When I wrote about the army of porters that supported our group up Mount Kilimanjaro, it may have seemed as if they were a monolithic group of people. But these were individuals, just like you and me, with personalities and preferences and hearts. I want to share just a few of the myriad ways individual porters exhibited the care they took of us.
Abdul and Micheal were our waiters. But they were so much more than that. These two young men woke us every morning with a “Jambo! Good morning. Would you like coffee or tea?” After morning coffee, they would bring us each a bowl of warm water with the greeting, “Water for washing.” We had a large dining tent where our group of eight took all of our meals together, served by Abdul and Micheal with smiles and graciousness. Their English was very good, and we really got to know these two—their backgrounds and aspirations. And they were part of the team that loaded up and carried gear on to the next camp, like everyone else.
Samson was one of the guides. It was he that I followed closely and tried to mimic his graceful variety of pole pole. Samson was delightful, conversing and playful when needed, silent when necessary. But one act of kindness really stands out. On our second day in, a light rain started up. This necessitated each of us taking off our daypacks, rummaging through them for our waterproof jackets and pants, and putting them on. As the rain began to fall harder, several of us were struggling to get all the extra gear on. (It’s hard to pull rain pants up over hiking boots.) Samson helped not only me, but at least two others, in getting us dressed quickly. “Sit down. Right foot. Now left.” Then he pulled up the pants. He helped me put on my rain jacket as I was foundering around trying to find the second armhole.
My personal porter was Juma. That means that he was responsible for carrying my thirty pound duffel bag to each camp, setting up the cot and pad, and getting my bag into the tent. He was mostly silent, but we smiled and greeted each other with “Jambo.” On our last day, I gave him my very warm fleece jacket, with something extra in one of the pockets.
Daniel assisted me on my descent from the summit. We did not return down the same trail that we ascended. The way down was, well, straight down, through scree, which is tiny, loose gravel and dirt. Because this portion is steep, the scree makes the descent a bit treacherous. One can actually “ski” down it by leaning back, then planting one heel in front of the other. Trekking poles help with balance, but it’s fast and unnerving. Daniel appeared seemingly put of nowhere, took my left elbow to hold me upright and my left pole, and together we slid down the mountain.
And finally, Jon, our head guide and benevolent overseer. He was in charge of all aspects of the trip, from hiring the guides and porters, to directing the whole operation. Our leaders had worked with him and Samson, on a prior excursion, and sought Jon out specifically when planning this trip. Jon inspected our individual gear and made decisions about what we could eliminate. He found gear for members of our group who had forgotten to pack a needed item. He carried a large backpack full of all the possible first aid and support equipment we might need. He even carried an older porter’s thirty-five pound load one day when this porter just didn’t have the energy to complete the day. What I remember with most clarity and fondness is Jon singing us up the whole of the mountain.
Next week, I’ll finally get us to the summit—with lots of individuals supporting the effort.