Chaos, Carnage and a few More Carnivores

Aug 29-30

On the fourth day of our safari, we went to Lake Manyara National Park: a beautiful park centered by the aforementioned lake and its hundreds of thousands of birds.


Unfortunately, we visited Lake Manyara after the Serengeti and Ngorongoro crater: the lake's lack of large carnivores and much smaller mammal diversity left something to be desired.


The lack of excitement during the day was more than made up for in the evening by two events that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

On the drive to our campsite from lake Manyara, we passed a badly damaged car crumbled at the side of the road. A passenger had been flung from the vehicle when the driver lost control of the car and he now lay on the opposite side of the road. He had a deep gash above his eye that had covered his shirt and jeans in blood. He was incoherent and was coughing up blood. Luckily a Russian veterinarian who had been in another safari truck was already tending to the man's wounds. We provided whatever medical supplies we had and Jules helped carry the man into a daladala to get him to the nearest hospital.

On the rest of our drive, our driver, Bryan, seemed to be just a little more cautious and drove slower as the rest of us sat quietly, trying to erase the bloody victim's image from our minds. I would like to say it ends there, but it actually gets much, much worse.

We arrived at our campsite and settled down for our post-safari tea and dinner that would follow shortly after. Just before 7 pm, Erik went to the road to listen to some young girls singing by the side of the road. He stayed a few minutes and thought to himself how cute they were. I had heard the singing as well and thought it would be nice dinner music. Erik returned to his seat and just as I was taking my first spoonful of soup, we heard a car swerving and crash and that angelic singing turned into shrill screaming.

Some of the campers and most of the guides and cooks ran out into the road to investigate. It was worse than we could have imagined: a pickup truck driven by an apparent drunk-driver, carrying 15 Maasai women had lost control, flipped and thrown all the passengers into the air.
Thankfully none of the children: the son of the driver who was in the front seat, nor any of the singing little girls were injured. What had happened however, was that there were bloodied, injured people lying everywhere; relatives screaming for their loved-ones and absolute chaos unfolding in almost total darkness.

At our campsite, we luckily had a group of 2 med-students and 2 doctors from Holland who were going to tend for the wounded. Erik, using his skills he had acquired as a fire-fighter, set up a triage station for the wounded and instructed the locals who spoke some English to keep people away from the flipped truck, which had started leaking fuel onto the road. Jules went and collected old clothing from the remaining campers to make tourniquets for the bleeding wounds. I raced to find any medical supplies and light sources that could help the situation.

The first victim evaluated by the doctors had already succumbed to her wounds and was already dead. The other critically injured victims were ushered into any vehicles available to take them to the nearest hospital. All attempts to call the police resulted in dial tones.

911 does not exist in Africa

At a certain point, some people tried flipping the car, but any spark produced had the potential for explosive repercussions due to the fuel leak. Erik later assured everyone that because the truck was diesel there was no potential for explosion but we left it as is just in case.

After the critically injured were already on their way to the nearest trauma center (80km away in Arusha), we continued to sift through the victims. As the doctors made sure all those in need were being tended to, I found vehicles to bring the less critically wounded to the hospital, filled them appropriately and then searched through the woods on both sides of the road to make sure there were no unseen or missed victims. As the accident was being gradually cleared up, the realization of what we were involved with was growing in everyone's consciousness.

The car had now been flipped and all the injured were on their way to the hospital and we returned to our campsite with a heaviness that no one would wish on another. We had little appetite and even less to talk about. We made sure we were all okay, mentally speaking, and when Jules and Katy went to bed, Erik and I sipped our warm, anti-climactic, safari celebrating beers and discussed the events that had just transpired. The strangest thing is that both he and I admitted that we were not surprised when we heard the second accident.

We finished our beers and went to bed but I couldn't help but wonder about the fate of those critically injured people in crowded, speeding pickups; on dark bumpy roads: the same circumstances that led to their current situation, only this time they are on their way to the hospital, not the safety of their own homes.

