On March 3 this year, I, along with a group of other very fit Pakistanis, summited Mount Kilimanjaro — the highest peak in Africa. Located in Tanzania, at 5,895m, Kilimanjaro is one of the peaks in the ‘Seven Summits’ mountaineering challenge — in which mountaineers attempt to summit the highest mountain in each continent.

It took us six days to go up and down the mountain. Some of us reached our breaking point — emotionally and physically. Sometimes it felt like I was in a season of the reality show Survivor as, every single day, someone from our group (and others) left because they decided they just couldn’t do it, or because they needed a helicopter evacuation due to altitude-related sickness or injury. The higher we went, the more frequent those evacuations became, as climbers from other camps also succumbed to the mountain.

We come from a country which has five of the world’s highest mountains — K2, Broad Peak, Gasherbrum I and II, and Nanga Parbat. These are all peaks that rise 8,000m above sea level. I’d been as high as 5,160m when doing the Manaslu circuit trek in Nepal, so how hard could this be?

Extremely hard, it turns out. I was immediately put in my place on day one. You’re hiking through a dense rainforest with trees that are hundreds of years old. We were supposed to reach our first camp before it got dark.

An adventure-loving journalist who used to write about mountaineering and interview mountaineers is inspired to climb Africa’s highest mountain herself

A few hours into our trek, it started to rain, nay, it poured. Our rain gear was useless, as streams of water gushed down the mountain. This slowed us down to a point where we were still out when the sun set.

None of us had any flashlights because we weren’t expecting to hike in the dark. We trekked for two hours in the pitch dark, stumbling over rocks, puddles and mud, all the while being assaulted with an endless flow of rain from above.

At camp there was chaos. Our tents were set up, but everything was wet. Other trekkers were screaming in frustration. I was exhausted and in shock. Shivering, I climbed into my tent, quickly changed into dry clothes and got into my sleeping bag… only to end up wet again — the sleeping bag was soaked.

I burst into tears and texted my husband that this was a mistake. A friend on the trip, Mazhar Valjee, sourced me a dry sleeping bag — a kindness I will forever be grateful for.

Since then, I prayed for good weather and safe passage every single day and night.

The first time you are high enough for the clouds to be below you is when you reach Shira Camp (3,600m). This is also when you can finally clearly see the snow-capped peak of Mount Kilimanjaro for the first time — right behind you. In front of you is Mount Meru (4,562m), a dormant stratovolcano and the second-highest peak in Tanzania.

This is also the day when guides, porters and staff from different camps gather around and sing traditional songs in Swahili, including the original version of ‘Hakuna Matata’. At sunset, under the shadows of both Kili and Meru and the clouds beneath it, the scenery was beyond stunning and the joy shared at camp was very moving. I was so happy, I cried (again).

We were told by our chief guide, Faraja Mwaijande, that the two hardest days for us would be day one and the summit night. He was right.

We started the day rock-climbing over the very steep Branco wall and then traversing over three valleys to get to the final camp — Barafu (4,673m), from where we would launch our summit bid from — the very same night. The plan was that we would have our lunch and sleep, as we had to start climbing at 11pm.

At this point, we’ve struggled with the low oxygen at high altitude and we’re tired and in pain. And we’ve already lost several team members to injury or despair. We’re close but getting to the summit seems insurmountable.

“What am I even doing here?!” I started to question myself, as self-doubt crept in, “I write about mountaineers. That doesn’t mean I am one. Why did I think I could do this?!”

I found a rock where there was some semblance of signals and called my husband, Abdullah. He and I are both scuba divers and we’ve dived in pretty difficult conditions at sea. If anyone knows how far I can push myself, it’s him. “You can do this,” he assured me, “You’re a mako shark.”

We were nervous starting our climb at night. It was pitch black and very cold. Looking down, you could see a trail of twinkling lights as other groups started to join us on the summit push. Beyond them, farther below, were the lights of the city of Moshi.

Our hearts were racing even though we climbed very slowly. With each gain in altitude, it becomes harder to breathe and to focus. As scuba divers, we’re used to breathing hard consistently from our mouths through our regulators. I’ve been diving for eight years, so it’s a well-developed reflex.

I used that to my advantage — pretending like I was underwater, remembering to breathe hard and ensure I was getting enough air. I also focused on following the bright yellow boots of my guide, Abdalah Mbega, that appeared more like swimming fish to me.

Through it all, until we reached the first summit (Stella Point) at around 6am, I kept repeating the words “Mako shark! Mako shark!” under my breath. It was to stay motivated and also so my somewhat oxygen-starved mind didn’t wander and panic.

I was the first one in my group to summit. One step behind me was my friend and longtime cycling buddy, Mustansir Bandukwala. We cried and hugged each other, waited for the others and enjoyed the views — you’re above everything. There is only rock, snow, clouds, the rising sun washing everything in pink and yellow hues, and the tops of the other mountains around you.

We were completely mesmerised, until we were told by our guides to gather our strength — the ‘true’ summit, Uhuru Peak (5,895m), was another 40min trek away. Just when we thought we were finally done, we had to go on.

Getting to Uhuru… it’s scary being that high. It’s very cold, very windy, the views are great but you’re also hoping you don’t get blown off the peak.

When you climb a mountain, you realise how small and insignificant you are in front of nature. I felt very grateful to have the time, fitness, health and support (financial and emotional) I needed to be able to exist in that time and space — on the roof of Africa.

I ended up losing both of my toenails on the descent from the summit — which took until the evening, as we had to pack up from Barafu camp and go farther down to Millineum camp.

The expedition group, called the Kolachi Trekkers, was led by Tariq Jamil Khan, Mazhar Valjee and Mustansir Bandukwala. The summiteers, whose ages ranged from 24-years-old to 68-years-old, took the Machame route to the top of the mountain.

Other than myself, those that summited from Pakistan included Mustansir Bandukwala, Danish Peshimam, Shehzad Salim, Sameer Shehzad Salim, Noor Jehan Zoberi, Sherbano Halai, Mazhar Valjee and Ainee Shehzad.

Munstansir, Sherbano, Timothy Westaway (a Canadian ultramarathoner who summited with us) and myself decided to trek down while the others exited the mountain in style via helicopter. We trekked through the rainforest and were out of the Kilimanjaro National Park and, finally, into our first shower in over a week, the next day.

The writer is an award-winning documentary filmmaker and journalist.
X: @madeehasyed

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 14th, 2024