Greetings from the top of Africa

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro

Welcome to Africa’s highest point! But first, let’s rewind to the beginning.

On September 2024, six friends with matching outfits, self-entitled Team Tremoço, embarked on an adventure to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest peak in Africa. Our journey took us through five distinct ecosystems, from the lush rainforest to the barren alpine desert, until we finally reached the arctic zone at the summit. It’s almost like walking from the equator to Antarctica.

We decided to take the 8-day Lemosho route. As this was a first-time experience for most of us at high altitude (and my first time on a multi-day trek), we felt more comfortable choosing a longer route to allow for better acclimatization. Also, we read in a few guides that Lemosho was relatively less crowded than other paths and had stunning landscapes, so it seemed like the perfect option.

On our first day, we ventured deep into the jungle, where we were greeted by the locals — the colobus and blue monkeys, along with some rather large white necked ravens and a single tree hyrax. We saw them throughout the day, and heard them throughout the night. Enjoy the company—you won’t come across these friends again until you come back down.

As we progressed through the trail of the second day, the landscape transformed drastically. The dense trees gave way to the Shira plains, and since the weather was perfect, we could see Mount Meru in the distance, and later the summit of Kibo (the tallest volcanic cone in Kilimanjaro, aka our destination). As you can see in the photos, the weather can change quickly — halfway through we got surrounded by clouds and by the end of the trail the sky was blue again. Since you can go from being chilly to feeling quite warm in a short period of time, multiple times daily, layers are your friends.

Our guides kept reminding us to go “pole pole”, meaning “slowly”. Get used to this expression, because you’ll hear several times each day, not just from your guides, but from many people you find on the way. If you want to steal a chuckle from them, just respond with “haraka haraka”.

At night, as we left the common area to go to our tents, we were greeted by a sky full of stars, with a clear view of the Milky Way.

On the third day of our journey, we hiked through the relatively flat Shira plateau, a rocky plain with marshy areas and boulders of varying size.

Although there have never been permanent settlements in Shira, the area has an interesting history: according to our guides, members of different tribes used to meet there either to exchange valuable items or to settle conflicts, far from their villages, to keep battles away from their families.

We reached the camp in the early afternoon, and after lunch and a short rest, we went on an acclimatization hike to 4,000m altitude, where we paused for about 20 minutes. The view was breathtaking, with the summit of Kibo in front of us, and the Shira plateau behind us, all illuminated by the warm sunset light. The path was dotted with cairns (or, as we call them in Portuguese, mariolas), which signal the way on colder months when snow covers the plateau.

While we hung around at 4,000m, we also saw tracks of bulls, which cross from Kenya to graze at night. Our guides must have answered a thousand different questions from us during the week, but they never reacted with as much shock as when Ana asked if the bulls were aggressive: “Of course! African bull, never forgives!”. I guess we were lucky to only see their tracks.

The goal for the fourth day is to “conquer” the Lava Tower. At 4,630m, it’s a point where altitude symptoms commonly kick in for many people. On the briefing the night before, Oscar explained what we could expect, and comforted us with the knowledge that any symptoms we felt while at the tower, would go away once we started descending to Barranco Camp.

On our last break before reaching Lava Tower, Benny decided it was time to play a song. His choice? “Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air...” by Jordin Sparks. He got some good laughs out of us, I can tell you that.

We reached the tower feeling good and ready for lunch, but after being there for a while, some of us started feeling the altitude. Several of us had soft headaches, and a few felt nausea and fatigue. The rest of the hike was harder because of this, but once we reached the camp and had a good nap, we were feeling better — as promised.

While we walked through arid landscape most of the day, with the trees and tall bushes nowhere to be seen, that changed once we reached the Barranco Valley. On the valley, next to a watercourse coming from the glacier, we walked through a funny-looking garden of dendrosenecio kilimanjari and lobelia deckenii, two species native to Kilimanjaro.

