Saturday 25 August 2001
MWEKA (Main) HUT to SPRINGLANDS HOTEL, MOSHI
“Everything you’ve heard is true.”
We got up, packed, ate breakfast (my least favorite meal of any day, especially so on Kili where I have been somewhat malnourished due to altitude and bottom-line provisions. Call me the spoiled American.), took what would be our last group photo, then departed.
Mweka (main) Hut is at the edge of the upper forest zone. The trails were initially passable then got progressively muddier as we headed down into the rain forest. Somehow I managed to keep pace with Andrea and Ianko for the first hour or so of the hike. We discussed future adventures, particularly the possibility of a whitewater trip in the Austrian Alps. Eventually (I’m not sure how) Ianko and Andrea speeded up and disappeared. Godlisten and Nikola caught up with me and we stayed together for the rest of the way down the mountain, eventually pairing up with another guide and his client for a while. The other guide was talkative, providing interesting insights into Tanzanian history, but the client had absolutely nothing to say.
We finally got to the rain forest. Every journal on the internet and every book on Kili describe the rain forest section of the Mweka Trail as an obstacle course to be reckoned with: Steep, slippery, severely eroded trails. Understandably Godlisten and the various porters and guides made excellent time on them. Nik and I chose a more careful approach. Several hikers passed us by, flying down the mountain. We passed a few families foraging in the forest and saw some monkeys off in the trees. Off in the near distance we could hear, but never saw, one or two rivers. Godi and the other guide and I had a long conversation about East African history during which Nik would interject with what I considered horribly ignorant questions. I admonished him for not attempting to at least familiarize himself with the region before we left for Africa. Godi and the other guide quietly laughed, but diplomatically said nothing.
The last few miles of the Mweka Trail are on a jeep/4x4 track similar to the Machame Trail, though a lot more slippery. I fell twice: Once was sheer carelessness up in the rain forest, the second time was on the last slope in full site of Mweka Gate. Carelessness mixed with excitement. Luckily I neither hurt nor broke anything.
Godson and one of the other porters were waiting for us at the gate. They and Godi all sort of freaked out when I took my last fall, then were visibly relieved when I got up, a little dirty but otherwise fine. We walked over to the gate to sign out. Andrea and Ianko materialized from somewhere to join us. Godlisten got the summiteers their gold certificates then we checked out the souvenir shack. Next we crossed the road to gather with all the porters for tip dispersal.
I got to do the honors. It was fun to see the porters’ eyes light up when I called them each by name and handed each an envelope with their name on it (Presentation counts!). I thanked each guy in Swahili, “Asante sana!” then shook his hand. Ali the Cook (we also had a porter named Ali) and Prosper got their tips next. Then I decided to get smart by pretending that I couldn’t find Godi who was standing off to the side somewhere. He was front and center instantly.
Next we took our first and only photos of us with the entire team. I regret we didn’t make an effort to have someone else take the picture so Andrea and I took turns. Seems we couldn’t find anyone nearby. Using a flash would have been a good idea under the midday glare too, but that’s a minor regret.
After photos we bought everyone beers and toasted Tanzania, the Chagga, and Kilimanjaro. It turned out that Godlisten does not drink alcohol so his beer was given to a more than delighted Prosper.
We said goodbye to most of the crew here and walked down the road through various shambas (farms) to Mweka Village. The Ivanovs allowed themselves to be mobbed by a large group of locals who were selling a multitude of souvenirs. They refused to learn any Swahili and most of the vendors knew little English. At Mweka village we ducked into one building for a hot lunch while locals hovered outside waiting to pounce. I bought some postcards from one guy, inadvertently starting a feeding frenzy. While all this was going on lunch arrived and the others were digging in. I managed to sit down and eat a little before stopping to give out clothing and gear to some of the porters and Prosper. They seemed rather incredulous as I handed out expensive wool socks, water bottles and heat packs. At one point I looked over at Godi who reassured me that all was much appreciated. Godi then lobbied hard for me to give my hiking boots to Philip, but I was not taken in. While I appreciated Philip’s efforts there was none that warranted a $200 pair of boots. I found out a little later why Godi was making such a hard sell for Philip.
