around with him, Nico who battled with altitude, and Mr Hewitt who three quarters up collapsed without the foggiest idea of his own name nor a clue of the direction of the top of the mountain from the bottom.  We were on top of the world, or Africa at least, relieved to have finally reached the summit 5895m high, making the climb worth all the effort and pain and fatigue.

 

The descent

Day 19: Uhuru Peak to Mweka Camp (3090m)

We believed we summated in the dead of night so to see the sunrise from Africa’s highest peak, however after viewing the treacherous path we had climbed a few short hours before, we realised that if we had been able to see the route in daylight we wouldn’t have had the courage to do it.  The 4.5km distance from Barafu camp to Stella Point that took us over 8 hours to climb took me less than an hour to descend.  Hitching a ride with Mr Putter by holding onto the top of his back pack, we skied down the sandy slopes sending dust and small stones flying, occasionally losing balance and landing on our bums in tired laughter.   The angels met us at the base with ice cold fruit juice – the sickly sweet concentrate both heavenly and dreadful.  The icy winds from the night were replaced with the heat of the day, defrosting our finger tips and toes.  We removed all 10 layers of insulation and slept the thickest solid sleep I had ever experienced, dreamless and deep, for close to three hours whilst waiting for the others who weren’t as fortunate to hail a taxi, to descend. We woke with the wind howling wildly attempting with intense might to unhook our tent pegs, signalling the impulse to depart the camp and beginning the long-awaited descent, bringing us a day closer to the hotel and a shower.  The further down we hiked, the easier breathing became and headaches finally lifted.  Reality began settling that we had actually summated the mass behind us, and the nightmare of the ascent was over.  The real world that had hid beneath the clouds for a week was now so close, along with a hot shower and ice cold Coca-cola, our motivation to keep descending and not sitting on a rock waiting for a helicopter to collect us.  We finally arrived at Mweka Camp, 2895m below Uhuru, approximately 3 hours after the guides said we would.  We nearly cried when we discovered Beer and Coke were sold at the camp, and desperate for anything other than naartjie game, we paid the $3 for the bottled gold.  Our last night on the mountain was celebrated by a third of the climbers who thought supper was more necessary than sleep, even Mr Putter who radiated energy and a positive attitude throughout the climb decided to cuddle his pillow rather than share his summit experience.  I fell asleep uitgeput and welgedaan, keen to finally step off our fair friend Kilimanjaro. 

Day 20: Mweka Camp to Mweka Gate (1641m) and Springlands Hotel

The familiar angel tap signalled our wake up for a breakfast of pancakes and fresh fruit before an emotional farewell from the guides and porters.  Kabila 2 sported his brand new fancy red waterproof jacket and sunglasses sponsored by Mama Simba as they danced and sang the songs of motivation that inspired us on the night of the summit.  With excited spring in our step we continued downhill, skidding on slippery mud, thoroughly entertained by occasional slips down the brown sludge.  We gave up on asking Haji how far we had yet to descend after he responded every time with 300m, half an hour – the concept of distance and time still absent.  On the downhill path to our bus the little local children nagged us for “chokalatie” and “sticky”.  Not entirely sure of what “sticky” was meant to be, we merely shook our heads, convinced we didn’t have any in possession.  Eventually we were met by the toothless smile of Slim in the Zara bus that transported us though the streets of Moshi to the bright orange facade of Springlands Hotel after making a curio stop for Kili memorabilia.  The shower we had all discussed at arm’s length was halted by rumbling tummies and desire to eat anything besides cucumber soup and green pepper sauce as we lunched in the hotel restaurant.  Thereafter we disappeared for hours, abusing hot water and shampoo until certain we had removed all traces of mountain from our bodies, to emerge as sunshine-vibrant teenagers once more.  Supper was a merry affair, laughter and relief of finally being at reasonable altitude filling all souls with joy.  We proceeded to receive certificates for summiting and concluded on a happy note with awards for each climber handed out by Izel and me.  When the music had died and the final few climbers had faded to bed, we went to sleep on real mattresses in real bedrooms as opposed to blow-up thin air beds in tents.