Many thanks and much love to everyone that did all they could to help: to the 4 Dutch docs and med students; to Erik, for his quick thinking and levelheadedness when everyone else was panicking. To Jules, her concern and unwavering selflessness was humbling. And to all other campers, Tanzanians and others who helped prevent this tragedy from becoming worse than it already was.

Our last and final national park was Tarangire, where we saw most of the same animals as Lake Manyara, only this time we had the privilege of seeing everyone's favorite carnivore for one last time: the lion.


After our final day with our four-legged friends we headed back to Arusha with a true understanding of what safari really means: Safari is Swahili for voyage and there is no doubt in my mind that the events that unfolded in those 5 days were anything but.

National Geographic Ain't Got Nothing On Me

Aug 23rd-28th

We took an afternoon bus-ride from Moshi to the North-Western city of Arusha. The road was fully paved and the lack of bumps was quite welcomed by our hungover heads.

Although Moshi and Arusha were only separated by 80km of tarmac, the two cities could not have been more different. The pole pole lifestyle of Moshi was replaced by honking horns, traffic jams and persistent hawkers. Our leisurely strolls in Moshi became obstacle courses of fruit vendors and ditches.

Chris and I would be staying with our German friend Stefan, who we had traveled extensively with in Mozambique. Stefan not only taught at an international school just outside the city, but he also lived on campus in a gated refuge, away from the noisy city-center.

Because we had arrived the first week of school, Stefan would be quite occupied with lesson plans and new students. This allowed Chris and I the opportunity to recover from our Kilimanjaro voyage and recharge our batteries.

Arusha serves as the international law hub of East Africa and we had the opportunity to spend an afternoon attending the United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (UNICTR). Although most of it was legal jargon and technicalities, we still actually got to see a witness take the stand.

It was incredible to hear the first-hand accounts of the days following the infamous plane blowing-up that ignited the Genocide and the referencing of Romeo Dallaire. The witness also spoke of how he hid in his roof for several days as gunfire erupted all around him. I was humbled by this man's words and the fact that although the Genocide happened in 1994, the criminal tribunal was still going on 16 years later.

Arusha is also the major jumping-off point for Tanzania's northern safari circuit. Erik (AKA the birdman) took the reins in finding the most economical safaris, while Chris and I sat back and let him work. These pics are for the birdman.



I would be joining Erik, Katy, a German education student; and Jules, a teacher from the UK; on a 5-day safari to four of Tanzania's beautiful National Parks. Chris had opted for a 2-day safari and would be leaving a day before I did. This would be the first time Chris and I would be separated for more than a few hours and consequentially, a part of me died inside (hahaha).


Our first stop was the incredible Serengeti National Park. The Serengeti picked up where Kruger left off. Actually the Serengeti completely blew Kruger out of the water. The landscape, vegetation, animal concentrations and visibility far overshadowed that of South Africa's largest National Park.

The elusive leopard that evaded my hopeful eyes for so long was finally spotted in the Serengeti and my how beautiful those spots were! I can now officially say I have seen the coveted big five of African wildlife and place myself among the fortunate few who have lived out their childhood fantasies and been on Safari and witnessed Africa's incredible beasts without the help of National Geographic or the Discovery Channel.


To add to the magnificence, I even saw the swift cheetah enjoying a mid-morning feast as well as mighty lions hunting for food and engaging in other activities (cough).

Upon leaving the Serengeti, I achieved a giddiness and youthful excitement that I have not felt since...well, since youth.

The following Park we visited was the Ngorongoro Crater Conservation Area, also a UNESCO world heritage site. The crater itself is the world's largest caldera or collapsed volcano, containing the highest concentrations of wildlife on earth. As Tanzania's most visited wildlife sanctuary, you cannot help but be enthralled by the incredible spectacle that mother nature is performing on a 20 km sunken stage.

