Summiting the “Roof” of Africa

by Paolo Di Emanuele (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Tanzania

A soft gentle voice whispered into our tent, as the zipper opened “hellooo, hellooo, you must get ready”. It was 11:00pm and I awoke, cold, with a heavy feeling of uncertainty. A thick layer of frost had formed around our tents. It was summit day. Five days had passed with no amenities, dry camping across four different ecosystems. The hot sun, lush rainforest with birds singing, crackling branches overhead from monkeys playing in the trees, all a distant memory. A cold shiver shot up my back, snapping me to reality. Sweat, cold, aches, pains; it all amounted to this day. Six final hours between me and the peaks of Kilimanjaro. Five days of hiking in her shadow, and at each stop seeing her bold snow caps staring down at me, making me truly appreciate how little I am in this big world. As each day passed the nights began to get colder, and this night was no exception. The air was crisp. The night sky a deep black, with hues from the bright stars above illuminating the sky. I set out on this journey with a purpose, raising money for a cause that took my cousins life. This was my closure, I had to reach the top. As we geared up we said goodbye to the eleven porters, now our eleven brothers, who helped us make it to base camp, both physically and mentally. This was our family now. “Asante Sana” I said, Swahili for thank you so much – as I embraced each of them. I turned to the last porter, Mvule - an intimidating man at first sight, standing 6’4 and built to last twelve rounds in a boxing ring. Yet, with soft features and a warm smile, he always brought a sense of calm. Mvule is an aspiring rapper, someone I became close with. I asked him for one last freestyle, to send me on my way. He smiled in agreeance, with a big bright glow. Without knowing a word he was saying, it always put a smile on my face. With backpacks on, two friends and I, along with three guides left our team behind in the darkness. As we began our ascent, a mindless robotic rhythm was developed. Right-leg, left-leg, right-leg, left-leg. It turned into a pulse, a drumbeat - pushing me further up the mountain. Covered by the clear night sky with nothing but headlamps and the stars providing light, breathing became heavier as the minutes and hours ticked on. I thought to myself, would the past five days be worth it? Would I make it? Each switch-back, each plateau - the uncertainty of a final destination constantly grew as each peak was reached, just to see another in the distance. As the elevation rapidly increased that rhythm achieved earlier began to slow, right leg… left leg… right leg… left leg. The sound of footsteps sluggishly hitting the earth, and heavy panting - rapidly increased with each step. Five hours had now passed and we reached the rim of the crater at 5,739 meters, stopping at Stella Point to catch our breath, hydrate, and warm our extremities for the final push. One of our guides yelled out to us in a joyfully excited voice, “one hour to go! We are making excellent time, my friends!” The first signs of light started to pierce the dark sky. As the final hour dragged on, my thoughts became foggy – the feeling of my body slowing to a snail’s pace, my heart magically growing hands - looking to escape my chest. High above the clouds, as if I was leaving planet earth behind - magically entering a new world. At the top of the final hill, I could see the summit in the distance. Hope. As I saw the sign of Uhuru Peak, it was now in reach. As we made our final approach, the sun began to rise, reflecting off the snow caps. The sky turning brighter, with hues of pink and purple. I lowered my baklava as unexpected tears began to stream down my face. The past five days… they were worth it. I was on top of Africa.