11th September - First day

Awoke at 6:30 feeling fairly bright and sparky. I had organised all my gear the night before (with my usual packing and repacking) so the morning faff was kept to a minimum. Eventually (Africa time again) the bus came to pick me up and I found myself in the company of another group. They were all South African and were friendly enough and I spent the next few days with them. The trip from Moshi to the Machame Gate took about an hour and involved going along a bumpy dirt track for much of it. As we passed by, the children would wave and call out “Jambo” – “Hello” in Swahili.

A lot of the houses had large red X’s painted on them which turned out to mean that they were schedule for demolition. Considering that about 95% of the houses had this mark there had to be a reason for it. Apparently, they were too close to the road. Any house closer than 25m to the road gets taken down under Tanzanian law since it officially on government land. Given that this road was in the middle of nowhere it seems a to be a complete waste of time, money and effort.

After signing in, our bags were weighed, porters allocated and Clemence (the assistant guide) took us up the hill. Almost immediately, I felt my familiar knee twinge, but it wasn’t serious and after I had warmed up it all went away. The walk was on a well maintained dirt road, which ended at a good track with lots of steps carved into it. While we were walking along the road section we met some children cutting ferns for their livestock to eat. They decided to walk with us up the track singing lots of songs in English:

“If you’re happy and ze know et clap se hands.”
“Ay bee cee dee ee eff gee...”

Living in abject poverty, but as happy as children anywhere.

Time passed and the trail went ever upwards. Since we were in a tropical rainforest it wasn’t long before the rain started and I rummaged in my bag for my poncho. Marvellous piece of kit. It completely covered me and my backpack, but I did end up looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame dressed in a bin liner. Kept me dry, though.

And still the trail went ever upwards, until finally we reach camp. We were among the first to get there having leap-frogged many porters on the way. Those guys (no women allowed) were amazing. Carrying enormous bags on their heads AND a backpack with their own gear. Most of the time they were in shorts and T-shirts – no raincoats.

It turned out that I have a little tent all to myself which suits me. I’m writing this about 3000m up Kilimanjaro at 5pm. All around I can hear the sounds of various groups preparing their meals and having a laugh. I was split up from my group and I may not be able to find them given the size of the camp. I’ve wandered around armed with a mug of tea courtesy of Clemence, but am finding it hard to find a pal. Climbing this hill is definitely better suited to a group rather than making the ascent solo. Still there’s the mess tent which may prove fruitful...