We pass many Kikuyu, young and old, who look at the wazungu (white people) bemusedly. Why they would want to climb the mountain is a mystery to them. Their name for it is Kirinyaga, Ostrich, so named for the black and white plumage of the male. The mountain from a distance is a black silhouette, the snow, white.
At the Sirimon Gate we off-load everything from the van to distribute among the packs--the packs that the porters, cooks and guides will carry, that is. We four clients carry day packs with water, some food, sweatshirts, wet weather gear, etc. Ours are 8-15 lbs max. I don't want to imagine the weight these guys are carrying. They are tough hombres, which, not knowing the Swahili word, is the best I can do.
We set off on our first climb, which our guide terms the "easy" climb. It is 11 km (6.83 miles) of non-stop up. It is hot. Things are going well until they're not. It turns chilly and cloudy, then dark. The wind picks up and the rain comes down in torrents. Lightning flashes, thunder booms. Rain becomes hail which becomes rain turning to hail again. Despite sheltering under a tree and putting on wet weather gear, we are soaked, our bags and their contents are soggy, and we are shivering in the cold. This is two hours in to a four day trip--an ominous start.
Just as quickly as it comes, the tempest leaves the mountain and replaces it with the burning colors of an angry sunset. The mountain has spoken. We joke that it is warning us: "No washing on the mountain for the next four days!"
We arrive at Camp Moses as the dark sets in. It is primitive, cold and very damp. But soon our cooks produce their magic and we are eating streaming bowls of soup and African fare, and suddenly life does not seem quite so bleak.
We also drink lots to help stave off altitude sickness but this means frequent trips to the facility which offers a choice of a toilet with no seat or a hole in the floor. The sleeping bags are damp; Jonathon's is wet in a few places. Morning comes, but not very quickly.
