Kilimanjaro Journal Day 0: Prep Day

9/9

Today after a cramped minibus ride from Arusha we arrived in Moshi. Thabit set my up in the Buffalo Hotel, and we set out to get my clothing and gear for Kilimanjaro. Even though we’re near the equator, in sub-Saharan Africa, it’s quite cold on the mountain and I’ll need lots of warm clothing. The clothing is just about what I would wear skiing. Considering that I began my traveling in Morocco at the end of July, I’m not quite prepared for such weather.

Thabit took me first to a little place where a large woman greeted us warmly. In a small room she had quite an impressive array of gear stocked, which although used, would certainly suffice. Thabit left me with her to find stuff that fit, and she turned out to be quite friendly. As she handed me different items to try on, I asked her if she had climbed Kilimanjaro. “Yes, but I climb Marangu route. It’s Coca-Cola route. Machame route is whiskey route.” I wasn’t sure whether to be proud that I was doing the whiskey route or intimidated since I hadn’t actually begun it yet. In any case, after about 30-45 minutes chatting and fitting, we had quite a pile of clothing and gear assembled. I was happy with the whole lot except for the boots. The only ones she had that fit well were quite heavy since they had steel toes. I didn’t look forward to carrying them up the tallest mountain in Africa. But they were the only ones that worked.

Soon Thabit returned, and began the process of negotiation. Since I bargained with him that the cost of my gear and clothing rental would be included in our price, he was haggling for his own money. I sat back and pretended to look around innocently, which was probably unnecessary since I don’t speak Swahili anyway. After some lengthy and testy exchange, Thabit said, “Doug, may I speak with you?” He took me aside.

“This lady is nice, but she wants too much money.” Thabit has been good with me, so I said, “Okay, let’s go somewhere else.” Without hesitation we walked out and around the corner, avoiding the woman’s glance as we left.

“Because it’s high season, she raised the prices. She wanted more than it would cost to buy. We would have no money left for food.” I laughed and told him I would prefer to have food on the trek.

“Have you done business with her before?” I asked, wondering if there was a previous relationship.

“Yes, she’s my sister.”

“Wait, what? She’s your sister? Like…your sister?”

“Yes.”

“And she wouldn’t help you out?”
            “I think she thinks I have more money than I do. I was going to help her out, but she wants too much.”

“Won’t she be angry?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

And so we went somewhere else that was more reasonable. That place turned out to be a shed behind a snack bar where more such supplies were stored. There was a large backyard with no grass, a covered paved area with a pool table and about a dozen men hanging out. We walked through the open eating area that also had a little barbecue to grill meat in order to reach the backyard. Here I was fitted for gear that was not quite as nice as Thabit’s sister’s, but satisfactory.

Afterwards, the rest of the crew began testing out the tents in the backyard to make sure they were ok. As I stood there watching them, I notice about 10 feet away two small Tanzanian men in an argument. Neither of them was more than 5 ½ feet tall, and both looked like they weighed about 110 lbs. But the one in the brown shirt was clearly angry at the yellow shirted one, while yellow shirt seemed to want to be done with him. Brownshirt was having none of this, and eventually it escalated into pushing. None of the other men seemed very concerned, and my crew didn’t even take notice, even though this exchange was occurring not 10 feet away.

Soon they both put up their fists. However, their tiny size and obvious inexperience at fighting made this quite comical. Neither of the them seemed to even want to punch, but in his anger, Brownshirt finally telegraphed a right cross that failed to connect. Since punching obviously wasn’t going to work, they began wrestling. Soon however, Yellow had Brown penned. While he spoke to him in Swahili, it was clear that Yellow was telling Brown to lay off and leave him alone. Even though Brown couldn’t move, he seemed quite defiant.

Yellow got up and walked over to the pool table, but Brown soon followed yelling at him. The other men looked on with a mixture of amusement, but little concern. Some offered their opinions, but Brown didn’t care, and pushed past them to attack Yellow again. They began wrestling again near the pool table, and again, Yellow penned Brown.

After more yelling, Yellow walked away and made a circle of the backyard, while Brown was defiant as ever. Making his way towards the exit, but not wanting to look like he was running, especially since he kept overcoming Brown. Brown was persistent however, and I watched as he followed Yellow around the backyard and towards the exit. It’s unclear how many other watched this, because no one acted to interfere when Brown picked up a hollow metal pole used to support a large camping tarp. This was not the type of fold up pole that you used on a tent, but quite a large thick one for a bigger open air shelter. Yellow didn’t even see Brown coming, but I did. From about 13 feet away, I watched as Brown took quick strides and came right up behind Yellow. He raised the pole high in the air and brought it down hard and fast on the back of Yellow’s head.

Everyone gasped as the loud smack grabbed their attention. Brown hit him hard enough to bend the pole, and Yellow seemed dazed. Brown then grabbed Yellow, threatening to strike him again. Thabit grabbed the pole in Brown’s hand and wrenched it away, but Brown barely noticed. He began wrestling again with Yellow, but he clearly had the upperhand now. Soon he penned him, and began yelling at him. The other men took more interest now, but still mostly just arguing among themselves and yelling at Brown. Thabit moved a large rock out of Brown’s reach before he could get any ideas.

A crowd began to gather in the backyard, arguing seemingly about the best course of action, and which fighter was right. Most people seemed to think Brown had fought unfairly, but one large man seemed to be on his side, arguing on his behalf.

Brown kept Yellow down, continuing to yell at him about something, and was clearly unsatisfied with the responses he got from Yellow. He didn’t even seem to notice the other men. Soon an older, better dressed man joined the group, and it became clear he spoke with authority. After some more arguing, and after Brown had held Yellow down for about 10 minutes, several men grabbed hold of Brown. It wasn’t easy to pull him off. Brown was surprisingly strong for such a small man. But two men managed to pry him away from Yellow, and Yellow struggled to his feet. Yellow knew what was good for him, and beat a hasty retreat, while Brown seemed to come to his senses, and noticing the other men around began arguing with them, but less forcefully. He obviously was unsatisfied.

Thabit soon explained. “That man (Brown) says he (Yellow) stole his bag on the mountain.”

“Did he?” I asked.

“I think so.”

“Will he get it back?”

“I don’t think so. I think he already sold it to someone else. This is why he (Brown) is so mad.”

I didn’t know what to think or do. I just watched this fight unfold from so close that I had to move several times in order to avoid getting physically involved. I watched one man bludgeon another over the head hard enough to bend a metal pole. There were allegations of theft that seemed to be fairly well established. And for the most part most people seemed unconcerned, and even unsurprised that it was occurring.

As I pondered this, Thabit left to go make more arrangements. I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Saidi, one of the porters who speaks little English, and said, “Food.” and made an eating motion with my hand. He smiled, nodded agreement, and indicated for me to follow him.

Everyone’s gotta eat.