by Various Orca
“Give me your money,” Sarah said. “And turn your pockets inside out so they can see that you carry nothing more.”
I did what I was told.
There were more arguments, more discussion, and then finally Sarah gave them the money. The boy looked at me and said something.
“He is telling you that it was a pleasure to do business with you and that he hopes you always keep an eye on your things.”
“Tell him he’s a no good—”
“I will pass on your thanks and appreciation,” Sarah said.
They exchanged a few more words; she shook hands with the boy, who then shook my hand, and the three of them turned and vanished into the darkness.
“What about the rest of their things?” I asked, gesturing to the still-full market stall.
“These things are not theirs—only the things that they stole from you belonged to them and now, once again, belong to you. We must leave and leave quickly.”
I didn’t need a second invitation. We left the little market square and headed in the opposite direction from the boys. Waiting at the exit was my entourage of children, which seemed to be much larger now. They scattered like a flock of birds, trying to get out of our way. No sooner had we passed than they fell in behind us. Sarah was moving fast, and I found myself out of breath trying to keep up with her. At least now we were moving in the right direction. Things were getting bigger—the pathway, the buildings, and the spaces between the buildings—and we burst onto a street, a real street with real shops. There were some other tourists strolling down the street. We were safe! I let out a big sigh of relief.
Sarah slowed down and I came up beside her.
“That was a little scary,” I said.
“If you were not very scared, you did not understand what we just did.”
“I guess I didn’t really understand, but at least it all ended well. But it almost didn’t, right? He wanted more money than I had, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he demanded more, but I made a deal. I said to him that if he somehow is mistakenly arrested as a thief and taken before a judge, that he could mention my name, the granddaughter of Elijah, and I would come and testify that he was of good character and he would be released.”
“And would you do that?”
“I gave my word.”
“Thanks for doing all of that. I really do owe you one.”
“Part of how you can pay me back is to not mention any of this to anybody, especially my father. He would think poorly of you for losing your things,” she explained.
There was something about her expression that made me think that there was more that she wasn’t saying. And then it came to me.
“You also don’t want anyone to know how I got my things back, do you?”
She shook her head. “We would both be in trouble, but especially me. What we did was not so wise.”
I wondered just how “not so wise” it had been.
“There is one thing that you could do to repay me,” she said.
“Just name it.”
“I want you to tell my father that you want me to be one of your porters when you climb the mountain.”
“Sure, of course, that’s no problem.”
“I will tell him that you wish to have somebody your age along,” she said.
“How old are you?” I asked, sure that she wasn’t my age.
“I am fifteen.”
“I’m almost eighteen, so we’re not exactly the same age.”
“Not the same, but I am closer to you than others. So I will tell him that you insisted on me coming along.”
“Sure, you can tell him that I want you to come,”
I said.
“Not just want—insist. I will tell him it is a special request from the grandson of his father’s good friend. Then he will not be able to say no.”
“Okay, tell him I insist that I won’t climb the mountain without you. I really do owe you this.”
“Thank you.”
“And what happened tonight will be our secret.”
“Good, a secret. Now I will get you back to the hotel. Tomorrow you will meet my father and the members of your climbing group, and the details of the climb will be discussed.”
I wondered if I’d already seen the rest of my group. There were so many people at the hotel, it was hard to tell.
“For each member of the party there will be two porters. With any luck I will be one of your porters. We will carry your things.”
“I agreed you could come along, but I can carry my own things,” I said. I was so much bigger than Sarah that I could have carried her.
“You will carry your clothes, but we will carry water and food, the tent and sleeping bag,” she explained.
“When we go camping at home, I always carry all of my own things,” I said.
“You have climbed a mountain when you camped before?” she asked.
“Not a mountain, but I’ve done a lot of camping and a lot of hiking at the lake we go to.”
“This is no lake. You cannot reach the top without porters. It is not legal to climb without them and a guide. Those are the rules.”
The rules were probably there to insure that people got work. There was no point in arguing.
“Fine, and I insist that you’re one of my porters.”
“Good. You must keep your word…especially the secret part.”
“I give you my word.” I paused. “I was just wondering, how hard is it to make the climb?”
“It is harder for some than others,” she said, which didn’t help me much.
“And is it hard for you?” I asked.
“It has never been hard for me.”
“So you’ve always made it to the top.”
“I have never failed.”
“How many times have you been to the top?”
“Never.”
“But you said you never failed.”
“The reason I have never failed and that it has not been hard is because I have never climbed the mountain before.”
“What?”
“My father says I am still too young and a girl, so he has not let me go up. But now that you insist, he cannot argue. Because of you I will climb the mountain for the first time!”
