by A.J. Stanley
PureTravel Writing Competition 2024 – Longlisted
I rested uncomfortably on a rock under a craggy ledge. It was dark with only the slivers of light from our head torches to see with. I was shaking uncontrollably, was nauseous and sick with a headache that only got worse. The mountain air was cold and pierced through my mis-matched hired gear.
I tried to extricate a piece of chocolate from its shiny silver wrapper. My fingers were numb and useless. It was tantalisingly close but not within my reach. Our guide took the chocolate from me, opened it and handed me a piece. He rubbed my gloved hands to warm them up.
Altitude sickness continued to plague me as we ascended Mt Kilimanjaro. I thought back to the prior night. Word had come down the mountain that a fellow traveller became seriously ill and passed away. He would not make it back home to his family. He was doing what we were now. This was a saddening and sobering thought that weighed heavy on me.
Before climbing Kilimanjaro my boyfriend and I organised 2 local guides independently. One of them had fallen sick before the final ascent so only one could take us up. This wasn’t what our well-thumbed travel guide recommended. This wasn’t going to happen to us when we “climbed Kili”. It worried us. But we only had one chance to ascend.
A large, noisy, organised group had briefly passed nearby. My boyfriend had seen an opportunity. I assumed he wanted to ascend faster rather than continue at the wretched, slow pace I was able to move at. Our guide arranged for him to climb with the other group. From the rock I was perched on under the ledge, I watched him walk off, until the dark of night enveloped him. And he was gone.
It was just me and the guide now, with a difficult decision to make. We had to decide if I should abandon my climb. If I wanted to alleviate the altitude sickness then I’d have to descend. Seeing my boyfriend walk off with strangers in order to get ahead hurt, but I didn’t object. I understood. But it solidified my inner self-belief and determination; which was now steely and solid.
Every step the guide took in the unstable and constantly shifting scree I mirrored. One painful foot step at a time. I looked at the ground and only focussed on the guides footsteps, and I matched them. There was nothing more in my world right now. The guide would intermittently check on me and we’d rest as needed. He regularly reminded me to take it “Pole, Pole” the Swahili for “Slowly, slowly” as this helped with acclimatisation.
We continued in this rhythm for nearly 6 hours. Then the guide stopped me. With the hint of a glint in his eye said “You’re going reach the top before your boyfriend”. I didn’t say much as I didn’t have the energy. I continued onward and upward towards the peak with a renewed vigour.
The guide gave me a congratulatory hug as we reached the summit. The view above the clouds was breathtaking. The glaciers glistened as the sun rose and were other worldly. I was on top of the world. I enjoyed a piece of chocolate as we waited for my boyfriend to join us at the summit.
Photo by Daniel Vargas on Unsplash
