Day 2 at Shira 2 Camp, 12, 672 feet. Started out this morning at 7:30AM to clear skies. We made our way out of the forest at a slow, steady pace that I had to adjust to by just chilling out and enjoying the scenery. I’m a fast walker, but accepted that “polay, polay” was the theme of the day. Before leaving I was able to exchange two old $20 bills for their newer counterparts in circulation from two of the American women that arrived in the evening. When I tried to pay at the hotel, they told me the bank didn’t accept the old 20s. When I stopped at a grocery store on the way to the Lemosho gate the woman at the counter put it more succinctly: “Big head only.” I got the new bills, but when one of the women went to get her wallet, her husband or some other man in the group told her, “It could just be a story. Why would he bring money up here anyway?” I couldn’t help but step up to this. I said, “It’s actually not a story, but a real pain in the ass.” When he asked why I had my money up here I told him that I never parted with my wallet as a matter of habit from living in Senegal and that evidently they too had money on them, so what exactly was his point? The Norwegians smirked at me from their tent as I thanked the women for helping me out.

As we got going we enjoyed a real treat in the forest. The sun blazed through the dew and frost on the trees, sparkling and creating visible rays of light through the branches with steam forming all around. The route was fairly steep, ascending one ridge only to drop into another valley that flanked the mountain. Lavender and sage grew abundantly and Manase said the sage was “African medicine to help stomach.” As we gained the final ridge the clouds came in, moving in a solid block creeping up the valley. The blue of the sky disappeared like a blind being pulled down. What remained was a misty white, and it has persisted into evening. By the final ridge the forest had transformed into the alpine environment described by the climbing itinerary as moorland. Trees are gone, but the area is thick in shrubs, flowers, rocks and boulders, mosses, and lichens. It was very similar to the Oregon high desert; Steens Mountain came to mind, as did a Dr. Seuss book.

I passed two sets of droppings that looked to me like coyote and Manase said “mountain dog.” Maybe they’re the same. There were also giant magpies flying through the mist at our sides, landing near us intermittently to search for food. These weren’t like magpies I have seen in the US. They are the same black and white and do seem to possess that creepy yet intelligent air that I’ve seen these birds before, but it’s like they’re on steroids or growth hormone. Their beaks alone were thick as my thumb and pointer finger pressed together. Aside from the magpies we saw no other animals except some black beetles eating at the mountain dog droppings. Manase said that ten years ago there were more animal sightings but with the amount of climbs coming through much of the wilflife had all but disappeared.

We reached the massive Shira plateau as our cook Robert’s transistor radio played an only slightly crackled reggae. It appears that men being obsessed with walking around holding a handheld transistor radio are not a Senegalese thing, but an African thing. Actually, it’s a developing-world thing as this is the one affordable deliverer of news and entertainment. The plateau extended for many kilometers and under better conditions would afford an excellent view of the summit. We reached Shira 1 camp near noon and stopped to “eat lunch,” if that’s what you call me eating a large bag of food while the porters and Manase nibbled at a few veggies or crackers. I made each of them come over and take part of my lunch. I would have felt strange otherwise. They never would ask for anything or let you know, but to me they seemed hungry. I would be starved carrying a 20kg bag of gear on my head and a 10kg bag on my back over 3000 vertical feet. I have since been dividing up the cookies, crackers, and Twix bars I picked up at the grocery. I would like to think that I would behave this way no matter what, but I feel like living in Senegal has really changed my attitude about sharing and teranga, or hospitality. The distrusting American man this morning illustrated a fundamental difference between Africa and America-- we don’t trust strangers while Africans go out of their way to help them.

From the Shira plateau we made another 1000 feet onto a new flank of the mountain, slowly, slowly. By 2:30PM Manase and I reached Shira 2, a seven hour trip he said that most groups do in ten. At over 12,600 feet, I start to experience that mountain high, feeling good, strong, and tired all the while. For me, I am at the equivalent of being on top of Mount Adams, the tallest mountain I’ve climbed. To think that I have more than half another Adams to go sobers me and I go to my tent after the guys set up. I nap for about two hours and wake for some conversation with my new camp neighbor Jose, a 65 year old retired engineer from Madrid, climbing like me, as the sole client in his group. His English is great and his French perfect. He has climbed quite a bit in Spain as well as Aconcagua in Argentina, which is higher than Kilimanjaro. We talked about Senegalese emigration to Spain and he said he knew what was wrong with it- there weren’t any jobs, but like the rest of Spain, doesn’t know what to do. Dinner is served, Jose’s guys make him a fresh carrot soup, and my guys make fresh cucumber soup. It’s creamy and delicious. Then I eat a big plate of pasta with a beef and vegetable sauce with a huge side of green beans. Damn I didn’t know how much I like green beans.

After dinner I chat with Robert, my cook, after he asks, “Natty did you like your dinnah?” I never told him my nickname; he just picked it up from Nat which makes me smile. I tell him dinner was great. I ask Robert about his job and he said he is lucky to get to work one trip a month on the mountain and that his other job is as a welder. He has been buying tools and equipment slowly and hopes to buy a shop this year. He is married with two kids. His son turned three yesterday he said, a day we was working, for me, on the mountain. Robert asked me about myself and my work in the Peace Corps. He nods his head at my description of my work and says he knows a volunteer in a local village who works on HIV/AIDS work. “HIV a big problem for Africa.” He said he thought that every family in Tanzania was affected by it. His eyes glassed over as he told me that his sister and her two children are all HIV positive and all sick. My throat dropped and I told him I hoped his welding business would succeed. I wanted to ask him more about his sister and her condition, but didn’t want to make him more upset. After a minute he said he needed his business to succeed because everyone in his family looks to him for help, his sister and her children included. I don’t really know who to do justice to the emotion I felt listening to Robert, but whatever pain, misfortune, or heartache I may have ever felt seemed so far distanced by this man. This, of course, is probably true for many Africans I ever see or meet. It is humbling and hard to deal with inside myself, not because I feel guilty, but because I really feel for all these people who struggle and yet are so generous, so kind. I want to make all of America and the other rich people of the world feel this sensation, see what I see and feel just as effected.

I say goodnight to Robert and read and write for a while. I feel the air get colder and the light pitter-patter of cloud drops on my tent has stopped. Outside it’s clear and cold and I get my first sight of the mountain since driving to the trailhead from the hotel. It is immense. Under the light of a half moon and lots of stars, I see we are camped on a very gradual ridge that dead ends into the mountain headwall, a truly magnificent peak, steep and rocky, with glaciers lit by alpenglow. With this in my sights, it is a deep breath that I take in which makes any doubts, whether about the climb or about life simply fade into the immensity of the mountain. I am lucky and so happy to be here.