“But, but—”
“Do not try to back out of our agreement!” she snapped. “You have given your word. Does your word mean nothing?”
I was caught. Not only was I getting in the middle of a family fight but one of my porters also had no climbing experience. Maybe I would have to carry her up.
“Will you keep your word?” she asked.
I nodded. “I always keep my word.”
ELEVEN
I walked into the dining hall. There was a little sign on one of the tables—Reserved East Africa Walking Tours. We were supposed to start our meeting in ten minutes, but if this was like most of the meetings and schedules in Africa that might mean two hours from now. Either way, I was on time—which meant I was early.
I slumped into one of the seats, hoping the meeting wouldn’t take too long. Sarah had told me that the next morning we would be gathering our things and doing the first stage of the trip: the 20-kilometer drive to the base camp.
Maybe this was a good time to let my mother know that everything was okay. I pulled out my phone and sent her a short text message.
Hey Mom and Steve too. I hope you are doing well. All is good here. Just getting ready to meet and start out. I figure 2 days up and 1 down. Back on the plane soon after and back home in less than 5. Don’t worry about me. Everything is perfect—see you soon…and little brother remember if you need help I’m only a text away.
I pushed Send and the message left, traveling halfway around the world. Of course they probably wouldn’t read it for a while. It was still morning here which meant it was the middle of the night there. It would be a nice little surprise waiting for my mother when she woke up.
My phone signaled I’d gotten a message. I guess my
mom was still up. That wasn’t a good sign. But it wasn’t from my mom—it was from Steve!
That’s right, he was already in Spain! We were practically in the same time zone. I opened the message.
Doing my task. If u need any help let ME know.
Regardless, the important thing was that he’d started his adventure. Finishing it might be a different story. He had a track record of starting things and then quitting. That was probably why I was given the task of climbing the mountain. Quitting didn’t get you to the top. I was glad he was on his way though. Nothing ever got finished that didn’t get started.
An older woman approached the table. She looked familiar—maybe I’d seen her around the hotel. She was either here to go on a safari or was waiting for somebody to get back from a climb.
“Hello, dear, good to see you again,” she said. “I’m Doris.”
Again? Wait…the accent. She was the woman from the customs lineup. “Pleased to see you again too,” I said as we shook hands. “I’m DJ.”
She sat down, probably tired from the walk across the dining hall. I figured there was no harm in her being here until my group got here.
“You must be very excited about the climb,” she said.
“Very excited.”
“I must admit that I’m a little nervous,” she said.
Why would she be nervous? Was she waiting for someone to come back from the climb?
“There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “But I’ve read that over thirty percent of the people who start the climb don’t make it to the top.”
“I’ve read that too.”
“And they say that at least ten people a year die during the climb,” she added.
That I hadn’t heard. That made me a little nervous. I tried to reassure her. “I’m sure that whoever you’re waiting for will be fine.”
“I’m not waiting for anybody. I’m here to climb the mountain.”
“You?” I exclaimed. “But you’re old.” I corrected myself. “I mean, older…than most people.”
She laughed. I was glad I hadn’t offended her.
“The oldest person to successfully complete the climb was eighty-one,” she said. “And in case you’re wondering, I’m not that old. I’m only sixty-seven.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. I didn’t see much difference between old and really old. Besides, that guy in his eighties must have been like a super athlete. She didn’t look like that.
I looked up to see Sarah and the man I assumed was her father coming toward us. She smiled and waved. He didn’t do either. In fact, he was scowling.
“This is my father,” Sarah said.
I got up. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, extending my hand.
He took it and shook it, gripping it hard—really hard. That scowl hardened before he finally released my hand.
“And this must be Doris,” he said. He smiled at her and they shook hands. “My name is Elijah Odogo.”
“Most pleased to meet you, Mr. Odogo,” she said.
“Please, please, it is Elijah.”
He looked at his watch. “It is time to begin. It is unfortunate that the remaining members of our party are not here. I do not like to be late.”
That must have made him one of the few people in Africa who thought that way. Despite the scowl, I liked that he wanted to start on time.
“I have asked my daughter to come to the briefing as she will be accompanying us on this journey.”
“How nice it must be for you to have your daughter come with us,” Doris said.
“Yes, nice,” he said, but neither his tone nor expression matched his words. “We will begin our briefing without the missing members. If they have not arrived at the agreed-upon time tomorrow morning, they will not make the climb either.”
He sat down, as did Sarah. She looked very subdued.
“I am most pleased to be your guide up the mountain,” he began. “Each climber will be accompanied by two porters. The porters are very experienced and have all made many, many summits of the mountain…well, with the one exception.” He glanced at Sarah and then looked at me and scowled again. “We have an excellent record. Our summit rate is almost eighty percent.”
