Vater for vash

The following is the description of today from the tour company's info site:

"DAY 3 MACHAME CAMP TO SHIRA 2 CAMP, Dec 9

Hiking Time: 6-7 hrs
Total Distance: 9km
Starting Altitude: 2980m
Final Altitude: 3840m
Habitat: Moorland
Rise early and climb steeply through the heath land of savanna, and trees such as Giant Heather and Erica. You will reach a gentler ascent through the lower alpine moorland, which is notable for beautiful wild alpine flowers and the unique giant lobelia and giant groundsel (senecio kilimanjari) plants. If a clear day, you will have direct views of Kibo, the peak and ultimate goal of your adventure.
After a short lunch and rest, traverse across the Shira plateau west towards a river gorge, and finally you will reach the Shira campsite. The night at this exposed camp will even be colder than the previous night, with temperatures dropping to well below freezing."

my duct tape shoes and muddy/wet clothes

I am in my fully orthopedic bed at home "Vater for vash" sleeping like a baby "Vater for vash" It's so warm under my goose down duvet. "Vater for vash"  If only I can get rid of this annoying sound  "Vater for vash".. and I wake up. I am in a tent 3,000 meters above sea level and 
5,000 km away from my fully orthopedic bed. Someone outside the tent is persistently repeating the same phrase "Vater for vash".  I unzip the door of the tent to find the sweet guy from the kitchen staff, Emmanuel, with a blue plastic bowl filled with warm water. It is our morning ritual. We wash our hands and face in it, in a somewhat British manner, to start the day. It must be a tradition from colonial era that stayed on. 

Breakfast is (the same every day): omelette, sausages, bread or crepes, the famous "carrot jam", peanut butter, honey, milo the instant hot chocolate, tea and instant african coffee. 

The weather is foggy and rainy. We start with a steep ascent. Isa 1 says it will be more or less like this until lunch break. It will get better after lunch. After exchanging a lot of "salam alekum"s, I slip my 2 bottles of water into Isa 2's daypack. I should improve my Islamic jargon if I want to succeed in my mission to get him to carry my daypack again.

We walk under heavy rain. We can not see any of those foliage mentioned in the description of the day above because we can not lift our heads up. The only thing I see all day long (and in the days to come) is the daypack of the person walking in front of me. My view changes from a green La Fuma to a red Husky and to a black Alpine.. daypack. My boots were wet when I put them on, so I don't worry about getting them wet in the rain. All I can hope for is that the ducktape stays waterproof so my socks and my feet don't get wet. Andy has another method for keeping his feet dry. He wears plastic bags over his socks. So much for breathable shoes!

We have lunch in a cave, sharing it with some wild rats. It is impossible to stay outside because of the heavy rain. We keep singing the Kili song to keep our spirits high.  The two most popular phrases fly about in abundance. Pole Pole (slowly slowly) and Hakuna Matata (something like don't worry, be happy)

lunching in cave

At around 3500 m, I start lagging behind. My heart starts racing although the hike is not so demanding. I recognize the altittude sickness. I take a handful of the homeopathic medicine to no avail. We hike through hills and rivers, again in the rain. Isa 1 stays with me this time. He patiently waits for me every time I stop. Every time I stop, I feel like this is the end, that I will not be able to make it to camp. He waits, under his red and white umbrella, all dry and not suffering one bit. I envy him firstly for his umbrella, then for being born acclamatized. Hikers over-do it with their outfits; right boots, right layers, wind proof, water proof, breathable material, goretex, climacool what have you.. If someone offered me an umbrella for my Kili hike, I would have felt offended! A hiker with an umbrella? Ha ha ha I would have laughed. But now, struggling on a mountain top with all my waterproof layers soaked, I wish to have something that I can't have: an umbrella. 

Isa 1 and I reach the camp 10 minutes after the group does. It's not so bad, considering that I am a "mama". The fog is so thick you can cut it with a knife (or an umbrella if you had one). We don't know where we are. We have no idea about the possibly stunning scenery surrounding us. We are supposed to see Kibo right behind us, the peak that we are aiming to summit, but we don't.

After we settle and have our daily highlight of popcorn and milo hot chocolate, we go for a short acclimatization walk. I pee in the fog, not worrying about anyone seeing me except my group for which I use the red and white umbrella to hide behind, making my first and last contact with my objet du désir.

I am peeing in the rain

We eat the same dinner named differently. We write down our high and low-lights. Young Kasim, one of the guides, tells us about his dream to go to university. I hope one day he will come across a rich American who will help him with it. We all start taking Diamox, the pill for high altitude sickness. Andy says he met an Australian guy at the hotel the night before we left. He had just done the summit and had these left-over pills so he gave them to Andy. There were plenty amount of pills for everyone.

I approach the kitchen tent looking for Isa 2, my collaborator, to ask for water for my hot water bottle. Isa 1 comes out of the tent and after a friendly chat, he offers to give me hot water, two extra plastic bottles filled with hot water for extra comfort in my sleeping bag, and above all, he offers to dry all my wet clothes in the kitchen tent next to the fire. I am in heaven! I shuffle back to my tent and bring him my wet clothes and boots. After an hour or two, I hear "mama?" outside my tent, but it doesn't annoy me that much this time . Anayaya is there with my very dry stuff. Some of them have holes in them because they've burnt, but the damage is negligible. All of them are still functional. I go to bed with three sources of heat and sleep good with one worry less: my clothes are dry.

Among other worries are: I paid a huge amount of money to live in mud, to walk in rain, to see nothing but fog, to wear the same stinky clothes day in day out with no shower, to eat ready made soup,  to freeze in a sleeping bag claiming to keep you warm up to minus 15 degrees, to suffer high altitude sickness, to pee in a "luggable toilet".