Thursday, August 29, 2019

Kili Initiative 2019 - A Path Into The Plains - # 8

Loitokitok's Preacher Man launched the morning program right at dawn. I recognized his rant and climbed out of the tent growling off its best lines.

The church across the valley glowed with light. I couldn't make out a single person on the veranda. The young people at the table shook their heads hearing my speaking in tongues and Jackman said, "Now we have a preacher man stereo."

"Listen to me, we have a busy morning." JM scowled at my blasphemy. "Pack your bags, put everything you don't need in storage and Give in all your phones. Not, you M'zoongoo. Old men have families. Commander Tim said, "Many families everywhere," joked Ma'we, "Maybe even here in Africa."

We ate a last meal at the Kibo Lodge prepared by the young team. The food was very good and filling.

Stewed chicken, eggs, bacon, rice, boiled beans, veggies, and the ever-present Ugali.

The Kenyans cut the cornstarch and dipped slabs into the sauce bowls. We ate with our left hands.

The savory bean gravy gave the bland Kenyan favorite some taste. Jubah pointed at my partially eaten meal. I nodded and Jubah pulled the plate across the table. He shared the left-overs with Jackmaan. That was his name. Not western Jackman.

Jackman.

"I come from a big family. Six of us," I said mentioning my baby brother's death. AIDS had scythed millions across the continent and the scourge ran wild in the streets of Nairobi and New York. I tried to change the subject, however the team were young. They had friends get sick. None of them had money for the medicines.

"It's like they want to kill us."

"Corruption," chorused the Africans.

Free Speech was dangerous in the modern world and Ma'we exhorted the team.

" "Eat, eat, eat. We will be walking twenty-miles or thirty kilometers a day. We need food in our stomach, because out on the plains there is nothing, but dust. No beer too."

"No Kingali too," laughed the young members of the team. After four days they knew some of my strengths as well as my weaknesses.

"You just jealous, because I'm the designated drinker for you all, but I promise I will beat every one everywhere on the trail from point A to point B."

"Enough talk. It's time to go," said JM.

We were taking our first steps away from civilizations; cars, baths, sheets, beer, TV, and all other global merchandise.

We were free from any conspicuous consumption other than the three liters of H2O in our packs.

Life was impossible without water.

Water in Loitokitok came from Kilimanjaro.

The snowmelt quenched the thirst of millions.

The equatorial sun vanquished the thin ice cap by 9 o'Clock

The team pulled on their backpacks. I estimated the weight of mine as twenty-five pounds. The straps bit into my shoulders. I carried steel in New York. This was a difference weight, because it wasn't going away until the end of the day's trek and they would weigh more than twenty pounds very soon.

The main road provided good time. We passed the police checkpoint and continued a mile down the paved asphalt. JM pointed to the right and said, "Now we go to the airport."

"Airport?"

"Yes, if someone on safari wants to fly above Kilimanjaro, they come here for plane. Very safe, but not 100%. Only God is 100%. But tourists arrive at 9am. Still too early." JM was only speaking to me. He must have thought my redemption was only a few words away from salvation.

"God and the love of a mother for their children. Eternity. In the meanwhile let's catch up with the team."

We were twelve. I counted that number twice and said to JM, "Twelve."

"But not the apostles."

"Just Kili Initiative Team 2019."

We slapped high-fives and JM stepped up the pace. I looked into the cloudless sky. It wasn't hot, but it would be by midday. We caught up with the team. The young people were chatting to each other unlike when they were armed with cell-phones.

I tightened my bootlaces and said, "Let's go."

The corn was about eight feet tall. The cobs looked healthy. Goats scavenged the fallen stalks.

"Goat eat everything. Kill everything. Not good." JM shook his head. We were the same age. The two of us had witnessed the change in the world and I said, It's bad everywhere."

The path was known to the guides.

I lagged behind and JM said, "I can't leave you alone. There are dangerous animals and dangerous people."

"I understand, but sometimes I want to be alone. Not to hear anyone else."

"Young people talk a lot," nodded JM.

"We were young once."

"Hah. The God in which you do not believe mocks you. We will never be young again, but we can feel young with these people. You will see."

Sunflowers rose over the path.

I was more concerned about my backpack's increasing weight and said, "Maybe it weights more because we're on the equator."

