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I wake at midnight, and bundle myself into as many layers as possible. I tuck my waterbottles into socks to stop them from freezing, choke down some hot coffee, and join the long line of headlamps on the way to the summit. It's the end of a long, long week. Kilimanjaro- the highest peak in Africa, the world's highest freestanding mountain, one of the seven summits, is almost within my grasp. I plod- slow, heavy, tired, cold, and drunk with the exhaustion and altitude. I start slow, and slow down more as the long night stretches on. The air gets thinner, and I giggle deliriously at how cold and tired I how close I am to reaching my goal. Long after the water has frozen, the snacks have been eaten, and I've forgotten what my toes feel like, I reach the edge of the crater. Far away, the horizon is blushing pink, a promise of the day to come. The whole of Africa stretches away at my feet, vast and magical. I stop for as long as I can, and choke back tears. This place has touched me in ways that I never thought possible. I've seen, heard and learnt things that I never could have imagined, and now, here, on this perfect morning, I've reached the highest point of my life. The atmosphere at Uhuru Peak is that of a very cold, very tipsy party. The altitude affects everyone differently- I am dizzy and drunk, and others have gone quiet, trying to fend off sleep. At almost 6000m, it's interesting to observe what happens to your own body. Emotions are heightened, the cold is almost painful. I've seen the sign at the top in so many photos, it's hard to believe that it's actually real. "Congratulations, you are now at Uhuru Peak Tanzania". So much dreaming, planning, training, has all led up to this moment. I stretch out my arms and turn slowly around, taking it all in- the full moon, the sparkling glacier, the sky, slowly turning from black, to violet, to pastel pink, orange and finally that hard, bright blue, so familiar, so Africa. When I can stand the cold no more, I turn and start to make my way back down. The descent is even harder- the stones slip underfoot and the altitude sickness has finally kicked in. I walk on and on, the glow of success wearing off, wishing that I could just be finished so that I can finally sleep. Back at Base Camp, the porters are waiting, wide smiles and twinkling eyes our only form of communication. They take my bag, help me finish the last few metres. I pick my way between the hundreds of tents and lie down on my mat. I close my eyes and start to drift off, the African sun already beating down on the thin walls of the tent. When I wake up, will it all just feel like a magical dream?