That did sound good.
“We will be taking the Machame route. From the start to the summit, it is just over forty-one kilometers.”
That didn’t sound so bad. Less than a marathon. Last year I’d run a marathon in less than five hours.
“Of course it is not the distance but the climb. The summit is five thousand meters above where we now sit. The elevation change is what presents the greatest challenge. You can expect that you will experience symptoms of mountain sickness to varying degrees,” he said.
“What are the symptoms?” Doris asked.
“Headaches, shortness of breath, nausea and general fatigue mark the initial stages of mountain sickness,” I said.
Elijah looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“I read about it online, although those symptoms don’t sound that bad to me,” I explained. “Who hasn’t had a headache before?”
“A headache yes, mountain sickness, no,” he said.
From his look I knew that I should probably shut up.
“Moderate mountain sickness involves a headache that does not respond to medication. Shortness of breath continues even when sitting or lying down. Nausea becomes vomiting, and fatigue causes the hiker to feel as if he can no longer move forward.”
“That doesn’t sound very pleasant,” Doris said.
“Not pleasant. Acute symptoms involve a headache so severe that it feels as if the head is about to explode, slurred speech, blueness of the lips and face, gurgling in the chest as liquid builds in the lungs. Sometimes climbers fall into unconsciousness.”
“Does that happen very often?” I asked anxiously.
“It happens.”
“And what do you do when it happens?” Doris asked.
“The person is rushed down the mountain, carried on a stretcher by the porters as quickly as possible.”
“And if they weren’t brought right down?” I asked.
“They would die,” he said. “But that is rare. There are less than fifteen deaths every year.”
“I thought it was only ten,” I said.
“Are you questioning my knowledge?” he asked, staring right at me.
“No, sir, I just read that—”
“Do you believe you are the guide?” he scoffed.
“No, sir. Sorry, sir,” I said, breaking away from his stare and looking down.
“Have you had to bring people down by stretcher?” Doris asked.
“Many times.”
“And deaths?” she asked.
He held up one finger. “Only one and that was many years ago.”
“Was it mountain sickness?” I asked.
He nodded. “Most unfortunate. But I will watch you all. We will walk together. Nobody will die, but some will not make the summit.”
I knew he was talking about Doris. Maybe it was even better that she was so old because she’d probably have to quit quickly and wouldn’t slow us down for long.
“You will each provide three kilograms of personal gear for each of your porters to carry,” he said.
“That’s all they carry?” I blurted out. It didn’t seem like much.
“They also carry your sleeping bags, tents, food and cooking utensils,” he said. “Which is why each porter must be not only young but strong.” He paused and I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say next. “Unfortunately some porters may be too young and not strong enough…we will see.”
“Are there limits to how much we carry?” I asked, thinking that ultimately I might be carrying at least some of the things that Sarah was supposed to carry.
“You may carry two hundred kilograms if you wish,” he said. “At least, if you wish never to reach the top.”
“How much
should we carry?” Doris asked.
“I would recommend no more than five kilograms.”
“But what if we’re bigger?” I asked.
“Bigger is not necessarily better,” he said. “You are already carrying much more than anybody else. You are very, very big.”
“I’m a football player,” I said.
“You do not look like a football player,” he said.
“No, not soccer, football—American football. I’m a linebacker.”
“Here your extra weight, be it fat or muscle, is simply more weight. Hopefully you will not slow us down too much,” he said.
I wanted to say something in response to his attack on me, but I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
“Do you know that those who fail to make the climb are most often young men in their twenties?” he said.
“I didn’t know that,” Doris said. “Why would that be?”
“They have much muscle here,” he said, flexing his arm, “and little muscle up here.” He placed a finger against his head. “They go too fast, they do not listen…they act like they know more than the guide.”
That last part—okay, maybe the whole part—was obviously aimed at me. I wanted to argue or disagree, but that would have proven his point. I didn’t need to tell him; I’d show him. He’d just given me a little more incentive.
“There is no shame in not reaching the top,” he said.
That was meant for Doris.
“We will be flexible in our climb to better ensure our chances of reaching the summit. I will not rule out a sixth or seventh day if necessary, but we will try for five days.”
“What?” I questioned. “You think it’ll take five days?”
“But possibly seven. Do you think you will need more?”
“Of course not! I was thinking maybe two or three days would do it.”
He laughed. “You were not thinking at all. Only a Chagga guide could make the summit and return in two days.”
“I said maybe two or three.”
“It is not possible. Do you wish to reach the summit?” he demanded.
“That’s what I came here to do.”
“That attitude is what makes young men fail. I cannot let you fail. I have given my word. You must listen and do as you are told. Understood?”
