KILIMANJARO 2019 - HOROMBO HUTS

Night falls fast on the Equatar and even faster at the 4000 meter plus altitude of Mawenzi Huts. I have been sick the entire trek. I should have listened to Tim's advice and not eatne any of the goat entrail stew at Kibo Slopes Lodge. I haven't slept soundly on the entire trip and the porters have set my tent away from the others, becausse of my frequent visists to the bushes to vomit. At least I can keep down my food during dinners.

Mawee and JR have led the climbers up a route to the cliffs of Mount Mawenzi. THe jagged peaks have rarely been climbed, as the fissile rocks present an unsurmountable danger. Tim and I have opted to rest in this break. Strangely I can get phone reception atop a hilllock and called Thailand to speak with Nu and Mem. Everyone in my family is good. I'm hoping to return to the states and then slip over to there, once Charlotta pays me what she owes me.

It's cold up here. Snow flurries on a stiff wind. I wonder how the climbed are doing in this cold. Only the New York contingent have experienced winter. The Nairobi gang complain about the cold. The only warmth comes from hot tea. There are no trees. There are no fires.. Only our parkas and sleeping bags protect us from the increasing cold.

The Kibo Huts under Kilimanjaro are only six miles away across the saddle between these two mountains. A ascent of 3000 feet, which will take five to six hours.

Breathe that's all I have to do.

That and stay warm.

It's only going to get colder.

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.

Kili Initiative 2019 # 4 - Leaving Nairobi

Early Sunday morning I woke early to the rock-n-rock prayer meetings competing for souls on the YMCA grounds. In the near distance other Bible-thumpers preached 'the Word'. Fast Steve knocked on my door. The twenty-nine year-old Kenyan was the group leader for the Kili Initiative team.

"Time to get up. We eat breakfast and then leave Nairobi. Better on a Sunday, when everyone is at church." He had warned on an early departure and I was all go.

The cries to Jesus filled the air.

"He died for your sins."

I had heard enough of Preacher Man and shouted, "I'll be ready in ten."

I showered to the teachings of Christ and packed my bags to exhortations to the faithful.

"God is with us."

I packed my bags with unusual rapidity for a notorious late riser and showed up in the dining room, as a minister blessed the food. The Kenyans' adoration to the Nailed God was relentless on the Sabbath. I wolfed down my food in less than two minutes and headed to the parking lot.

My devotion to atheism was complete, although having been raised a Catholic I possessed a weakness for garish altars.

I said nothing to the team.

Our beliefs were our own.

Porters were loading up our gear.

Tents, sleeping, bags, camping equipment.

It was a beautiful morning and we were ready to go. Every young person in the team was dressed in safari gear. I wondered where was mine. JM the other guide said, "You are your own person. You dress like you want. We go soon."

The group was gathering for a photo. I stood to the side and snapped shots. Fast Steve introduced me to Papa and JM, the older guides.

"This is M'zee."

"We are all M'zee," said JM.

I liked his smile.

"Where are we going?" I had lost the travel schedule.

"Loitokitok," explained Steve, who helped me into the bus' front seat.

"What's that?"

"A town under Kilimanjaro. About five hours from Nairobi. Today's a good day to leave. Everyone is at church. Road from here to Mombasa on the coast very dangerous during the week."

"I can imagine." I had lived in Thailand for most of this century and the transition from motorcycles to trucks wreak deadly carnage from Mai Sai to Yala.

I wished I had a map. Maps tell where you are and where to a going and where you will be.

It was impossible to spread out a cellphone like a map.

I couldn't figure out the points of the compass. Nairobi was below the equator. Toilets swirled counter-clockwise in the Southern hemisphere. My blood felt like it was doing the same.

"Then let's get going."

Sundays were as much a day of death on the roads of Africa as they were in Thailand.

Not everyone got to church.

Traffic through the city was no bargain, but once past the airport the two-laner ran free and smooth

Behind us there was no sign of Nairobi, only the spacious highland plains.

The highway headed south to the cities on the Indian Ocean.

Seventy miles south of the capitol fences stretched along the road. The Chinese were building an IT city outside of Konza. The Commie capitalists had big plans for Africa, although I hadn't spotted a single Asian in Nairobi, then again I had only seen two white people in the capitol.

This highway ended in Mombasa, the old port.

The Chinese were developing Kilindini Harbour from the profits from trade with the USA.

The Kenyans were unable to pay the debt for the improvements.

The Chinese overlords planned on seizing the port.

So they thought, because no one was teaching the young about the Mau Mau.

Pangas versus rifles and airplanes.

The Mau Mau didn't win, but the revolutionaries showed that the Africans were not going to use as chattel.

Nothing of beauty existed from the 'improvement. Only concrete factories and train lines and highways.

New trucks sped toward Nairobi.

The driver avoided any danger.

The young people were laughing in the back.

It was a good time for them all.

We passed through the truck-stop town of Emali.

"This is a bad town at night," said Fast Steve."

"Hakuna shida," laughed Papa, as if he wasn't scared of much. ""Now safe. The bars are closed and the hotels shuttered to allow the girls some sleep. No one stops here now."

"But after dark no good man should. Not if they know what is good for them. As for the bad men. They knew this town well."

After stopping to get sodas for the young people and a Tusker beer for me, the driver turned off the main road. The radio played Kenyan pop tunes.

Natalia led her new friends in games. They were having a good time. Traffic as promised by Fast Steve was light. Off to the west the plains stretched to Lake Victoria. I was happy, but who wouldn't be?

This was Africa and we were heading for Kilimanjaro.

A mountain as high as the sky.