I’ve written about three physical techniques that gave support to our team in our successful summiting of Mount Kilimanjaro—the mountaineer’s rest step, pole pole pace, and the pressure breath. I think we could have summited without these measures, but it would have been much more difficult.
Our group of eight—two leaders in their early thirties, one woman in her fifties, and five of us in our sixties—were a tight-knight group. All of us knew at least two others beforehand, but we had not all coalesced until we met at the hotel in Arusha. Gelling almost immediately over our shared goal and love of adventure, we easily formed a camaraderie. No one person dominated. We all listened to our leaders and guides. There was no dissent among the ranks. As the week progressed, the glue that held us together became ever stronger as we encouraged and congratulated each other with each new day. When one in our group became too ill to continue, it affected us all. We supported her completely in her decision to head back down the mountain. We felt the loss as a group, but we rallied again in our common goal
There were many other groups of trekkers on the mountain, some larger, some smaller than ours. There were even a few lone hikers. As often as I have said that I prefer to hike alone, this particular hike would not have been nearly as rewarding, or even possible, without the mutual support of the group.
What we absolutely could not have done without was the support of our army of porters and guides. In the first communication we received with information about the trip, we learned that we would be shepherded by over forty local men and women. I was astounded! Why in the world would we need forty people, a ratio of five to one, to help our small group of Americans up the mountain?
That army included four official guides, two cooks, two waiters, two dishwashers, two men responsible for procuring and filtering our daily water supply, two people that set up and took down all the tents, two men who cleaned and maintained our latrines, and a cook for the porters. There was also one porter designated to carry each of our group member’s duffle bag. That’s a total of twenty-three. The remainder carried the rest of the camp’s equipment.
Mornings started with a coffee wake-up call, then we were brought a bowl of warm water for washing up. When it was time for breakfast, all of our gear had to be packed and placed together on a tarp. After the meal, the eight of us donned our small daypacks and set off with the guides.
The remaining crew of porters then dismantled all the tents and equipment, packing up the kitchen and latrines, as well as their own personal gear. Then they loaded these burdens onto their heads or necks (there was a thirty-five pound weight limit), carried their own backpacks, and went up the trail, swiftly passing our pole pole group as we plodded on. Each porter, whether they were from our team or another, greeted us with a cheerful, “Jambo! (Hello!)” as they climbed past us to the next campsite. When we finally arrived at each day’s camp, the porters had already completely set it up for us.
This whole operation was a wonder. Our group of eight was exquisitely well taken care of so that we could use our resources only for the trek itself. So little was required of us beyond just getting from one camp to the next.
I started this piece thinking that I was writing about community. In community, there is reciprocity and a mutual caring for each member, and our group of eight did feel like community. Even though it was their job, the cheerfulness, kindness, and care exhibited by the army of porters were genuine. The whole of our experience on the mountain was more like a nurturing. It was if we were children being looked after and encouraged by loving parents.
It took a village.