INTO AFRICA
exhaustion at the time, I still recall how solid lines meant NOTHING on Tanzanian roads! Exuberant drivers were randomly swerving in and out of their lanes. It was Christmas Eve, and celebrations were in full swing.
After a short nap, we were called to meet with our guide, Samson.
A humble, knowledgeable man who gave us invaluable information about the climb while eagerly showing us around Moshi town. We spent the day touring the city, checking out the local mosques, churches and markets. We retired early that night, knowing that the next day was a big one.
What I didn’ t know then was that Samson would become far more than just a guide. He would be our anchor, our compass, our calm in moments when our bodies and minds would beg us to just stop, or turn back. And he was just one of many.
When I was 12, my dad passed me a coffee table book on Kilimanjaro. Paging through it during the dark hours of the night, my desire grew, imagining the magnificence of standing at the top with the entire world before my eyes.
To date, I have hiked the world’ s highest waterfall; climbed the highest peaks in South Africa and Lesotho; done a few treks in Botswana and even Saudi Arabia. But this … this was going to be my greatest feat.
The journey began in South Africa: we boarded an Ethiopian Airlines flight to Addis Ababa, then caught a connecting flight to Kilimanjaro International Airport. An hour’ s drive later, at 4am local time, we arrived at Keys Hotel in Moshi. Despite my
When people talk about climbing Kilimanjaro, the focus is often on the summit photo: arms raised, flags waving, clouds beneath your feet. What those photos don’ t show are the dozens of hands and hearts that quietly carry you there. Kilimanjaro may be climbed by thousands every year, but no one reaches Uhuru Peak alone.
We set off via the Rongai Route, the only route that approaches Kilimanjaro from the north, near the Kenyan border. It’ s drier, quieter, and far less crowded, a gentle introduction that slowly reveals the mountain’ s many moods. As trekkers, we carried light daypacks. Everything else, tents, food, sleeping bags, tables, chairs, and medical supplies were carried by our porters.
At altitudes where breathing became a conscious effort, they often moved past us with ease, crocs or worn takkies on their feet, gigantic loads balanced on their heads. Smiles wide, genuine … unforced.
Each morning, before we even unzipped our tents, the camp would already be stirring. Hot water waiting. Breakfast laid out. A cheerful“ Good morning!” cutting through the icy air. And each afternoon, after what felt like the longest day of walking we’ d ever done, camp would already be set up – tents perfectly pitched, sleeping bags laid out, dinner bubbling away.
AUTUMN 2026 • rovesa. co. za | 85