5:55am came early the next morning. Young voices issued from the Kibo Lodge gardens and I rose from bed. The entire entourage was gathered in a clearing.
Loitokitok glowed on a near hilltop.
The sun was rising in the East.
I thought about going back to sleep, then reproached myself, “I didn’t come all this way to not be part of the crew.”
I dressed swiftly to exit the bungalow.
Outside in a clearing Ma’we, JM, Old Steve, Jackman, Fast Steve, Ubah, Maureen, Vanessa, Nathalie, Laityn, and Larry gathered in a circle. JM was instructing calisthenics. I crossed the lawn and entered into the arc.
“Let’s give a clap for Mzee,” said Ma’we and the rest slapped their hands together and chorused, “XXXXXX
The gesture was a warm welcome and JM said, “We are all here. Together. To strengthen our body. Tomorrow we start our trek across the Tsaavo Plains. One week. 200 kilometers of hiking. No cars. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” they all shouted loudly.
I had walked across the Manhattan Bridge to break in the hiking boots.
Every morning I had trudged up and down the stone steps leading the the Fort Greene Martyrs Monument. 133 steps times 2 times 40 times 1 foot added up to one mile. I didn’t even break wind.
Mount Kilimanjaro was over 19,000 feet above sea level and climbing to the summit was no joke, but I added a late, “Yes.”
We stretched, hopped, bent over, trotted in place for five minutes and then a garrulous voice from a loudspeaker echoed through the valley.
We stopped in our tracks and stared at bright lights on the opposite hillside.
The indecipherable rant wasn’t English, even though I heard “Jesus’and’God’ and I asked, “Is that Swahili?”
“No, that is a preacher man speaking in tongues. He starts that every morning at 6 o’Clock. Never early. Never late.”
“And what do his neighbors say?”
“Many things. None of them good, but this is not our problem,” answered JM who lived in Loitokitok.
“It’s almost time for the morning run,” warned Fast Steve.
“I’ll walk ahead. My knees are shot from basketball.”
“We’ll see you at the main road.”
I left the Kibo Lodge grounds.
Alone, but not for long.
Kenyan children were going to school in uniforms.
The preacher went silent, as the morning prayer were sung from a nearby mosque.
The sun was up and to the west was Kilimanjaro as it had been forever.