At the usual post-dinner briefing, Oscar mentioned that this day was considered the semi-final, because Lava Tower is at the same altitude as our final camp before the summit. Our medical checkup was looking good, and he told us not to worry too much about the symptoms we had experienced — our bodies would have time to work on the acclimatization before we reached that altitude again.

Then, they told us the next day the nature of the trail would be a “funny mountain” — climbing the Barranco Wall, a very tall and steep wall next to the valley. This would be a bit challenging but very different from all other days, and we were looking forward to it.

Rise and shine, today we’re climbing the famous Barranco Wall — a steep and occasionally narrow path that often requires us to use both hands (and sometimes someone else’s hand too) to elevate us up the rocks. I didn’t take almost any pictures during the Barranco Wall, because in many spots you have to go in a single file and I didn’t want to delay the porters who needed to get to the next camp — and also, I was focused on not rolling back down because Cioga told me he wouldn’t go back to get me if I did. While I was using most of my attention to avoid slipping, porters were passing by me carrying 20kg of gear on their backs, or balancing it on their hands, hands free as if it was just another walk in the park.

Once we reached the top, we had a short break to catch our breath and enjoy the sights: on one side, the Barranco Valley hidden by the morning clouds, and a snowy peak on the other. Then we continued to the camp, going up and down the courses created by the water that flows down from the Hein glacier.

At one point, we spotted the Karanga Camp at eye level, and thought we were less than 30 minutes away. Until we discovered there was a whole damn valley separating us from a much desired lunch and nap. But alas, we arrived.

When we arrived, the horizon was covered by clouds, but by dinner time, they had cleared and revealed the lights of Moshi, the city where we had come from, at the base of the mountain.

After dinner, we had the usual briefing and medical checkup and got the green light to proceed to the base camp the next day. This was our last full night of rest before the summit. The next day we would have a short hike to Barafu Camp, where we would have dinner and go to bed early to wake up before midnight.

And then, to our surprise, the rest of the crew showed up with an impressive cake to celebrate Ana’s birthday. Don’t ask me how they got the cake, because when we asked they just laughed and said it came on the helicopter. Anyway, seeing Ana caught by surprise and asking "Whose birthday??" was more priceless than getting a cake in Kilimanjaro.

Day 6 is a shorter day focused on reaching base camp, the backstage of the “summit attack”. Even though there’s only 4km separating Karanga from Barafu, the altitude was already significant, and we took our time.

On this day, our instructions were to get to the camp, have lunch, go straight to the tent, and rest until dinner. Wake up at 5 p.m. for an early dinner and straight to bed again, to wake up at 11 p.m. After dinner, we did our final medical checkup and we all got the green light to attempt the summit ascent. I was definitely feeling the excitement we had been building up to this moment, though I was expecting the climb not to be comfortable.

At this point, putting on clean underwear and socks felt like our biggest luxury, and much of our conversation revolved around daydreaming about the first shower we would take once we got back to the hotel.

We woke around 11 p.m. to prepare for our midnight ascent. Our lead guide, Oscar, warned us not to ask him how much longer we had left, as the answer might break our spirits. Instead, he said, “Look at the horizon. When the sun begins to rise, we’ll be near Stella Point. From there, it’s about an hour along a flatter path to the peak.” I could almost hear Gandalf saying “Look to my coming on the first light of the fifth day, at dawn look to the east”.

We set off after tea and popcorn, at midnight sharp. From the bottom, with the headlamps illuminating the colored summit jackets of the people zigzagging, Kilimanjaro looked like the world’s biggest Christmas tree.

In those cold, dark hours, with no sense of how far we’d come or how far we had to go, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. I found myself thinking that Earth might’ve taken a day off, and the sun wouldn’t rise at all.

Despite the huge elevation gain, the path itself wasn’t difficult since we moved slowly, zigzagging up the slope. But for me, walking six hours in darkness, without any reference of distance or time, wasn’t easy peasy. I started counting to make sure time was passing, as I did when I was a kid and couldn’t sleep. I counted up to one thousand. Then, the guides began to sing a chant, stretching the sense of time even further. We joined in, and after a while, I lost track of how long we’d been singing that melody.

