Climbing Kilimanjaro, Hunting Ghosts & Gems: Tanzania & Zanzibar

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro SHOULD have been one of the easiest things I had done, but I was the one doing it, so it didn't go without a fight. I got it in my head that I needed to poke around the peak of Africa's highest mountain in between my regular outings and mentioned the idea to some people. I started planning a year and a half prior, though the advance wasn't intentional. I thought my buddy George, who'd traveled with me in India and elsewhere, would enjoy the trip. However, at the time he didn't have the funds or the time, so he was out. On the other hand, a group of guys from the fighting gym where I was training were very interested. I did the research, crunched the numbers with the time and we were in business. Then the guys that were “definitely-s” couldn't get the time off of work, the “maybe-s” disappeared, and we postponed until the following summer, 2020.


As we moved toward the summer, around February, I decided I would broaden my training and maybe make myself useful while in town, so I joined CERT. Community Emergency Response Team, under the Department of Homeland Security. Let's just say that right after that, the year didn't go according to plan... for probably anyone. My original plan for the year was to go back to Japan for the summer, maybe work in the Olympic village, guide a guy around, and do a fair amount of training and treasure hunting. After that I was going to go off to Alaska to climb Denali and maybe do some commercial fishing before heading off to East Africa to be point man on the Kilimanjaro climb, and then off to Canada. I had a couple of maybes thrown in there like Mongolia, and some special training.

Then the year that was 2020 Happened. Right out of the gate it was disaster after disaster, both man-made and natural, any of which would cause plans to be changed: wildfires, COVID-19, The worst locust plague in history, society altering riots, and a Siberian oil refinery spilling over 20,000 tons of oil into the ocean, and China “invading” Hong Kong, just to name a few. And that was only half way through the year! Thankfully (?) I'm used to everything constantly going wrong, but not many people were handling things well. Especially the United States government, which helped worsen the chance I'd get everything done I wanted to.


Japan? Locked down, like most of the world. The Olympics were postponed at least a year. Even if I went there, most things of interest would be closed. Transport was down, temples closed, nothing to do. I'd have no one to guide, and no where to hangout. Alaska? The fisheries were projected to do poorly, and Denali had been ordered closed for all of 2020. Mongolia? Attached to China, a definite No-Go. The Chinese government wasn't fond of me before all this, and to top it off, they've effectively destroyed the Hong Kong that I wanted to return to. Canada? The border was officially closed to the U.S., and some were saying it may be for over a year!Outside of Canada the European Union had even said it wouldn't allow U.S. Citizens in, because of how poorly everything had been handled up to then. I don't blame them, or anyone else. I just hate being stuck.


Tanzania? They don't have much of an infrastructure even in good times. A global pandemic plus a biblical amount of locusts has crippled much of that region. I was cautiously optimistic that maybe by September I'd be able to get to Kilimanjaro.


I had joined CERT because they had some good training opportunities and to be an asset to the communities I'm in, but before I knew it I was staffing the Emergency Operation Command center for weeks during it's activation for the first part of the COVID-19 situation. When my time there was done and I had my official debrief , I got a matted commendation from the mayor... which I promptly stuffed in a shoe box with a pile of similar things. I'm grateful for the opportunity to have contributed during that time, when it seemed like most levels of government had failed.


Global pollution had fallen drastically in a very short time. The Venice canals were supposedly clear again, and wildlife was returning to many areas. People were starting to realize that hygiene mattered. Overpopulation was being talked about as the threat that it is, and quarantines had increased the general awareness of self sufficiency, or the lack thereof. It was the largest economic hit and continued backslide in recorded history, a chance to really take stock of where we are versus where we need to be. A chance to remove the selfish old people that had gotten us here, a chance to finally take responsibility and act. A chance to learn some real lessons.... a chance all but guaranteed to be wasted. The most basic of lessons took an entire shake up of society to acknowledge, and even then people didn't really want to face reality. An ignorant population and impotent leadership is a recipe for disaster, and so here we all were. The world was burning, figuratively and literally. If you're trying to help in a fire, where do you drag someone to when everything is on fire? All you can do at the time is try to stabilize your own situation and try not to make anything worse. Awareness first.