 

Food

Two chefs prepared all meals that were fabulous for the first three days.  We were seriously contemplating replacing KKS with Zara until we grew tired of green peppers and cucumber soup that we eventually forced down our throats because Raymond said we had to.  We began wondering how they kept the bread and fruit fresh, though after the second morning when the bread was stale and the fruit was sour, we realised it was beyond porter technology.  We were informed that loss of appetite is common, however they lead us to believe this was due to altitude, not dislike of the food that was ultimately only enjoyed by Corinne who didn’t seem perturbed that breakfast, lunch and supper all had the same green pepper sauce taste.       

 

Porters

Each person gets two porters to transport our bags, water, tables, chairs, food and tents on their backs and necks.  Every day we would watch in awe as the small drugged men skipped high as kites past us in quick haste to prepare our campsites, seemingly untroubled by the heavy loads hoisted above them.

 

Guides

All our guides were not only leaders but also entertainment and beams of support when our minds were tired of forcing our feet to move.  They had brown teeth and smelled like mine workers yet that didn’t stop us befriending them along the way and hugging them with tears in our eyes as we said goodbye, particularly Nico and Elmien who each scored private guides along the way.  I believe if it weren’t for the support and encouragement offered by the guides on the summit night, I might not have had the will to reach the peak.

Nicolaus, also known as Kabila, the main guide and leader of the troop somewhat became Nico’s private guide as he paced behind the ‘South Africans’ acting as his care-giver.

Haji was the cute little one with a dark chocolate smile who received an Afrikaans education from Elmien in the front of the line.  He replaced ‘pole-pole’ with ‘stadig-stadig’ and asked us if we were moeg at every stop.

Godfrey killed a man.  I don’t know why Ryan even asked if he’d been in jail, nevertheless, Godfrey answered with “yes” and when Ryan innocently enquired, he told him the story of how he had ignored the breathing problems of a man on Kilimanjaro who ultimately died as a result.    

Kabila 2, who sounded like he spoke through a walkie talkie, immediately favoured Elmien, his own Mama Simba.  He can undoubtedly spot the soft ones from far as at the end of the week he was wearing her summit jacket and snow-proof, wind-proof, sun-proof sunglasses.

 

What you should know before climbing Kili

The day before we climbed we laughed at the sunburnt Americans as they returned from their Kili adventure, the back of their necks bright red, blistered and peeling.  We swore we would cover ourselves with sun cream from head to toe every morning to prevent the same outcome, although we didn’t quite know how cold it would get when we took our long johns off, so the promise didn’t last longer than day 2.  By day 4 we all had bright red noses, arms and calves. 

Drink diamox everyday.  Don’t listen to your doctor who says take a quarter of a tablet in the morning and before you sleep because not even a full tablet 4 times a day completely prevents headaches and a tablet after supper keeps you awake before sending you into a vibrant dream slumber.

Don’t make the mistake of drinking the water given by the porters under the impression it’s been boiled – use the little white chlorine tablets.

Day 1-3 is the worst of the entire week.

Pay the amount for porter potties, whatever the amount.  They were a saving grace when the unboiled water took its toll. Just be sure to wear a headlamp when you wake up in the night as they’re impossible to find in the dark.

If you can reach Stella Point there’s no way you won’t make Uhuru peak, regardless of how tired and weak you feel.

Take a warm sleeping bag, preferably 100% down and a comfortable pillow – Miss du Plessis had enough good nights’ sleeps to convince us it was the only way to go.

 

Weather

We were very lucky with our weather, experiencing warm temperatures, well warm-ish considering we were on an ice-capped mountain and the week before people struggled through a blizzard.  There were times when we fought strong winds, particularly on summit night, heavy mist in the valley and light drizzle in the rain forest, although these weren’t as bad as we’d expected.

 

Mr Putter

This man provided so many laughs and such motivation that he had to have his own division.  Together with his jokes and guffaw of a laugh that made his eyes reduce to small slits, we realised the climb ‘was-a not so bad’. 