While we had seen all the same animals in the Serengeti, except the flamingo, wildebeest and the rare black rhino (the latter unfortunately only seen through binoculars); what the crater gave us was a narrative that even National Geographic could not have portrayed any better.


A buffalo had just given birth to a new calf. This fragile newborn and weak mother were the perfect prey for a threesome of young, opportunistic male lions. As they moved in for the kill, the mother tries in vain to protect her defenseless, immobile calf. Due to her postpartum weakness, she could not put up much of a fight and is chased away by one of the lions while the other two toy and torture the calf in front of hundreds of onlooking buffalo. An adult female lion grows tired of the young males' immature games and and puts the calf out of its misery.


If this wasn't enough, an injured old bull enters the scene trying to reach his herd. The lions now have their sights on a larger meal and leave the calf where it was killed. What happens next is a fight and chase, the attempted mauling and subsequent sound of ripping buffalo hide; culminating in the buffalo escaping into the protective radius of 2 onlooking elephants.


Holy crap, did that really just happen? Yeah, it did. Lion King, eat your heart out!

Kilimanjaro Part II: Crying Doesn't Make You a Baby

Aug. 19-22

Up to day 4, all trekkers follow the same route regardless of their 6 or 7-day trips. This was great because it allowed us to keep in touch with Erik and exchange our thoughts and sentiments about the hike thus-far.


On day 4 however, we continue to ascend gradually, splitting up the most grueling portion of the non-summit day hikes into two shorter, more tolerable days rather than a torturous 24-hours experienced by the 6-day trekkers (Erik included).

We wished Erik good luck and hoped that the next time we see each other we could all talk about how incredible the summit was. Our fourth day hike was quite short, lasting a mere 4 hours, breaks and lunch included. The camp was called Karanga and the view was simply breathtaking: it was overlooking Mount Meru in the distance and there was a pristine carpet of clouds extending from the edge of Kili, past Mount Meru to what seemed like forever.


We rested and enjoyed the sunshine (we were above the clouds remember) and reveled in our proximity to the summit: our final destination, our goal. Sitting on the rocks at dusk, watching the sky change shades of orange, pink and red; while Mount Meru pierced its snow-capped peak through the endless bed of fluffy white clouds is enough to make a grown man cry.

And it did, I'm not even ashamed to admit it.


Day 5 was the shortest of all the hikes, lasting under 3 hours. We arrived at Barafu camp before noon. The elevation is 4600m (15,090ft) and this camp also serves as the base-camp for the summit.

We retired to to our tents at 2 in the afternoon in order to rest for the most challenging portion of the trek: day 6, summit day!

For day 6, you wake up at 11:30pm, eat breakfast and get ready to commence your final ascent just after midnight. We left Barafu guided by head-lamps and moonlight, the cold wind whipping our faces and loose gravel slipping under our feet. The poor lighting combined with decreased oxygen made me lose my balance or stumble every time I glanced up or away from my feet.

Looking up at the mountain, it was hard to tell where the specks of light from the head-lamps of other hikers ended and where the stars began. It seemed like we would be climbing forever. Some people speculate that the summit is climbed at night to a) arrive at the summit at sunrise and b) to decrease the discouragement people would feel if they could actually see how much distance they have to travel in order to reach the summit.

By this point, the effects of altitude were definitely affecting me: my heart was racing, I was very short of breath and my balance was really suffering. Robert pushed us to keep going.

We were on on the final stretch to Stella Point, the ridge leading to the summit, Uhuru peak. Our legs were barely moving. It seemed like we were walking on a cruel treadmill, climbing but never really getting anywhere. The exhaustion and desperation were unbelievable. The only way I could will myself to continue was by swearing and yelling at myself to continue.


