Chasing the Roof of Africa: My Kilimanjaro Pilgrimage

 The Journey Begins: A Bus, A Book, and a Breath of Relief

Before I even set foot on the mountain, a man on our bus to Tanzania summed it up perfectly:

“For once, I feel a sigh of relief — no pressure of work, no pressure of family, no pressure of hiking… just me, existing.”

He spoke for me too. Because Kilimanjaro isn’t just a mountain. It’s a pilgrimage.

Armed with Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet (which I devoured faster than I expected), I watched Arusha blur past the window, Moshi welcome us warmly, and the first communal songs of the mountain melt away the awkwardness of strangers. That night, we weren’t just hikers. We were family-in-the-making.

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Day One & Two: Pole Pole (Slowly, Slowly)

They say pole pole in Tanzania. Slowly, slowly. And they mean it.

Our first day was a test of patience more than endurance. We napped in the sun, swapped stories, laughed, and waited until nearly 4PM to actually start hiking. But stepping into camp after that first 8 kilometers? I felt like a warrior returning from battle — only this battle was with anticipation itself.

By Day Two, we had peeled off the masks of polite strangers and revealed ourselves. On the trail we debated religion, death, childhood dreams, running, hiking, books, even the absurdities of AI. Conversations ran as deep as the valleys we crossed. What I loved most? No judgment. Just openness, curiosity, and respect. Golden.

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Life at Horombo: Mountains Make Philosophers Out of Us

By the time we reached Horombo Hut, I wasn’t just acclimatizing to altitude — I was acclimatizing to slowness.

The mountains force you to:

• Choose between freezing in dirty gloves or re-wearing them proudly.
• Decide whether to small-talk or dive into deep existential rabbit holes with fellow “altitude-high” hikers.
• Debate whether to trust the process or just slip into autopilot and grind through the trail.

We sang strangers “Happy Birthday.” We traded beliefs. We shared food. We lived like wanderers and philosophers in borrowed boots.

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The Summit Push: The Mountain Always Decides

Then came Kibo Hut, the base camp before Uhuru Peak. At 4,720m above sea level, my head pounded like a village posho mill. Nausea, dizziness, hallucinations — altitude is a ruthless equalizer.

Still, at midnight, I suited up with my team. By kilometre two, I was frozen and vomiting. By Gilman’s Point, I had nothing left. My body staged a rebellion. My guides, absolute angels, carried my bag, held my hands, and kept whispering, “One more step.”

But near Stella Point, just two kilometres from the summit, I had to make the hardest decision of all: to turn back.

Was it defeat? No. It was wisdom. A reminder that in the mountains — as in life — you don’t always conquer by reaching the peak. Sometimes you conquer by listening to your body and choosing life.

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The Descent: Lessons Flowing Like Rivers

Back at camp, guides sang to me, rubbed my frozen hands, and fed me hot soup until I felt human again. As I descended, muscles aching but heart alive, the lessons crystallized:

🌱 The body’s resilience: One step, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.
🌀 Life cycles: As Clarissa Pinkola Estés writes, life-death-life. Low phases are not failures — they are transitions.
🫱🏽‍🫲🏽 Community matters: On Kilimanjaro, no one says “you can’t.” Only “we can.”
💭 Oneness in difference: Strangers become family when you share altitude, hunger, and laughter.

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Dedications from the Mountain

This climb was not just mine. I dedicate it to:

• My mum: The humblest giver I know.
• My dad: Our Iron Man and rock.
• My three sisters: My angels, always in my heart.
• Robert: My accountability partner and anchor.
• Friends & My Hiking community: Proof that anything is possible with the right people.

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Parting Shots: Kilimanjaro, the Teacher

As we left the Marangu Gate, boots muddy and hearts full, someone joked:

“This mountain is a chronic illness — today you swear never again, but tomorrow you’re signing up for the next one.”

We laughed, because it’s true.

Kilimanjaro humbled me, healed me, and reminded me:

• Be present.
• Trust the guides (they know every stone).
• Choose the right company.
• And above all, never underestimate the power of song, soup, and strangers.

Because up there, in the solitude of Africa’s highest point, the mountain strips you down until you meet yourself. And in that meeting, you’re reborn.

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Bold Tracks & Backpacks Takeaway

Kilimanjaro is not just about Uhuru Peak. It’s about:

• The conversations on the trail.
• The hands that pull you forward.
• The courage to turn back when you must.
• And the sacred rhythm of pole pole — slowly, slowly, one step at a time.

So here’s to the Roof of Africa, the lessons it carved into my soul, and the wild tracks still waiting.

Until the next trail — mind over body, always.