Once the EOC was closed and everyone came to terms with the virus (Not solved the problem, just became desensitized), I just wound up doing odd jobs in the mid-western united states trying to create a means of escaping. Teaching school was out, since there was no more school, but I had been coaching privately and rehabbing some land to start running larger survival courses. Both of which were basically no-go's at the time because of the new distance of society and everyone's paranoia. I took a gig at a hardware store because of the hazard pay, but it was a nightmare. I am not cut out for retail. While I was stranded I did get some good studying and self training done though; a crisis is a terrible thing to waste.


Now that the world was living in the time A.C.V. (After Corona Virus), the “Definitely-s” that I was planning for downgraded themselves to “strong maybe-s” and we postponed to October. I remained cautiously optimistic and used my time to renew my Wilderness First Responder Certification, which meant traveling to North Carolina for the skills update and test. Due to the global Coronavirus outbreak they had shifted most of the learning to “E-learning”, which I hate. Because of the situation SOLO changed their process from three days of training and testing to a whole bunch of computer stuff, and then only one day of actually being in person. After what seemed like a classical hell's worth of staring at a screen I passed the internet test and then needed to head across the smokey mountains for the rest of it. Thankfully an overly generous friend let me borrow his vehicle! Once I arrived back in the Nantahala national forest everything seemed the same as it was a few years prior... except that most people were now wearing masks. My group consisted of 10 people, and we were geared up with masks and goggles the entire time we were training. The group had some interesting people in it. One of them was a lady that ran a fairly high-end sounding expedition company. A few of them ran wilderness therapy expeditions. One was a backpacking instructor for a university in North Carolina. Of the 10 people in the group, more than half needed to rely on the skills we were drilling and testing over for the entirety of their income. However, there was only one person who got a perfect score.... NASH!
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The instructor, when he is not busy as a Wilderness EMT, Paramedic, and teacher, also leads/sets up expeditions for college kids and said he has had a lot of requests regarding Japan, but doesn't have an in. He asked me if I wanted to be his Japan guy. I said yes, but knowing how everything is in the world right now, it will probably be a couple of years before anything comes of it, if ever.


In case the Japan job falls through I was also extended a job offer to guide on Denali for the season the following year. The guy who gave me the offer was in my original WFR course and he'd been guiding on Denali ever since. Of course, that's assuming the park is even open the following year. I had been planning for this year to climb and they shut the whole park for the year, and projections are much better for next year.


October finally arrived and almost immediately the house I was living in with my two buddies, that I am in charge of, had four simultaneous plumbing critical incidents. The type that can end in destroyed yards and knocked down walls, flooding, and no toilets. A company quoted me 11,000$ and the destruction of my living space. By sheer coincidence a stranger overheard me talking at the hardware store and recommended I call her cousin to take a look at it. He fixed everything for 1000$ and no destruction. He didn't just save me money, he saved me the entirety of 2021! The plumbing issues did force me to postpone again one more month to November. Covid got worse and all the fighting guys bailed out. No one was going, but I was determined to salvage SOMETHING from the train wreck that was 2020, so I decided I would go, no matter what. Even if it was just me...


So much time had passed now that George had both money and time. He was in! Covid and time had rendered all my old logistics for the trip all but useless, and we basically did a quick re-figure of the plan from scratch. We set our date for mid-November and made our version of a plan.