DAY 9: Chitimba Lodge to Kisulanza camp site

 

Arrival Time

Until today, every vehicle, person and electrical device has shown flaws except our trusty Garmin Suzie, although even her mathematical/geographical skill wavered in her attempts to recalculate our route throughout the morning and then showed error in misidentifying a main road as a gravel path.  Nevertheless, she led us correctly to the Malawi/Tanzania border at her estimated time of arrival.  Malawi has shown us a colourful and friendly approach to our continent, accurately named the ‘Warm Heart of Africa’: a vibrant mixture of game reserves and fresh water extending across the length of the country.  However, as our climb draws ever nearer, the distance to travel reduces, bringing yet another African border in our midst.  The usual passport-stamping, car-paper handling ensued, although the Dyslexic man behind the counter ultimately slowed proceedings by requiring that each person’s name be spelt three times, yet still proceeded to write Laymond Rovett instead of Raymond Lovett on a certified document.  Eventually, after each driver sat through interviews with officials, we were free to leave, though were yet again hassled by airtime sellers and money traders who swarmed the vehicles like flies, each person climbing further into the car with more entrepreneurial enthusiasm than the last.  After shaking off the last of the businessmen and setting our clocks one hour ahead to match the new time zone, we entered into the country home to Rift Valley lakes, Serengeti and the reason we’re all trekking through Africa, Mount Kilimanjaro.  

 

Road conditions

Nico accurately stated that we had yet to see an accident, though unfortunately for an unsuspecting truck a further few kilometres down the road, this comment was jinxed as a few minutes later we drove past finding it lying freshly overturned across the width of the road.  The fact that the first accident was on Tanzanian roads is of little surprise as a few potholes are present and speed humps jump out at you half a split second before you speed over them.    

 

Weather conditions

I couldn’t help but smile when I saw South Africans huddled under blankets and scarfs at the Bafana Bafana match whilst I sat in shorts beside the beach.  Hot weather is a beautiful thing, ask Ryan.  After dropping and standing on his sunglasses, he continued to wear the bent accessory diagonally skewed across his face to shield the constant rays.

 

Campsite

Mozambique and Malawi presented us with both beach and bush campsites, water sometimes warm, sometimes hot, though mostly cold, and generally clean mirror-equipped bathrooms.  We probably shouldn’t have taken flushing toilets for granted considering our frequent road-side loo breaks, although the long drops at Kisulanza happened to be the cleanest toilets Africa had shown us.  Tanzanians are by far the friendliest Africans the continent has to offer as warm smiles welcomed us into the ‘Old Farm House’ for a spicy beef supper together with starters before the meal and dessert and coffee thereafter.  

 

Personal

In living with such varying vibrant characters, I’ve noticed that personal traits are similar to those of leading roles in Spud and if our crazy eight had to each be allocated a character, Nico would be Spud’s dad due to his supposed composed nature despite everything falling apart around him, Elmien would undoubtedly be the very special, slightly insane Wombat, Raymond’s Bear Grylls skill identifies him as Mad Dog, and the fact that Ryan drives a Land Rover makes him Rambo.  Riegardt’s ever-present elated enthusiasm towards the upcoming Kili climb is very similar to the great gusto and delight expressed by Garlic towards Lake Malawi and Corinne‘s red hair effectively illustrates her as Amanda.  Lastly, there has been slight dispute between Izel and I as to whom the title of Mermaid should go, however, as the onboard journalist I have claimed the blonde busty title and for lack of a better character, named Izel Fatty. 

DAY 10: Kisulanza camp site to Peponi camp site

 

Departure time

We arranged to eat breakfast at the Old Farm House and after waiting for Soek-soek, who once again hindered departure, we arrived an hour late.  Not to seem rude, we blamed our delay on neglecting to turn our watches forward an hour, however the friendly waitresses didn’t seem too bothered.  Eager to return to the beach, we began our estimated 8 hour journey through Tanzania.   

