I conquered Mount Longonot⛰️

I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.

“Let’s go hike a mountain!” they said.

“Yeeiiyy!” I screamed, excited!

That excitement faded immediately I heard my bones creak while warming up at the base of the mountain. I knew I was gonna feel something, I just didn’t know what yet. My peers whom I’d gone with were so psyched. Everyone taking photos by the gate and laughing with their water bottles in their hand while I stood a few steps away, internalizing what I was about to go through. A Gethsemane moment I’d say.
I have been to many hikes, but this was a mount! This was not some pile of dirt or famous hill on the outskirts of Muhoroni samba. This was a mount! The only relief about that is that it is not a mountain. But that did not make it better.

This thing was huge! I see it every time I’m on my way back to Nairobi from home and I always dismiss it as some small wanna-be mountain, with a dead crater anyway. Who would be scared of an inactive crater. But all the way from the tarmac road as we entered the marram road leading up to it, a sense of fear and intimidation grew in me. This wanna-be mountain was getting bigger and bigger and bigger, and steeper too. My colleagues were excited, but I feigned a smile every time they cheered me to have a little life in me. However, my face was giving my fear away.

As we stood by the gate to have our identities checked and all those paperwork done with, I was visibly lost in thought. If it wasn’t for those enthusiastic mzungus to tap my shoulder, I would have remained frozen on that spot in the midday scorching sun till my colleagues came back. But the white lady’s gentle touch on my shoulder got me off my trance, and now I had to face the mountain ahead of me. No turning back now. Actually, I could have turn back and gone and wait in the van but what then would have been the point of boarding the van in the first place. I’d signed up for this on my own, my friends didn’t coerce or influence me, I did.

“Good hike, mate!” You could tell her Australian origins not only from her ear-to-ear smile and gusto before her hike, but the accent also gave her away. I whispered a weak “Thanks!” as I got in line with my mates to pass security into the vast land of Longonot.

If it wasn’t for the kiherehere of a few of my colleagues I would have started the journey at my own pace. But being I was the youngest there and my first time generally in such outdoor activities, I went with the flow of everyone else. Everybody started at a fast pace, climbing with laughter in their lungs, water bottles still full of water, and sweaters tightly tucked around the ladies’ waists. The pace was fast! And I knew we’d regret this, coz in as much as the mount looks short, it is a deception. The top keeps getting farther from you the more you climb, and the terrain keeps getting steeper and dustier.

A few minutes in and there was already a clear distinction between those who would make it to the top and those who wouldn’t; those who were excited for the idea of a hike and those who knew this was actual war; those who were fit and physically prepared and those who had prepared with vibes and posters. I was ready. People were mostly climbing in groups of four and couples also had their fair amount of time to show off their love. But soon the ladies were weighing the men down and the couples broke. The group of fours cheered each other on and steadily they climbed. Now the kiherehere was long gone, the jokes had disappeared. This was more serious than many of us thought.

We finally made it to the top, our breath leaving us by the minute. On the way, we were walking on all fours, grabbing any shrub we could find to catapult us to the next step. Each step we took with faith coz if you weren’t willing mentally, that top of the mount could go to hell. And rightfully so, half the group decided it wasn’t worth it and turned back to the van. I was at the top, watching them give up and go back. After all, a few photos that you were on a hike at Longonot was enough for the Instagram story.

My mini-squad was now chilling at the top of the mount, proud we’d made it to the top, and utterly amazed at the grand land that Maasai land is. You couldn’t see the last building of civilization from up there. All there was was vast tracts of ploughed and unploughed land, and the Nairobi skyline way way far off. You just knew Nairobi is there but you couldn’t actually see it. And it reminded us of just how tiny man is, considering all the power and pride one wants to have. But we are but a speck in the grand scheme of the universe.

Reaching the top was no mean feat considering all the people that turn back before actually reaching the top. But there was a foreign family there, a complete family of man, woman and three kids, all probably younger than 15 years. They had their two dogs too. I couldn’t help but wonder that bro had won in life. They were chilling under a shade at the verge of the crater, laughing and drinking their water while the dogs rolled around in the dirt.

But our pride got to us, and we no longer considered reaching the top a worthy enough achievement. We wanted to go round the crater, for no reason at all but to tell people that we’d gone around the Longonot crater. I personally wanted to do it to get the subject of this newsletter issue and to have a story to tell my grandkids. Poor decision making right there.

We started through the hilly side of the crater and thought we tackle the hard part first. It reached a point where we climbed with our chests against the dirt, our fingers groping the white dirt, while our bodies were perfectly vertical. One slip and you go tumbling down a huge pile of dirt in the middle of nowhere. And even when circling the crater our mini-squad broke up slowly by slowly, and soon we were so distant from each other, round a massive circle filled with dried up lava. I found myself trekking an endless path when I was a quarter-way to the starting point that would let me go down the mount. I had to sit and catch my breath so many times, coz my feet felt like jelly and were basically numb at this point, my lips were so dried and chapped that I could taste the salt in the sweat on my lips. The wind immediately dried any water I sprayed on my face and soon I was without water and my stave had snapped on some tough parts of the terrain. Alone too! With no signs of my peers anywhere.

You think a lot about your life when you’re on top of a mount, staring blankly at the land ahead of you, seeing your van so small down there, and wishing you could fly to that exact point. But you can’t, and you cannot also give up because you’d be deemed lost at that crater. And knowing my country’s rescue teams’ response time, I would be there for ages.

How I got to the van took the most faith I’d ever had in my life. Those who had given up earlier were now clean off their sweat and drinking cold drinks by the reception. They welcomed me like a hero and congratulated me for finishing the hike. But I was too worn out to even smile, I just needed a nap and a cold soda washing down my throat while a hot shower washed off my disgusting sweat. I was so hot and sweaty that my shirt had become a part of me; any effort to loosen it would come off with a part of my skin. Turns out, a few others whom we had reached the top with had not yet come back, and that made me feel less of a failure. I was feeling like a weak failure as I trod down the hill, thinking I’m the last one to make it off the mount, but turns out I wasn’t. Talk about running your own race.

I thank my friends for taking me to that experience, but lessons were learnt and pride is not welcomed in my head anymore.

I walk differently nowadays. My gait is completely messed up. I used to have an elegant, confident walk before this decision. Nowadays my pelvis feels like it just went through a rigorous army camp. Every step has a dull ache, like it's reminding me I’m overdue for exercise. The femur, that mighty thigh bone, is like, "I didn’t sign up for this!” By the end of the hike, it was practically sending me a resignation letter, asking for a transfer to an office job in the arms where life’s a bit more laid back.

✍🏽Reagan.

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