Three weeks before we were to leave, my roommate tested positive for COVID-19. I was asymptomatic but got tested just in case: positive. I went on lock down for 2 weeks and did what I could to prepare. During which time George emailed me an article from CNN: “Kilimanjaro engulfed in wildfires!” over 300 people struggle to contain the blaze. George said “The NASH curse strikes again!” Maybe so, but by this point I had over three decades of experience dealing with it. I didn't know if I was on the bad side of too many talismans or not enough, but I was unfazed. Nothing stops me from accomplishing my goals, but it can sure be a drawn out up-hill battle. My life is Sisyphus pushing his boulder up hill, but instead of a hill I'm trying to push the boulder up a never ending “down” escalator.


I was informed of a possible hurricane heading towards Africa, didn't care. Tanzania forces you to use their guides and services on the mountain, no exceptions. George and I found a company that seemed good enough, and supposedly paid their employees. They seemed to run a relatively tight ship, by Tanzanian standards anyway, and so we planned to meet our guide at the airport and immediately get shuttered of to Kili. George and I both needed to meet our time slot and be there at the same time to maximize tandem fun, so we decided we would meet on a flight in Qatar and fly in together. The guy would pick us up from the airport, and we'd be climbing before we knew it. Of course, this left no room for troublesome experiences with airlines, that is to say my only experience with airlines.


I thought I would make things simple by buying my ticket directly from Qatar airways. George got his no problem, and I got my bank account shut off for suspicious activity. I was able to get a hold of someones credit card, but by the time I did the airline had run out of seats. I needed to be on that flight to meet George and then our guide. I was able to get orbitz to broker the ticket and they got me on the flight. After a couple of days of dealing with the bank I got my account straightened out and George and I went to get our visas from the Tanzanian government website. George got his and I got my bank account shut off. This time it took days of talking to the bank, the bank talking to corporate, and corporate talking to their credit connections. Apparently they have a strict “No East African Governments” policy. They kept trying to get a 10 minute clearance window for the payment to go through, but it wouldn't work and they needed to push it up higher in the chain of command. It did eventually work though, and after over a week I got my visa. Now, your technically supposed to be able to get them at the border, but nothing ever goes right for me, so I won't take the chance. I was finally squared away.


A week before departure I received an email that said “American Airlines has canceled your return flight. If this is a problem, please give us a call.” What? Yeah, it's a problem. For many reasons. For maybe the first time ever I spent extra money, 400$US, to get a specific flight and now I don't have it, or a refund. Speaking with the extremely Indian customer service agent I asked who I should talk to for a refund, and he responded “Thee is no one you can talk to”. What!? “The flight is owned by Qatar airways but domestically serviced by American Airlines. American Airlines canceled the flight. They just decided not to do it. If you talk to them they will tell you to talk to Qatar, Qatar will say American. AA will say Qatar and that it was brokered by Orbitz. Orbitz will send you to expedia for customer service. Their plan is to just send you in circles until you get frustrated and give up.” Frustrated? Always. Give up? Never. I loathe North American airlines for all the reasons. They deserve the crash they're heading towards. I didn't have the return flight I paid for, and didn't have my money. I could only get a refund if I canceled my whole ticket, but I needed to meet George and the guide, so was stuck for the moment. They offered me a series of short hop flights on crap planes to get back. They said take it or leave it. I took it, but won't give up the fight. I don't care if I get 400$ worth of American Airlines blankets, I'm getting something! I didn't want to make a scene before I got to Tanzania though, because I couldn't afford extra difficulties...


The day came and a buddy dropped me off at the airport. At the first security checkpoint I tested positive for explosives residue. I don't know what it could have been other than a stick of incense I lit before I left. They wouldn't reveal which compounds I'd blown hot for, but this won me a free trip to the VIP room for extra special, extra thorough service. While they were going to town on me and my things they broke the zipper of my day bag for the Kilimanjaro climb. Debatably the most important bag of the climb. The American Airlines flight was a crappy crowded mess. Transferring flights in Chicago I had to go through security, again. I was “randomly” selected for additional screenings from a group of what looked to be about 100 people. No one else in my eye-line was selected. I was transferring flights and just barely made it to the next flight by the skin of my teeth.