Eventually we reached Stella Point. The sun started to show above the horizon, painting the sky and glaciers an ethereal pink. Between my laboured breaths and wobbly steps, I realized how close I was to reaching the summit. The realization that this moment, this accomplishment would be one of the defining moments of my life became too much to stifle. The tears started streaming and I couldn't stop them.

I didn't need to stop them, nor want to stop them.

In light of what I went through in October 2009 with my health and unsure future. It was at that moment that I really felt like I came out on top.

I had won.

I hugged Robert and I hugged Chris and we continued the final distance to reach the peak. Chris and I were really oxygen deprived and were acting like we were wasted: laughing hysterically and bumping into each other.

We finally arrived at Uhuru peak (5896m, 19,334ft), Africa's highest point at 6:15am. It took us 6 days to reach it and we could only stay at the summit a mere 15 minutes, but it was worth every second!


The pole pole pace we followed on the ascent was thrown out the window on the descent: we were practically pulled down the mountain by Robert and the assistant guide. We arrived back at Barafu at 10:30am, we allowed to rest for 2 hours and then we actually had to do another 4-hour hike to reach our final camp of the trek.

The last hike, although rather easy; seemed to last forever. The accumulation of fatigue was immense, but we had to keep on moving. Miraculously, we made it to the final camp and I had the most glorious sleep of my entire life.

Our final day was a leisurely hike back through the rain-forest. We were allowed to go as fast as we liked and Bryson was waiting for us at the Mweka gait with a Tanzanian feast and ice-cold coca-cola.

My non-existent hiking gear and meager attempts to train prior to departure had somehow paid off. I had done it.

It was over.

We met up with Erik at our hotel terrace, enjoyed some ice-cold Kilimanjaro beers, nicknamed Erik the "birdman" (due to his extensive knowledge of birds and over-zealous affinity towards them) and partied as if we hadn't just climbed a mountain for a week, nor been exposed to reduced oxygen levels for an extended period of time. Man did we regret that decision the next day.

Who am I kidding, no we didn't. It was worth all 19,334 feet!

Kilimanjaro Part I: Pole Pole

Aug. 13-18

After spending the night in the VIP section (i.e. tickets they sell to all the white people) in the ridiculously slow ferry from Stone Town to Dar es Salaam, we were back in mainland Tanzania.

We had found out the bus company we planned on taking literally had no mechanically functioning buses so we had to find another company which could complete the journey. We eventually did and the bus ride from Dar to Moshi was actually quite enjoyable: the roads were smooth and well maintained and they played several unintentionally-hilarious, Nigerian-inspired Tanzanian films.

We arrived in Moshi in the late afternoon and we were immediately greeted by someone intent on selling us a trek up Kilimanjaro. Before our trip, Chris and I had decided that since we traveled all this way to get here, we actually wanted to enjoy our hike up Kili and we therefore opted for the 6-night, 7-day trek rather than the usual 5-night, 6-day itinerary that most people follow.

The first company we were escorted to was Bryson Adventures and it turned out to be the best deal and fitted all of our requirements. We would be joining a group of 6 Americans who had been organizing this trek for quite some time and because of our late arrival, Bryson decided to keep Chris and I segregated from the gung ho group of mountain-climbing enthusiasts.

We soon found a hotel for a reasonable price, but no price would be too great for the heavenly views we were given of Kili. The setting-sun painted the snow-capped peak with a pink hue that even the most skilled painter would have difficulty reproducing. We sat on the hotel terrace and gazed at Africa's tallest peak, unsure of the daunting task which lay before us. Obviously my 2-and-a-half hours of training before leaving Montreal and our excessive preparatory drinking in Zanzibar would pay off in spades.


We gave ourselves 3 days of lethargy, inactivity and sobriety in order to rest our bodies and minds before commencing our ascent. While enjoying one of our days of sloth, we met a bearded, safari-gear wearing New Yorker named Erik ("with a k" as he would always be sure to point out). We compared our trekking company offers and assured each other that we had received a good deal.