All the while the locals were haranguing us to buy stuff. I ended up buying a little sculpture and I think some postcards. Not sure what, if anythin,g the Ivanovs and Andrea bought. A guy in full rasta outfit was subtly offering to sell us marijuana, but we declined. I’d had my fill of hallucinations on summit night.
We piled into a ZARA van with Godi, Philip and the group that Andrea went to Uhuru with, a young English couple and their guide who we’d camped next to at a few of the huts. I think we got them to take a photo of us atop the Breakfast Wall, but that was the extent of their affability. Maybe they were just honeymooners wrapped up in their own universe—we later saw them in deeply romantic embrace in one of the gardens at Springlands. On the drive down to Moshi we saw more farms and huts, got our last look at Kibo and Mwenzi while still on the mountain. Also saw a local vocational college and Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Center, where many AMS-stricken climbers are taken.
At ZARA HQ we got ushered inside the gate to a small, covered portico where we met with Zainab to review our trip. I told her about the broken tents and the delays on the first day when we had been unintentionally shorted of some supplies. I added that we all had a good time in spite of the inconveniences. Walking out, Godi got taken aside from Zainab for some sort of conference. Prosper surprised us by showing up to say hello and goodbye. He must have caught a second van down to Moshi. We drove back to Springlands on the bad roads. Got checked in and dumped our bags then went back out to the street to talk with Godlisten who was once again campaigning for us to come visit him and his family later that night. We made arrangements for Godi and a driver to come pick us up in 2 or 3 hours.
Saluum and Peter, two Springlands employees, came by to gather clothes and boots to be cleaned. Lawrence the Springlands tour-guide and jack-of-all-trades helped us retrieve our luggage from storage. I took my first shower in a week. Though the hot water didn’t quite work and the shower stall was rudimentary at best (water runs all over the floor of the bathroom) it was a pleasant experience. Meanwhile the Bulgarians strolled over to the pool in their Speedos. Somehow a riot was averted.
Godi returned in stealth. He reported that guides and porters are not quite welcome at Springlands. We figure it is a class thing, but in retrospect it’s probably to protect the guests from slick panhandling. We drive through Moshi proper to Godlisten’s apartment where we met his wife, Imakulata, and children Happyness (5) and Julian (2), viewed a video of his trips up the western breach, and checked out his impressive photo collection. I brought him a lexan water bottle and some candy for his daughter.
Dinner was at a local restaurant named Kipanga (Swahili for “machete”) which serves grilled meat and beers. Across the street a loud church service was in progress where people were singing, dancing and chanting. Nik and Ianko investigated while we found a table and ordered. Our driver Frank joined Godi and us, eventually bringing a friend of his over for a drink. Ordinarily such freeloading pisses me off, but everything was so cheap that we let it ride. White westerners, particularly Americans, are set-upon as walking money-bags in East Africa and we were no exception. We ordered a number of local beers including Kibo Gold, Kilimanjaro Lager, Safari, and Tusker. All were good. Before the food arrived, the waiter brought over a pitcher and bowl to pour water over everyone’s hands. Drying hands is obviously not a priority because no towels or napkins were provided. Frank went off a few times to fetch some from the bar. After the lackluster food on the mountain the grilled meat specialty at Kipanga was a refreshing change of pace. We ordered it by the kilogram. The meat was beef, grilled on a spit over a wood fire. Intestines and sweetbreads were included in the mix to the disgust of some at the table. I tried to avoid anything strange, with mixed success. Grilled bananas were served as a side. Course rock salt and bowls of a zesty chili pepper-garlic salsa were the condiments. Godlisten could not get over how we avoided eating the fattier portions of the meat. A cultural thing, for sure.
Back to Springlands where an old man and his dog were the night watch at the gate. We said goodbye to Godi and Frank, whose services for the evening were a mere $10 (and dinner and drinks). Bought postcards and stamps at the gift shop then headed to the bar for a few hours of drinks, conversation and postcard-writing. A group of newly-arrived Australians and New Zealanders sat next to us, fairly bragging of their upcoming exploits on the mountain the next day. We smiled and said nothing.