It’s the flatulence that gets you. That’s what the hike guide wasn’t telling us. We were climbing Mt Kenya, about 10 of us, and he had mentioned all the things that could go wrong: high altitude sickness, snow burns, frostbite, hypothermia, trench foot, diarrhoea (of course). The wind and cold are trouble, too. Hypothermia and acute mountain sickness invisibly patrol the peak, which rises to 5,199m.
Nonetheless, I felt pretty good about everything. The guide said this experience of summiting Mt Kenya for the endangered mountain bongo would “change your life”, which felt like an exaggeration of the ability of inanimate things to influence living organisms. I took it as one of those things people say, like those guys in CBD who sell you “liquid screen protector” or those matatus that say, “Wawili iende .”
But I had already told anyone with ears that I was summiting Mt Kenya, and I am anything but a liar. My street cred rode on this, and I figured it would be useful on dates to tell my, erm, date, that I summited Mt Kenya. And when guys in cargo pants and hunting rifles sat around a campfire talking about fearsome things done out-of-doors, I would no longer have to feel like such a princess. Not even the masculinity experts have conquered this mountain. Well, perhaps they have, but only via a podcast mic. Me? I am a man of action.
So up we went. The flatulence was killing me. I am sure there is a Scientific explanation for that, but let’s just go with the African one: my village people were out to get me. However, I wasn’t going to let them win. This trip had cost a small fortune: the price of boots and thermals and daypacks and sleeping bags was enough to fund a California rapper’s lifestyle. Comparisons are invidious, but that doesn’t make them wrong. Besides, according to personality tests online, I am a Type-A personality, and my sense of self-worth hinged on me conquering this hill-with-an-ego.
The mountain was daunting; I won’t lie. It didn’t help that the porters were regaling us with tales of how, just a few months back, a hiker missed a step and his guide tried to save him, as per the contract. The avalanche, which had not read the contract, took them both. "Walichukuliwa after siku tatu. " Fine by me.
As the air got progressively thinner, so did my patience. By the third day, I just wanted it over and done with. The woodland was making its way into my boots, my face was itchy, and the flatulence was not making things easier. In short, I was in a bad mood. All the books tell you that your attitude determines your altitude. This is the sort of advice you get from someone who is sitting at a keyboard when he gives it. Take it from me, when you climb a mountain, you are allowed to have whatever attitude you want at whatever altitude. At some point, I just kept moving because of my ego.
I’d want to tell you that there are lessons I learned going up that mountain, but I would be lying. This is perhaps why this mountain was first conquered in 1899 by Sir Halford John Mackinder, who took the liberty of naming one of the camps after himself, too. Why not? That time, Mt Kenya rose to over 7,000m before massive erosion and glaciation did it in.
We stayed at Mackinder’s Camp for the summit dash, which took us six hours, and slept there again after descent. The beds were small, the rain was sleeting, but I slept like a well-fed, burped baby. Growing up in Shirere, Kakamega, my father encouraged me to be outdoors all the time, but I wasn’t a serious adventurer. He is a hands-on man, the kind who can catch a snake or suck out a snake’s poison. I don’t like snakes, so I avoid them, as much as I hope they are avoiding me.
The guide was right after all. Climbing mountains is a life-changing experience. There was no phone network for the duration of my climb, and in the little instances that there was, I was too tired to bother with emails and Betty from HR. It was just me and my thoughts.
The mountain had made an honest man out of me. None of the things I feared would happen, happened. I didn’t rupture my spleen, I wasn’t bitten by a deranged snake, Betty from HR was still there, sending emails. Life was simpler too. You ate when you were supposed to eat, and you slept when you were supposed to sleep. When you had to go, you go. The saying ‘there is no hurry in Africa’ was made precisely for moments like this.
I got severe sunburn, and for a week, I couldn’t be seen in public, lest I lose the street cred I laboured to earn. I didn’t even post on Instagram, which felt like twice the glory. When I got home, to a hot shower, a flatulence-free existence, and YouTube videos of how to stay humble after conquering a mountain, it occurred to me how much breadth and depth there is to life, if only we dare reach past the conveniences of everyday life into deprivation. But we’ll never know. Because, like in most areas of our lives, we prefer the lift to the stairs.