Chris and I would be picked up at 8:15 am by Bryson himself and would be driven to the gate of Kilimanjaro National Park in order to embark on our potentially life-changing voyage. That night I was overwrought with anxiety and slept very little. I was doubting my physiological ability to make the summit and worried about the effects of altitude on my left lung and thorax following the major surgery I underwent less than a year before.

A person's response to altitude can only be assessed once exposed to it: no amount of physical training or mental preparation can prevent or reverse altitude sickness if one is predisposed to get it. My fate and success was therefore out of my hands. The only task for my idle hands to perform was to clasp in prayer and hope that my efforts and money will not be spent in vain.

The following day we were picked up by Bryson at 8:15 am Africa time (i.e. 9:00 am) and were taken to the gate of the national park. We introduced ourselves to the American group we would be joining and were slightly intimidated by their prior accomplishments: several of them had climbed higher mountains than Kili and one woman in their group had done an Ironman triathlon and had qualified for the Boston Marathon. It looked like we would have our work cut out for us.


Our guide's name was Robert and his success was our success. At least that's what he told us.


We started at an altitude of 1800m (5,906ft) and by the end of day one, we were slated to camp at 3000m (10,000 ft), already obliterating the previous highest altitude I've reached at the summit of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. It is also mind blowing to imagine 10,000 feet is the height at which we jumped out of a plane when we went skydiving in Namibia!


Robert explained the two fundamental principles of climbing Kilimanjaro:

1- Pole Pole or slowly slowly in Swahili: the turtle-like pace you hike in order to preserve your strength, prevent fatigue and to facilitate acclimatization. One foot rarely completely passes the other when taking a step. It is actually quite amazing how you don't tire yourself out and that you actually still cover considerable distance despite the slow pace of the ascent.

2- SWAT: When asked what it stands for, we responded Special Weapons Artillery Tactics. We were a bit off. For Robert it stands for

Sugar: for energy
Water
Always clean: your hands and face at least
Temperature: you need to stay warm

These two principles should be all you need to conquer Kili. I'll believe it when I see it!


I was wearing my top-of-the-line hiking gear: torn camouflage shorts, purple H&M v-neck T-shirt, Nike ankle socks and rental boots I got from Bryson. Needless to say I got blisters on both heels after a mere 2-and-a-half hours. Perfect!



Our first day's hike was great: nice pace, beautiful rain-forest scenery and ample breaks to allow us to stay hydrated and to prevent fatigue. Unfortunately, my night was still restless and I regrettably had J-Lo's "My love don't cost a thing" stuck in my head for the whole night.


The following day I taped up my feet and doffed my rental boots for some more appropriate footwear: my grip-less Adidas street shoes. We left Machame camp at 8:45 am and pretty much continued to climb vertically for the entirety of the day. Very pole pole mind you, so it wasn't that bad.

What I neglected to mention earlier is that in addition to a guide, we were also accompanied by several porters. Each porter follows the same route that we do. The same narrow trails, loose rocks and steady inclines; but rather than a 10-15 pound day-pack on their backs, they carry 40-50lbs of gear (our tents, equipment, etc) on either their heads or behind their necks! It does not look enjoyable in the slightest.



On this day's hike, the vegetation shifted from rain-forest to moorland: almost desert-like vegetation with small shrubs and few animals. Our final altitude for day 2 was 3840m (12,600ft).

That night I was no longer haunted by the sultry voice of J-Lo and I actually managed to have a good night's sleep.

Our third day was our first acclimatization hike where you utilize "climb high, sleep low", allowing your body to get accustomed to a decreased oxygen concentration while you sleep. Our highest point was 4600m (15,090ft) and we slept at an elevation of only 3950m (12,960ft) to allow for acclimatization.

Minor headaches from previous days aside, after this hike I had a pretty substantial headache, but luckily no nausea or other problematic symptoms related to altitude sickness.

It looks like I may be able to do this after all!