Rongai Gate 2019 - Kili Initiative

The next morning the snow gleamed atop Kilimanjaro. The Kili Intiative 2019 team packed non-essentials into bags for storage at the Marangu Hotel. My Kilimanjaro equipment lay on the bed. Ma'we ruthlessly eliminated my journal, SNOW OF KILIMANJARO, and any excess.

"The less you carry the better for you and your porter."

He checked off the must-have list; sunscreen, sunglasses, lip balm, thermals, sox, cold weather gear et al.

"How's your stomach?"

"Fine." I had only been sick ten times through the night.

"You should have never eaten that goat intestine soup."

"I know that now."

"Then let's go."

The guides, cooks, and porters waited in the courtyard.

There were over sixty of them and seventeen of us.

A small army.

I dropped my bag in storage under the supervision of Mama, an elderly Chaaga woman, who asked if I needed anything. I shook my head and returned to the courtyard.

The hotel owner, Shamus, described the function of the guides and porters and cooks.

"Each one is important to the success of your climb as well as your safety. If they say go down, go down. There is no shame in not reaching the top, but I hope most of you do. Remember. Pole pole."

Slow and steady.

The porters loaded the bags and equipment onto the trucks. I poured the remnants of my Konyagi into a water bottle with Crest. Charlie, the head guide, announced it was time to leave. The team sat throughout the big van; Ma'we, JM, Steve, Ubah, Jubbah, Vanessa, Jackman, Laikyn, Larry, Nathalia, Maureen, and the additions; Mark and his son, Rees and his son, Adam, and Winnie from Nairobi. I climbed into my seat opposite Tim, who asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lied, suspecting my temper was well above 100, but I hadn't felt nauseous all morning. The driver started the engine and grinded the stick through the gears. We lurched onto the road and everyone was in a good mood.

School kids waved from the sidewalk.

Marangu town was coming to life.

Tim took out a remote speaker. He DJed 1980s British Prog Rock. Simply Red, Rick Ashley, and the Smiths. He extolled each band's virtues to the African Youth and I said, "This bands suck, especially the Smiths. Everyone get three songs. I'm next."

"You think you can do better?"

"Of course I can." I had seen the Matalus or taxi vans painted with murals of Bob Marley.

I turned to the group and said, "In the winter of 1972 I had been walking through a snowstorm in Boston. My feet were cold, my hands were wet, and the wind froze my face. That is what Kili will be like that last day, but no fear, because I stopped at a cinema and looked at the poster. THE HARDER THEY COME about a Rasta gunman. I bought a ticket and was transported to the warmth of Jamaica. This song ain't from the movie, but it is from Bob Marley. CONCRETE JUNLGE. Ain't Much better."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y07vgARrOUE

I sang along and we all grooved on the Messiah's love to be found.

I segued to JOHNNY TOO BAD and then THE RIVERS OF BABYLON. Preacher JM nodded in appreciation. He understood that even atheists care about the human soul.

"That's my three. Who's next?"

Larry Fishbourne hoseyed next.

We rocked up to Rongai Gate to Sly and the Family Stone, Biggie, and James Brown. Tim was searching his phone for offerings. Larry passed control to the ladies. They played songs from the 'now'. I knew none of them, but recognized the shared joy of young people united by a beat. I drank my Konyagi and Crest. MY head nodded to the beat. We turned off the main road and passed through crop fields. Kilimanjaro blessed the slopes with rich soil and water.

"This is the easiest of days," announced Tim. "We hike two hours and then camp for the night."

"We go," Ma'we pulled on his backpack. He was traveling like, as was JM. Steve was staying behind us. His knee was in bad shape and he touched my forehead, "Are you okay? If you aren't. Better to say it, because up there anything you have here gets worse."

"I'm not 100%, but I'm not risking my life for nothing."

"Then good luck Mzee."

From here on there was no electricity, no beer, no hotels.

We were on the mountain and the mountain, Kilimanjaro ruled all within its sight.

At Rongai Gate we signed the books and had a light lunch.

"I'm going ahead," I told Charlie. I like quiet and taking fotos."

"Do not go too fat ahead. being alone is dangerous."

"I will stay within earshot."

I left the team behind in the rain forest.

I finished off the Konyagi and set a good pace for 8000 feet above sea level.

It was a good path, but I understood this was easy.

Hard was coming our way.

We had left civilization.

I had no phone reception.

I touched the fallen trees.

The moss fell like it belonged to forever.

I heard the team behind me.

This was Africa.

This was Kilimanjaro.

This was now.

Back From Africa 2020

Once more Tim Challen, director of the Kili Initiative, invited me to participate in the 2020 Kilimanjaro Climb with youths from Nairobi and Dar Es Salaam. I left New York mid-February for a 13 hour flight to Africa and a short connecting leg to Mochi Aeroport in Tanzania followed by a two-hour taxi ride to the Marangu Hotel on the slopes of Kilimanjaro.

I brought along my computer, hoping to enter posts before and after the climb, however the Internet connection was weak, except in Pete's Bar.

