Day 5: 11PM. We were already awake. Hardly slept. How could we? Awaiting was our ascent to the peak of Africa. How difficult would it be? Would we freeze? Would altitude sickness get us? Would we both make it? We turned on our headlamps and slipped into each layer of clothing methodically. Actually most of the layers were already on, as the tent was mercilessly cold. From top to bottom: wool hat, baclava, thermal undershirt, two cotton undershirts, thin fleece, sweater, thick fleece, down coat, thin gloves inside thick gloves, thermal underpants, silk underpants, thick fleece pants, rain pants, thin socks inside thick socks, hiking shoes. We were marshmallow people. Finally at 12:20AM (we moved slowly that night), having carefully stuffed our backpacks full of unnecessary essentials, we were off. It was quiet. The moon was large but its light, partially blocked by the mountain, was weak. With every step the dirt creaked beneath our feet. Soon joined by the back and forth whooshing of our labored breaths. Those two sounds would dominate the next six hours.
Though I tried to push it a bit, Matthew and Richard wisely kept the pace methodically slow. 4700m.....4800m.....4900m. The mountain was getting noticeably steeper and the path began twisting left and right to tame the grade. We passed a couple groups that already looked worn out. Dirt turned into scree (loose gravel). 2AM. 5000m. Couldn't believe almost two hours into this we were only at 5000m. The moon began descending, falling away behind the mountain as darkness became darker. The night sky was transformed into that phenomenal sea of stars, just as we had seen four months before in Malaysia from the top of Mt. Kinabalu. This time we knew right away that the long wisp of white in the middle of it all was not a cloud, it was the galaxy. Our headlamps illuminated the ground immediately in front, while up ahead all was black besides the outline of the summit and the dozen or so bobbing candles of light from hikers above us. Gilman's Point, on the crater rim, was still 700m above us. We were worried neither of us would make it for sunrise. So we separated: I went with Richard and Madhavi went with Matthew. I told Madhavi that I'd wait for her at Gilman's. Richard, thinking this separation meant I was really strong, went ahead at probably 3x the pace we had just been keeping. He took one look back and saw that wasn't sustainable. For an hour we were doing maybe 1.5-2x the previous pace.
We gradually started passing people, and I was feeling confident. Pretty soon, though, it was becoming too much, and I could barely talk anymore. At one point I had just enough breath to eek out: "Richard, slow down." 5300m. The climb was steepening and the scree was loosening. Two steps forward, one slip back, two steps forward, one slip back. Walking slow was no longer slow enough. Pathetically slow was now required. How slow? Imagine walking at a normal leisurely pace. Now imagine walking less than half that speed, really slow, like you might do with an ailing elder who uses a cane. What you’re now imagining is too fast. Taking breaks no longer helped because the effort needed to take off my backpack, unzip it to drink water (the tube of the camel bag had frozen), re-zip it, and eventually stand up again and swing the backpack on my back would sap any energy I saved on the break. Things had really changed. Now if you dared to push yourself you'd pay the price. It’s like there was this imaginary wall, and if you hit it hard it would knock you down. Soon you fear being completely knocked out. So you stop daring. You just hang on, on the edge of sustainable breath cycles, with a vague threat of nausea. My headlamp slowly died and when Richard would go too far ahead I'd be blind.
5600m. The scree turned into boulders, walking turned into climbing. But it didn’t matter. After hours of head-down foot-dragging determination we were almost there. “Ten minutes, Nima,” said Richard. “Five minutes.” Finally at 4:55AM I stepped up and there it was: the crater of Kilimanjaro. A mysterious wide well of black and grayish white – rock and night snow – barely visible in the darkness. Then I saw the sign: “Welcome to Gilman’s Point, 5687m”. I walked up and leaned on it with forehead on folded arms for a few seconds. I was so relieved and perhaps even proud. But the feelings were incomplete as something was obviously missing. I sat behind some boulders to hide from the ice cold wind and thought about Madhavi. How was she doing? How far had she come? How cold would we get waiting for her and Matthew? “OK, let’s move on,” said Richard. What was he talking about? “No, no, we have to wait for Madhavi.” He shook his head: “We can’t stay here more than 15 minutes – park rules. We'll freeze.” We went back and forth like this for 5 minutes. I just sat and stared at the amazing starry sky, ignoring him and hoping he’d give in or forget about it. I couldn't reach the final summit, Uhuru Point at 5895m, without Madh. In the end, though, I couldn't disagree with Richard that they’d probably take another hour or even two to reach us. Very grudgingly I gave in and we stood up. 