The team's face revealed a vote in favor of my theory.

"Only going to get heavier until you get where you want to go."

I was ready to be planted with the sunflowers.

I drank a half-liter of water.

"The more you carry in your body, the less you carry on your back," smiled JM, then wagged his finger. "Always have water."

We strayed across a scrubby slope onto grassy savannah. JM pointed to the distance.

A giraffe."

"Before many. Good animal. Not same lions or elephants."

"What about hyenas?"

"Are you scared of 'fisi' or hyena?"

"That and a few other things."

"Damnation?"

"Sorry, not really. Only hyenas." Comic books had taught me how to conquer those varmints.

"I haven't see a sign of a hyena all day. Zebras and elephants. Look up ahead. There a crossing."

Elephant patty looked the same everywhere.

Big.

The few houses in the bush were surrounded by thorns walls.

"The barbed fences might hold off a lion, but nothing stops an elephant."

We were on our own.

Rock, scrubs, dust.

JM, Ma'we, and I drank hot sweet tea at a military checkpoint. We listened to Kenyan pop. They wondered about the team.

"They should be here soon." JM pointed up the road.

Safari jeeps appeared from a dust storm to stop at the police roadblock. The locals offered their Chinese-made artifacts to the tourists. The whites remained in their SUVs. I was the only m'zoongoo standing on African dust.

The safari trekkers sat within the AC comfort.

Loners like me scared white people.

We weren't scared of anything.

Except for the blade of a lawn mower coming loose.

Exploding lawn mowers.

And of course hyenas and those long fanged omnivores weren't getting hold of me. I conjured up the old comic cover. Killing them a second time was even better than the first.

The team gathered around a map. The young people had to find the next community using a compass. I glanced at the map and saw that the village lay below a low hill.

"Time to go," announced Ma'we. "The tents are waiting for you and dinner needs to be prepared. This will be your first night under the stars of Africa, so hurry it up."

We tramped away more or less in the right direction.

It was the only way to go.

Deeper into the plains.

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

2019 KILI INITIATIVE # 6 - Kibo Lodge Reveille

5:55am came early the next morning. Young voices issued from the Kibo Lodge gardens and I rose from bed. The entire entourage was gathered in a clearing.

Loitokitok glowed on a near hilltop.

The sun was rising in the East. I thought about going back to sleep, then reproached myself, "I didn't come all this way to not be part of the crew."

I dressed swiftly to exit the bungalow.

Outside in a clearing Ma'we, JM, Old Steve, Jackman, Fast Steve, Ubah, Maureen, Vanessa, Nathalie, Laityn, and Larry gathered in a circle. JM was instructing calisthenics. I crossed the lawn and entered into the arc.

"Let's give a clap for Mzee," said Ma'we and the rest slapped their hands together and chorused, "XXXXXX

The gesture was a warm welcome and JM said, "We are all here. Together. To strengthen our body. Tomorrow we start our trek across the Tsaavo Plains. One week. 200 kilometers of hiking. No cars. Are you ready?"

"Yes," they all shouted loudly.

I had walked across the Manhattan Bridge to break in the hiking boots.

Every morning I had trudged up and down the stone steps leading the the Fort Greene Martyrs Monument. 133 steps times 2 times 40 times 1 foot added up to one mile. I didn't even break wind.

Mount Kilimanjaro was over 19,000 feet above sea level and climbing to the summit was no joke, but I added a late, "Yes."

We stretched, hopped, bent over, trotted in place for five minutes and then a garrulous voice from a loudspeaker echoed through the valley.

We stopped in our tracks and stared at bright lights on the opposite hillside.

The indecipherable rant wasn't English, even though I heard "Jesus'and'God' and I asked, "Is that Swahili?"

"No, that is a preacher man speaking in tongues. He starts that every morning at 6 o'Clock. Never early. Never late."

"And what do his neighbors say?"

"Many things. None of them good, but this is not our problem," answered JM who lived in Loitokitok.

"It's almost time for the morning run," warned Fast Steve.

"I'll walk ahead. My knees are shot from basketball."

"We'll see you at the main road."

I left the Kibo Lodge grounds.

Alone, but not for long.

Kenyan children were going to school in uniforms.

The preacher went silent, as the morning prayer were sung from a nearby mosque.

The sun was up and to the west was Kilimanjaro as it had been forever.