Somehow I was diverted from that task, but I'm back in New York.

Brooklyn to be exact.

Missing Africa and all my new and old friends, especially Ma'we.

Bahati njema from the Mzee of the Kino Hut.

Kili Intiative 2020 - TOP OF AFRICA - Go Fund Me

I will be leaving New York on Monday February 17 to meet the 2020 Kili Initiative team in Marangu Tanzania. Originally, the first Mt Kilimanjaro climb was just going to be a one-off ascent, with the singular aim of raising a few US dollars for community projects and to offer 10 young Africans the opportunity to reach the highest point in Africa. Since its inception, KI has lead more than 500 climbers to the summit of Mt Kilimanjaro, including 220 youth from Africa and beyond, and raised hundreds of thousands of US dollars for youth-based activities in Kenya and Tanzania. Mt Kilimanjaro has inspired, saved and transformed.

I will be joining the team for my second climb as well as fill in sections for my film about the 2019 climb and team members to promote the project.

I thank you for your past help and hope you can help me achieve the summit and complete my filming.

Asante

Peter Nolan Smith

https://www.gofundme.com/f/top-of-africa/donate

The Border of Tanzania - 2019 Kili Initiative # 21

That night I dreamed about Mount Washington. My father had driven us to the summit in summer of 1958. The wind ripped through our clothing and my father said, "Good thing is isn't winter."

A rumble filled my ears and I feared an avalanche, but it was Preacherman grumbling the Wrath of God at 5:30 across the valley from the Kibo Slopes Guest House in Loitokitok.

The 2019 Kili Initiative team crawled from our tents. The eastern sky was dark, however the dawn sun wrapped Kilimanjaro with a golden glow. Breakfast was in the lodge's restaurant. I had tea and toast. JM asked, "Are you okay?"

He had heard my travels to the WC throughout the night.

Okay was the same and every language and I lied, "I'm 100% okay."

The entire team regarded me, as if I were a plague victim.

Never better."

It was a lie adn I understood the severity of my illness.

Back in 1994 I had been stranded in Penang, Malaysia. I had visited the English Cemetery with a Norwegian friend. The markings on one stone had read, "Captain Prescott arrived Penang April 3, 1867. Died of the Flux April 6.

I hadn't died in Penang and I lightened my tone to assuage the fears of my young friends.

"M'zee isn't dying today."

The team boarded a bus.

We had been joined by Wini, a journalist from Nairobi. She felt my forehead.

"You are very warm."

"I ate something that didn't agree with me. Supu ya mbuzi."

"You are crazy, M'zee."

She was right and the driver placed me in the front seat, so I could get air from the open window.

The road to Tanzania was not a straight road. Each lurch challenged the gravity of my guts. A fever burned on my skin and JM asked, "Are you sure you are okay?"

I looked at the holy man and whispered, "Maybe."

"Keep that 'maybe' to yourself. We might be old, but we always be strong."

The bus stopped before a sleepy frontier post. I went right to the WC and came out three minutes later slightly relieved by the expulsion of fluids, but the expressions on the team's faces diagnosed the severity of my condition, especially those of Maureen, Ubah, Laikyn, and Vanessa. I put on a brave face and entered the passport control office. I patiently waited my turn and presented my passport and yellow fever vaccine permit to the official behind the desk.

He aimed a laser at my face and said, "You can not come into Tanzania. Your temperature is 103."

Normal was 98.2.

My head spun on my shoulders and I lost focus on this world.

I was as sick as a dog.

"I am the guide for all these young people," I explained to the official, who regarded the team. "Go outside and cool down."

"Yes, sir," I answered politely and stepped outside, wondering how would I be able to carry off this miracle. I had come across the world to be here. The door was shut. Kilimanjaro was to my right. I had failed again.

I raised my head. A bucket of rain water was to my left.

No one was in the backyard.

I dunked my head for thirty seconds and dried off the wet with a towel.

I entered the office. The customs official did not comment on my wet shirt. JM stood behind me. I sat and the official lasered my face once more.

"You are free to go."

I did not question his edict and exited the office to the applause of the team. They wanted me to be with them and I wanted to be with them.

I walked across the border with Wini.

WELCOME TO TANZANIA.

We were going to the Top of Africa.

OUT OF TOUCH / OFF TO AFRICA

For the past few days I've organizing my trip to Africa.

Kenya and Tanzania.

For the Kilimanjaro Initiative.

I shall be escorting three young adults from Brooklyn to Nairobi and then accompanying this trio and five Kenyans to the Masai tribelands in Tanzania before attempting to climb Africa's highest mountain.

Kilimanjaro is over 19,000 feet tall.

My friends have given even odds of reaching the dormant volcano's rim.

My sister have less faith in me.

I think I will make it.

I want to reach the summit, but I've never been higher than 16,000 feet on the southern road out of Tibet

At noon my young charges and I shall board a Kenyan Airline flight to Nairobi.

Fifteen hours we will land in the largest city in East Africa.

Africa.

So very far away, but tomorrow my feet shall stand on the Mother Continent.

Asante Life.