 

Arrival time

We were warned about the road works and the stop and goes between Kisulanza and Iringa, although the warnings did the waits no justice.  The continuous stops fortunately created opportunity for Nico to attempt using the newly purchased Tanzanian sim card and airtime to connect to the internet, however, with no luck.  Our internet situation has reached critical levels.  It’s been 10 days since Nico was last able to connect, therefore 10 days since Izel was last on Facebook – the emotional setbacks and mood swings from lack of connection to the rest of the world is beginning to reach boiling point.  In desperate endeavour to activate the sim card, Nico spent so much time attempting to communicate with the Swahili Customer Care agent that he eventually exceeded the maximum Customer Care Service limit.  It was beyond my knowledge that quotas on free calls existed, nevertheless, we were internet-less and stuck with a worthless useless sim card; I had never seen Nico so depressed.  The ever optimistic Elmien attempted to cheer up the Soek-soek clan by reading random Tanzanian history and cultural facts out loud, and due to lack of interest, attempted to educate the other vehicles using the walkie talkie.  I would like to offer a round of applause to congratulate Elmien for finally mastering the advanced technical device.   Unfortunately for the men in the other vehicles, her new-found peace with the buttons and radio waves sparked a keen initiative with Corinne where our dinner plans, pit-stop places and lunch breaks were negotiated over the walkie talkies.   The females enthusiastically stole the toys from the boys on what ultimately became a 14 hour journey, thoroughly entertained by Elmien’s imitation of Robbie Wessels’ “Bravo een, bravo een kom in”.  

We drove through Mikumi National Park, where in the first ten minutes, viewed excellent sightings of elephants, buffalo, giraffe and kudus, yet saw nothing more than Impala for the next 50km.  The beautiful scarlet sunset introduced nightfall a far 6 hours from our final destination, yet we eventually arrived at Peponi beach after midnight.  Having only last eaten at lunch, we were starving, and despite being barely capable of keeping our eyes open, Corinne and Riegardt began cooking.  After 02:00, bellies filled with stir fry, we finally closed our eyes. 

 

Road conditions

After Nico’s jinxed accident comment yesterday, we’ve noticed five overturned trucks.  I’m praying karma doesn’t overturn our beloved Soek-soek.

 

Weather conditions

If it wasn’t for the aircon I believe we would all have become Simba crisps, however, despite the hot, hot weather, Elmien sits in the front seat blanketed in her heavy woollen jersey.  Izel and I graciously welcome the cool air blown for 30 second intervals before Elmien asks us if we’ve cooled down enough to turn the aircon off.  Doomed by fate or an Isuzu-hating greater power, the moment we arrived at our camp site the heavens opened down on us, pouring weeks’ worth of moisture on the thirsty land.  We prayed the rain would cease, clearing the skies for a bright blue, sunny day in the short time between downpour and dawn.

 

Campsite

We put up camp in the middle of the night in the pitch black darkness, having not acknowledged more than the entrance gate, camping spot and disturbed neighbours.  Too tired to shower, we left the bathroom examination and evaluation for the following day.

 

DAY 11: Peponi Beach

 

The day

Despite our very late night, we woke with smiles at the reality of being at the sea once again.  We were welcomed by waves crashing just a few meters from where our tents were pitched, having not quite realised just how close we were to the high tide water level the night before.  After coffee and rusks we were awake and semi-fresh, except Ryan whose sleepy head only materialised out his tent door shortly before a fabulous flapjack brunch.  Izel and I began exploring the campsite in search for a boat to transport us to either Zanzibar or Pemba islands close to the Tanzanian coastline; however we were unlucky in our endeavour.  On return, we discovered our prime beach camping spot had been previously booked, forcing us to unhook tent pegs and relocate to a further, less perfect spot to make way for a young family of British Tanzanians with a sweet little baby.   

 

Weather conditions

It seems as though Afrikaans South Africans keep African economies running.  Every place we’ve camped at in every country has been shared with fellow South Africans, and yet again, we met and chatted with a family from Pretoria also trekking through Africa.  Furthermore, more South African families in both an overlander and a caravan set up camp in the relatively full camp site.  Having made new friends, we were keen to communicate with our own friends from home, and with the knowledge of nearby internet available, we set off in search of a Facebook-friendly source.  A few minutes later, we discovered the first sign of Colonial civilization we had seen since leaving South African soil – Capricorn Boutique and Deli.  Beside ourselves with excitement, Izel and I browsed the shop close to 30 times before Nico was willing to lend us his card, and eventually, arms laden with shopping bags, we collapsed on the chairs outside the shop.   It was here that we met Emily, an American working in Tanzania who had recently climbed Kilimanjaro.  Unlike other sources that romanticise the mountain rather than tell it like it is, Emily gave us a day-by-day breakdown of the route we were soon to climb.  With slightly more insight and awareness of what we had booked ourselves in for, we began anticipating the very near Kili climb with more caution than before. 