I was now properly on Qatar Airways, a very competently executed service. The flight was lovely. As far as flights go, the food and service were amazing. What I didn't like was that they were passing out masks and face shields and mandated the wearing of both at the same time for the entire 15 hour flight. I have no problem with either of them, but the two at once for 15 hours was a little much. They were living up to their social obligations at least.


Arriving in Qatar, I needed yet another security screening! I had a seven hour layover so I thought I'd get to go gallivanting outside the airport, but with all the new protocols that wasn't enough time. Thankfully the Doha airport is fantastic... for an airport. Though COVID had caused them to shutoff all drinking fountains. The only available drinking water was to be purchased. I don't buy water in fantastical super structures. I did buy tea though. Expensive, but still cheaper than a major chain in the States or Europe. I perused the airport and waited until the 1AM flight where I was to rendezvous with George.


I wandered the exhibitions at the airport specifically heading to the places I though George was likely to go. I didn't find out until later that he was doing the same thing looking for me and the two of us spent hours orbiting each other. Eventually the airport opened the area our gate was in and we each made our way through the throngs of Chinese tourists in full body hazmat suits and met up. Even though it had been a couple years since we'd seen each other in India, it's always like no time has passed. We caught up, cracked jokes, and got on our flight to Tanzania. This flight was no where near as good as the previous one. The flight was comparatively awful. There was no leg room, deep Chinese coughs, my TV screen was broken, and we couldn't even get to the toilet because the “drink” cart was blocking the aisle that was narrower than my shoulders. Thankfully it was “only” a few hours before we arrived at the tiny Kilimanjaro airport in Moshi.


The airport was pretending to be strict, but they didn't actually care about any type of protocol; this is Africa. Tanzania in particular had gained global infamy as the country that just decided COVID wasn't a thing and they were going to keep on keeping on. Honestly, outside of the low tourist numbers you could be forgiven for thinking t wasn't actually real either. The place was operating in a fantasy land of it's own creation, and mostly succeeding.


Once we'd made it through the refreshingly lax customs check George and I were picked up by our climbing tour operator, “Almighty Kilimanjaro”, and taken into the town of Moshi to our fancy hotel. The Tanzanian government requires all climbers of Mount Kilimanjaro to have a Tanzanian guide with them, on top of paying for all the permits like climbing, camping, park fees, etc. Since you must hire someone many companies have sprung up providing all paperwork plus rides, hotels, porters, cooks, and any number of services for almost the cost of meeting the minimum government requirements to climb. It made more sense to go all out than not, and since most of my life has been trudging forward through adversity, I figured it wouldn't hurt to hang on the posh side occasionally. George and I were to be joined by another foreigner, Josh the Canadian, who decided to climb on a whim at the last minute, and our group would consist of 12 people: Something like the three of us, 3 guides, 5 porters, and a cook. They would set up and tear down camp, cook, carry almost all gear, lead the way, and most everything else. Our only responsibility was to walk. Posh indeed. I was concerned I wouldn't be engaged enough with something so seemingly easy, but we had chosen the “Machame” route. The Machame route is currently the most popular route, though debateably the most difficult of the non-technical routes, and we were going in the rainy season no less, so surely I could get my fix somehow. George had opted for an additional day on the climb to account for the altitude. He had never been at higher altitudes before and was rightly concerned. Rather than die with a five day climb, or be sorely messed up by a six day climb, he decided on (and we payed for) a seven day climb.


The first order of business after being brought to our nice hotel surrounded by an electric fence, was to have our guides check our gear and make sure we had all relevant equipment and that it was up to speed. They were impressed with our kit. It was neither of our first rodeos. Immediately after, we had a briefing, and met Josh who had no gear, or pants, he only had shorts, and was dependent on renting everything from the company. After the briefing we were taken on a walk through town. George and I struggled to stand; I had been awake in transit for two full days, he almost as long. Even in my stupor I was awestruck by the plethora and richness of the colors of the plants and trees in the area. While on the walk we made our way through a local bazaar where I acquired a coconut for our traditional summit celebration. Then we broke for lunch and got our first taste of “pole pole, hakunamatata”, Swahili for “slowly slowly, no worries”, as we waited 2 hours for our simple lunch to show up in a non-crowded restaurant. It wouldn't be the last we'd hear the phrase.