I so regretted having separated from Madh. Why did I leave her? Who cares about the sunrise if she’s not there and I don’t even know how she’s doing? I told Richard we should go back down and join them again. Then he mumbled: “Let’s check.” “Kanaaaal,” he yelled. Kanal is Matthew’s African name, but I didn’t know that and I didn’t understand what he was doing. “Ricardooooh, hey hey, jambo!” came from below. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Richard, what was that?” “That’s them, they’re here. So great.” he replied. I was shocked. And soooo happy! Soon, less than 20 minutes after we had arrived Madhavi appeared with Matthew singing in Swahili ahead of her. Richard joined Matthew in this song of celebration. Madh and I embraced, filled with joy. As Madhavi tells it, Matthew pushed her to her limit. He didn’t let her lose momentum by resting, and they kept plugging away. Madh said she just kept her head down and focused on each step. Along the way they passed 20 climbers, leaving only one to reach us before they did. It was phenomenal. We continued on. As we walked along the crater rim the sky changed from black to light black to dark blue to gradually lightening blue to all the brilliant oranges. As we pushed west to slowly ascend along the southern rim, the beautiful southern glaciers appeared to our left. Madhavi charged ahead, maintaining her momentum, while I stopped every few steps to peak at that sunrise taking place behind us. The views were breathtaking.
I had never seen pictures of Kili from the top: the shallow rippling crater, the blue-hued glaciers, the clouds so far below you. None of it was expected. And that made the whole experience as amazing as it's supposed to be: discovery, not just accomplishment. At ~7AM we did it, reaching Uhuru (Swahili for “freedom”), the highest point in Africa. We sat briefly and looked around in all directions, at the glaciers of the north and south ends, the crater and sunrise to the east, and something far away to the west. Of course we took our pictures by the grand signpost of Uhuru. With dozens of people swarming the same sign waiting to document their achievement, Uhuru may have been the peak but it was not the climax. It was a post-script to the true climax at Gilman’s, where we had stood alone in the darkness knowing we'd crossed the threshold. We started down. First the easy walk back to Gilman’s. Then the long, steep downhill walk and slide on the scree from there to Kibo camp. We couldn’t believe we had just ascended this never-ending beast. From Uhuru it took over 3 hours to get down. All the deficiencies for which we had been compensating all morning now manifested themselves.
Sleep deprivation, hunger, dehydration, physical fatigue, very high altitude, and blazing sunlight - it all combined to produce that singular malaise that is exhaustion. And it didn't seem easy to fix. As one of the Chicago guys told Madhavi, “I don’t know whether to throw up or eat first and then throw up.” Plain water had somehow become disgusting, so we added some berry-flavored electrolyte tablets that Vern had given us the previous day. Oh what a lifesaver! That along with lunch and a 30 minute nap recharged us. We packed up and started again, this time down the very gentle Marangu trail. For the next 3 hours we cruised along, feeling cool and light, occasionally singing and even dancing. We reached the campsite, almost 17 hours after we had begun our ascent. Day 6: The morning after our final night of camping we said thanks to our crew, who performed a Swahili song about Kilimanjaro being a snake that sneaks up and bites you. We felt back to normal, better than normal. The 6 hour descent was easy. We reached the Marangu gate and picked up our certificates.
We said goodbye to our guides and the few porters who were hanging out by the gate. Matthew and Richard had really risen to the occasion on summit day, and we left feeling very good about our team and the whole experience.
In the end we did meet some nice hikers, and when we were alone we were alone with the mountain and without the distraction of polite conversation. Summit day was simply unforgettable. We've thought about doing other big climbs, maybe Aconcagua in South America. But Uhuru may be the highest we ever go. And that would be just fine.
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