Angel on the mountain

by Kathy Okumali (Kenya)

I didn't expect to find Kenya

ANGEL ON THE MOUNTAIN Walking up the mountain all I could think of was that I should have taken the pre-trip fitness requirement more seriously. The beauty of the night, the variety of languages being spoken around, the coffee brewing in the hillside coffee bistros, shacks actually, were almost lost to me. All I could think of was putting one foot in front of the other and making the 7,497 ft climb up the mount. It was a cold November night and my travel mates and I were making our way to the top of Mount Sinai as part of our pilgrimage to Egypt and Israel. At the vehicle drop of point, a few meters away from the St. Catherine’s Monastery – where the burning bush that appeared to Moses is preserved, there were a number of buses, indicating a number of groups making the climb. Since the pilgrimage route from Cairo to Jerusalem is generally the same a number of our fellow travellers had become familiar friends and the greeting ‘hakuna matata’ became our usual mode once they noted the Kenyan flag on our bus. Fast forward a couple of hours later, the earlier offer from the numerous Bedouin of hiring a camel to carry us part of the way up the Mount seemed well worth the asking price but it was too late as the camels could not come further up the mount. The next batch of Bedouins offered a helping hand, conveniently forgetting to mention the fact that they were charging for the service. Being amongst the oldest in the group I was far behind my team plodding step after step and convinced that once I made it to the next rest stop that would be the end of my climb. Since we were climbing at night, the guides would not leave any one on the trails. Once we got to the rest stop one could opt to stop and rest and re-join the group as they made their way back down the mount. This angel left his family, to come back and walk with me up the Mount Sinai (walk me up the mount would be a more accurate description). He kept me talking, sang alongside me and slowly the gap between my slow self and my group shortened. A few from our group had opted out of the climb preferring a cold shower and a hot meal after our 314 km trip from Cairo. The closest in age to me was a trim, feisty 60 year old, who was giving the teenagers in the group a run for their money up the mount. My God sent angel, Mwanzo (Swahili for beginning) was a member of a lovely family who kept us entertained with their melodious singing – as we stood in awe before the great pyramids, over the well where Jesus, Mary and Joseph drank from, on the banks of the river Jordan on the beaches of the sea of Galilee, the Red Sea and the as we smeared our bodies with healing mud and floated in the salt heavy Dead Sea waters. Every time I declared that this was it and I could go no further and his response ‘just 10 more steps then we’ll take a break’. When we got to the last rest stop before the summit I knew for sure that I was not going any further. After a quick cup of coffee the guides arose and told them it was to time to go. There was my angel by my side no questions asked just the look of ‘okay, get up’. This was his third trip up Mt Sinai and he wasn’t about to let me give up. I cannot explain how I made it through the last section of the climb on the weather worn wedges carved into the hill side, the slight drizzle making the 750 very steep steps even more treacherous but eventually we stood at the peak where Moses talked to God face to face. The lessons learned on the mount will live with me even when the sights, the colours and the smells are forgotten. To my angel I say thank you, shukran, asante sana. Kate Mali