George and I got back to the hotel and repacked our gear for the following day; we were shipping out for Mount Kilimanjaro in the morning. We wound up passing out from exhaustion around 3:30 in the afternoon. I got up a couple hours later and started my normal routine before realizing it was 5:30 at night, not morning; back to bed. Very dehydrated and jet lagged we slept for 14 hours! I got up at the correct 5:30 this time, exercised, and was ready to rock and roll. We were told breakfast was at 7, but they wouldn't have even started moving if we didn't ask. No rush, whenever I guess. We left at 9AM.


We started the actual “climb” around 11:30AM traversing through dense equatorial rain forests along a winding ridge to the the first camp, Camp Machame. We arrived at camp about 5pm. Our new guy, Josh, had never climbed, camped, or hiked before, and he was already struggling. As far as struggle go, the only one I was concerned with was having a place to go to the bathroom that wouldn't devalue the mountain. Thankfully there was the occasional outhouse latrine along the way. I stopped and used an exceptionally old and rickety one, precariously perched, where every other wood plank was broken. One false move would send you plummeting into the shit pit. If the fall didn't kill you, you'd wish it did. Once we got to camp we were treated to a full spread: tents with sleeping mats, a mess tent for meals, boiled hot water in pans to wash with, and proper cooking. The porters were always ahead of us to set up the days camp before we arrived. The most impressive of which was the woman who had a 20kg 100liter bag balanced on her head the entire way up. She only fell once (that we saw)! The only “downside” was that we didn't realize dinner was going to be a multi-course meal. We filled up on all the wrong things. I stuffed myself with gruel and bread, then made a peanut butter jelly sandwich... then the real food came out! This happened multiple times over the course of days, because we were still trying to figure out how everything worked and communication was difficult.


Communication with the team was usually one sided, or no sided, though their English was better than our Swahili. After dinner we climbed into our respective tents for bed. Josh got a “single” tent while George and I had a “double”. Of course the only difference between the two was how many people were crammed in there. We were asleep by 9pm.


I got up at 5:30 for morning exercises, packed at 6:30, washed at 7, breakfast at 7:30, and were on the road by 8. The “waiter” I guess I'll call him also had the job of relaying messages to us: “Time to get up.” “Tea is ready.” and “Dinner is ready.” The problem was that he didn't speak English and the messages were usually not true. Even the “Time to get up” usually went something like- “Time to get up.” I've been up for over an hour! “...Time to get up.” I was up before you! I'm the first one up! “...Time to get up.”- one of the most frustrating ones was the “time for dinner.” You'd go to the mess tent and nothing shows up for an hour. If you don't go he just keeps yelling that dinner is ready.


We left the glades of the rain forest and continued on an ascending path up to a steep, rocky ridge. On the Shira Plateau, we passed through heather and open moorlands, then crossed a large river gorge to Shira 2 Camp. We made our next camp at 12:45, and it immediately started raining. This didn't bother me and George, but it did bother Josh, along with most everything else. Everything was new and unpleasant to him. Hiking, climbing, camping, the food, weather, music, animals, you name it. Josh was also becoming symptomatic of altitude sickness. He spoke of headaches, dizziness, nausea, loss of appetite, and difficulty breathing. George and I kept a close eye on him because we had no reason to believe anyone else was.


At this point in time the only thing that was bothering me was the incessant use of the phrase “pole pole”, because it was uttered constantly, but rarely meant. “Take your time, no rush. Let's go NOW!” I don't like to rush, and the culture seemed to be not to plan anything and just rush. I don't know a single person that likes to hurry up and wait. Just when I was sure they were winging everything, we were taken to a vantage point and briefed on the following days hike. A plan!? We went back to camp for tea.