 

Campsite conditions

The sun spitefully plays hide and seek, beaming down at us as we journey for hours in the bakkie and ducks behind the clouds as soon as a much appreciated travel-free day materializes.  For us young ladies, camping next to the beach is theoretically accompanied by hours of tanning in the sun, although unfortunately for these two teenage girls (and Ryan), the grey clouds opened above our camp site, regularly pouring rain and drenching our tanning hopes throughout the day. 

Finally able to view our surrounds by daylight, we decided to conduct our evaluation by first exploring the campsite, however after losing our way we decided to give up on discovering what lay beyond our tents.  The bathrooms were good and fixed with mirrors, although the constant presence of male African workers retiling the walls was slightly discomforting when you climbed out the shower only draped in a towel.  At least the water was hot.

 

Personal

Camping is rough, there’s no doubt about it, although if you only take the effort to shower when the water is hot and keep a travel-friendly hairdryer in your bag, there’s really nothing to complain about.  It’s therefore a wonder why Ryan and Raymond are always so positive when they shower twice a day, regardless of the mostly freezing water temperature.  They’re the cleanest people I’ve ever met, having brought a portable washing machine for their clothes and spend hours washing the Land Rover only to recoat it in mud the following day.   It is for this reason that Izel and I usually smile gratefully when Ryan carries the dirty dishes and cutlery past us to wash them, although after bizarrely feeling slightly sorry for him, we decided to offer a helping hand.  We returned to our tents battle scarred, dripping soapy dish water with pieces of sponge wedged in our hair and vowed to never again approach Ryan when he’s closer to water than he is to us. 

DAY 12: Peponi Beach to Lake Chala camp site

 

Departure time

We would have driven straight through to the hotel were it not for a recommendation to stay at a relatively new camp site at Lake Chala.  Packed and ready, we planned to leave at 11:00; however, after having to wait for Nico’s new pants’ sewing to be completed, we only left the campsite an hour and a half later.

 

Arrival time

We possibly could’ve arrived at Suzie’s estimated time of arrival of 17:15 were it not for our indestructible convoy clan separating.  Whilst driving through Tanga, we realised Jimbo and the Land Rover were no longer behind us, and after failing to reach them on the walkie talkies, began a slightly panicked search through the unfamiliar Tanzanian town.  We eventually discovered them at a petrol station where Jumbo Jimny, the baby 4x4 in need of food every four hours, was refuelling.  Relieved to have relocated our friends, we continued through Tanzania, the most stunning African nation we had travelled in, with coffee and tea plantations, a hilly terrain and lush vegetation.  Anticipating the manifestation of a large mountain, we began photographing every hill that was larger than the last, believing it to be Kilimanjaro, until the mighty beast came into view, shadowing the others with its ice-capped splendour.  The great mass, named the Roof of Africa, kept us guessing as to its immense size by peaking above the clouds just to remind us of its presence.  Transfixed, Nico and the Soek-soek clan almost missed the warnings of traffic officers from the truck in front of us, and only managed to slow down just in time to avoid setting off the flash.  In quick haste, Nico radioed the other vehicles in convoy; however this was unfortunately missed by the Lovetts in the Land Rover who must have turned the radio off to avoid Elmien and Corinne’s walkie-talkie fun, resultantly receiving a light speeding fine.  Due to the great excitement the afternoon presented and the fact that the camp site couldn’t be located by Suzie, we missed the turn off and ended up driving quite a distance away from our place of rest. Annoyed by the unplanned delay and eager to set up camp, Nico clashed with Elmien, the bakkie and Suzie while Izel and I stared out the window, unable to blame him for his temper – the internet has yet to be connected.  Nevertheless, we eventually arrived at our destination, Lake Chala, a crater lake just a few short kilometres from Kilimanjaro that offered spectacular views of the mountain. 