At one point, my hands suddenly got painfully cold (I had snow gloves, but I should’ve taken warmer ones or liners). It took me less than two minutes to decide it was time to use the warm pads, and by the time I removed the gloves, the tips of two of my fingers were getting purple. Those pads were my best friends, but it still took a while for my fingers to stop hurting so I didn’t dare remove the gloves again for a very long time – and for that reason, I took almost no photos during the ascent or on the summit.

I’ve never been happier to see a thin orange line on the horizon. We were lucky the clouds were low and allowed us to witness a marvelous sunrise.

My heart rate was going wild due to the altitude, and on the last stretch to the peak I had to focus on my breathing and take many short breaks to keep it under control, even though we were walking at a slow rhythm. On the last hour, I was literally counting steps and negotiating with myself for 30-second breaks if I could walk another 100 steps. But other than that, I was feeling pretty well; no headaches or nausea, which I was more afraid of.

When we reached Uhuru Peak, the sky was clean and the sun was shining, and it truly was a special moment.

Depending on the day, you might get some nice views into Kenya, or the camps below. Since the clouds were low, nothing was visible below a certain altitude. But we could still see the smaller cones peaking through the fog — a breathtaking sight on its own — and had a clear view of the crater and glacier.

What goes up, must come down.

If everything leading up to the peak felt like slow motion, the descent was the exact opposite. We were practically running down the hill (falling on our butts a few times, too). The rush was on to reach base camp as soon as possible, grab a one-hour nap, pack up, eat lunch, and make way for the new groups arriving that day. The quick pace on the steep downhill was a bit rough for the knees, and most of us felt that it was the hardest part of this whole endeavour — for my part, I was just enjoying the fact that my fingers were back to a normal color.

On the way down to Mweka Camp, we experienced our only rainfall of the trek, which was lucky timing. Though we had waterproof clothing, some moisture always seeps through, which would’ve made some clothes unusable for the ascent. Every day our guides told us to smile at the mountain, and she would smile back at us. Following that thought, I guess on this day the mountain was just sad to see us leave.

We returned to the familiar green scenery from the first day and were once again greeted by a few monkeys. With the sun shining through the tree branches, all altitude symptoms gone, and our next shower closer than ever, we were all smiles.

Team Tremoço—way less fresh than when we started, but equally adorable. This was my first trekking experience, and it exceeded expectations — I enjoyed it even more than I thought I would. Kudos to the lupini beans who had this terrible idea.

Goodbye, Mount Kilimanjaro. I hope we meet again someday (in a distant future).

If you’d like to climbing Kilimanjaro and are not sure you can, let me share what Oscar told us the day before we started:

“The mountain is for everyone. For the young and the elder, for the athletes, for the disabled, for the experienced and for the first-timers. Walk slowly and enjoy the view, there is no hurry, the mountain is not going anywhere. Just smile at the mountain, and she will smile back at you.”

I can’t finish without pointing out that we had an amazing team of twenty people supporting us all the way.

Our guides — Oscar, Benny, and Hussein — have an amazing sense of humor and answered our million questions and curiosities about all kinds of topics with detail, patience, and kindness (except when Ana asked about the bulls, of course, that gurl is kwazy). Eugene, the chef, prepared the most delicious meals, doing a better job than many restaurants I’ve been to. Michael, who arguably has the greatest mood in the world, woke us up every morning with warm tea, met us halfway through the trails with snacks (we were always so excited to see the white flag that meant Michael was near), and encouraged us to eat more in every single meal. The porters, who carried and set up a full camp every day, always greeting us with a smile and "jambo" when they passed by on the trail.

An entire crew working together in perfect coordination to ensure our safety and wellbeing, so we could simply enjoy the journey — hakuna matata.

Asante sana.