Monday, August 26, 2019

Kili Initiative 2019 # 3 - Kibera

Kibera is the largest slum in Nairobi, Kenya. Authorities estimated the population of the 'Forest' to be 500,000 to a million residents, who live on less than $1 a day. Crime and disease ravage the vast shantytown lacking schools, electricity, running water, and medical care.

On my second day in Africa the Red Hook contingent; Natalia, Larry, and Laikyn, accompanied five Kibera natives to Soweto. Our guide Fast Steve warned we had to be careful. He helped run the local boxing club.

"Kiberans are good fighters. Hard hands and harder heads."

"People don't like photos. They think you're taking them to think you are better than that. Bring no money and only your phone."

"I've been to ghettos before."

The Lower East Side.

Bangkok's Klong Toey.

Paris' Bidonville.

Larry and Laikyn hailed from Red Hook, Brooklyn's notorious crack capital. Back in the day bullets flew between gangs night and day. Some hit some of their intended targets. More often they struck 'mushrooms' or innocent citizens far from the action.

The NYPD treated everyone like a criminal. It was part of the 76th Precinct's training for the 'slave patrol' mentality.

None of these ghettoes rivaled Kibera.

'The Forest' had revolted after the last election and while the poor hated the rich, even more they despised politicians who stole everything, even the future.

Kibera was peaceful on this Saturday. The main street was crowded with thugs, families, young men and women, most with a smile on their faces despite the constant threat of economic chaos.

The New Yorkers were used to this. Red Hook had suffered the hell of Crack in the 80s. Gunfire echoed from the front to the back of the low buildings. The twenty year-old were cousins.

I was simply an old white man, but I wasn't scared, because I came from the South Shore of Boston. Jackman called me M'zee. He saw something in me. M'zee was better than being a 'mzungu'.

Young boys played football on a dusty soccer pitch.

Below the bluff reeds stretched across a valley and Fast Steve explained, "Once water filled a basin at the edge of Kibera. They had a yacht club, but the lake is gone."

"So I see."

"The streams are filled with plastic. The water is gone. Maybe one day it will come back.

"I hope so." I doubted any recovery from plastic, but Fast Steve was young. He pointed to the left.

My eight charges posed for a shot.

I tried to remember everyone's names.

I failed with the girls. They were shy. Their eyes held stories. All our eyes did the same. Young and old.

We walked by the football field and Steve explained, "This was a rough field controlled by the gangs, but we found money to level it. My team is Arsenal."

Everyone all around the world loves the English Premiership.

And boxing.

The old boxing club was in rough shape.

The young fighters had hope.

"Kibera is all about solutions," said Steve. He had saved people from the terrorist attacks in Nairobi and I wondered I could beat him in a foot race. He didn't look that fast.

After all life is all about hope and none of that more than for Vanessa's sister, Hope.

We were led to the women's center on the main road.

An eight year-old girl recited poems about being a proud slum girl, cancer, and corruption.

"I am a slum girl."

Her mother had written the words. Hope recited them without fear. The poem was written for women everywhere.

Her poverty remained poverty around her. Kiberans live on less than $1 a day and the hope became Hope, for life is all about one person changing everything for everyone else and everyone believing that change can transform the world. My good friend Tim Challen knows this. He is a true believer in hope.

Jubah also comes from 'The Forest'. He had many friends and also had a story, although not for today and says, "Despair is only for those who will not fight for themselves in this world, because we live together in the present and the afterworld was only for our ghosts.

Jackman was equally optimistic, "We believe in solutions, because fighting gets us nowhere."

Coming from young people it almost sounds true.

On the way back from Kibera I spotted the train stockyards from an overpass. The engines' paint had been replaced by rust. I loved decay and shouted, "Stop. I want to see the trains."

"We can't do that. It's too dangerous."

The driver obeyed Steve.

"More dangerous than Kibera."

"Much more dangerous, especially if we go as a group. When we come back from Kilimanjaro, I will take you there. Alone." He didn't want to endanger the team.

I was just an old m'zoongoo.

"Okay." I had seen our schedule.

Tomorrow we left for the slopes of Africa's tallest mountain and I glanced over my shoulder. The trains weren't going anywhere, but I was going farther down the line.

To Kilimanjaro.

The tallest peak in Africa.