 

Weather conditions

Of course the sun came out to play when we were safely buckled up in Soek-soek once more.  The aircon war continues as Izel and I complain about the heat and Elmien shivers from the cool air – poor Nico doesn’t know whose side to choose.

 

Campsite conditions

For a brand new camp site, the conditions were very good.  We expected cold water in the taps and rubble strewn across the land, although happy to be proven wrong, we had a donkey that provided perfectly pressured hot water, though only to the ladies showers.  The braai wasn’t quite built yet, so we cooked our steaks and veggies in the lodge fireplace beneath the stars, only a few kilometres from the Kenyan border.

DAY 13: Lake Chala Camp site to Springlands Hotel

 

Departure time

Throughout the holiday we’ve woken to fabulous sea, lake and bush views, stunning sunsets and sunrises; however the sight of the largest free standing mountain in the world and tallest peak in Africa was one of great amazement.  Finally the day had arrived for which we had driven halfway through our continent for, and eager to arrive at the hotel, we departed from Lake Chala camp site at 09:00.

 

Arrival time

Expecting to lodge at the foot of the mountain, I was slightly surprised as we drove through the town of Moshi following a motorbike on dusty roads to our hotel from where Kilimanjaro couldn’t even be seen. Here we found that Americans litter the bright orange hotel like flies around a dustbin; you can’t take a step to the right or left to avoid the loud whiney moan escaping their throats every second.  In pain we were forced to endure the annoying whinge of a hillbilly as he informed the entire reception of his life story whilst we made our way to our room to pack.  Relieved to finally have arrived, we began sorting through our clothes and packed our bags for the climb awaiting us.  Organising gear is a business not reserved for the faint hearted; after packing and repacking our bags to fit all the thick and heavy gear, we began a thorough search through every bag for Nico’s socks that had momentarily mysteriously disappeared.  Duffel bags stuffed and locked, we moved on to our day packs, and only once our snacks were ready and a hearty supply of wet wipes were easily accessible, we proceeded to the restaurant where we would meet our fellow climbers due to arrive from the airport.  No one was more excited at the prospect of familiar faces than Nico who had organised that a new modem for his roaming sim card be brought by the arriving crowd, which for the rest of us, meant an internet-happy and connected Nico.  At 15:00 we were joined by Mr. Putter, Mr Hewitt, Miss du Plessis, Grace, Desire, Mallary and her father, Andrea, who had accurately read their aeroplane tickets and arrived as planned, however, the 5 absent climbers who had missed the flight only joined us after 20:00.  Unfortunately for Emma, Jessica, Roland, Michael and Francis who were unlucky enough to have miss-read their tickets, luck plunged further when they realised their luggage failed to leave South African soil.  For the crazy eight to discover other people aren’t immune to bad luck was both hilarious and somewhat comforting considering our own slight experiences along the way.  Sadly for Izel and I, who had found the whole missing luggage episode hilarious, karma is vicious, locking us out our room with the key somehow still safely secured inside.  By nightfall, our room had been unlocked by hotel staff, Nico had successfully connected the internet and all the climbers had arrived.  We were briefed by our tour group, Zara, introduced to our chief guide Nicholaus and advised to have a good nights’ rest of which we had no objection to.     

 

Weather conditions

Sunny again. For our recently flown-in friends from South Africa who all arrived in jeans and long-sleeves, the heat and humidity was quite a shock; good thing we only packed shorts and strappy tops.

 

Hotel conditions

Our orange hotel appeared quite luxurious after two weeks of camp sites, including a bright blue, clear swimming pool, perfectly manicured mini gardens and of course, the best component, a guaranteed hot shower.

 

Personal

The prospect of climbing Kilimanjaro is somewhat surreal.  For months we’ve discussed plans, contemplated gear and snacks, and mentally prepared ourselves for the climb, however the reality of actually summiting Uhuru Peak in a week feels unrealistic.  Despite any hesitation and fitness doubts, Izel and I promised each other we wouldn’t give up, regardless of how tired, sick or gatvol we got on the mountain.