There was so much tea! I love tea more than the next guy and routinely break for it, but this was comical in it's excess. All the time with the tea. Which meant all the time with the pee. I'm also fairy certain they didn't fully grasp the effects of tea. They said it was to make sure we were hydrated, but this tea was caffeinated: a diuretic that might have decreased our hydration over all. They also kept trying to force it on us before bed, so we would sleep well. If your definition of sleeping well is getting up every hour to pee, then mission accomplished. Still, if my options were no tea or too much tea, I will likely always choose the latter. Also it made me feel even more like a pith helmet wearing 19th century English dandy, so I was all for it.


While I was trying to control my bladder George was trying to control his crumpled back muscles. Days on a plane had aggravated an old injury. I did the best I could to use some techniques to work it out, but the only thing that would truly help would be targeted exercises and relaxing: nothing we could do on the mountain. He could make it through though. Of more concern was the fact that one of the guides came up to us asking if we had any Ibuprofen. Why? Because one of the guides was having a tooth problem of some kind... and nobody had any medical supplies. This was a problem. First, they Africa'd us on the contract: We were promised guides with a first aid kit and the skill to use it. Clearly this was not the case. Looks like I bought something that was not as advertised, it wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last. Classic Africa. Second, what if there was an actual critical incident on the mountain? Would they have the tools and the training to properly respond? Likely not. Their answer to everything was “drink tea”. I flat-out asked if they had a first aid kit of any kind and they said no. I also doubted their field craft. They knew the way up the mountain, and had some language skills, but I couldn't say if there was anything else. I wondered if they even had a pulse ox. It looked like George and I had made the right call keeping an eye on Josh.


George and I both were Wilderness First Responder certified, both graduated from the National Outdoor Leadership School, he had been an EMT and wilderness guide, I'd been through SERE and had a bachelor's of science in a related field, and we both brought our first aid kits, but they were OUR PERSONAL KITS, not the one we'd bring if we were leading a team. After the Ibuprofen was given to the guy for his tooth they were wanting George and I to pass out our things to Josh and anyone else. Now instead of two people having enough, no one really had enough, but a few people had a little more. Professional inefficiency pisses me off. They had a job, and it was in the contract. If we were supposed to bring our own kit, why wasn't it part of the gear check? What if George and I had been normal unprepared goobers like Josh, would we all have died? That night I ate something on accident that I shouldn't have and that was almost the end of my trip. Thankfully I had brought something just in case and made it through the night without drowning in diarrhea and choking on my own vomit.


I slept like a champ, got up at the usual 5:30 and did my morning exercises on the wooden balcony of an old ranger station. It was just like an old mountain dojo. Leaving at 8 we walked through sleet and snow until we stopped for lunch at the lava tower camp around 1pm, 2 hours later than estimated. Even though we were going at a pace the guides set, we were routinely hours off the mark. The “lava tower” is a 300ft tall rock formation. Once we got to the lava tower George started sharing symptoms with Josh. It wasn't looking good. We stayed for maybe an hour before pressing on and descending slightly through the strange but beautiful Senecio Forest to an altitude of 13,000 ft., to Boronco camp, arriving around 4:30pm. Now all three of us were feeling terrible, just in different ways. My only real symptom was a perpetual shortness of breath, but it was fairly debilitating. George seemed like he had been beat up, and Josh seemed like he should have been under doctor supervision. We had been moving constantly, and the pace was too fast without drugs (Diamox) or prior acclimation. I brought a book with me to read to “while away the endless hours in camp”, as my guidebook put it, but we barely had enough time to sleep, we had none to lounge around. I practiced breathing exercises while George tried to skip dinner and Josh tried to get evacuated. My appetite was fine, and eventually everyone was coaxed into the mess tent to join me.


After dinner the head guide came in and gave a talk about altitude sickness. He actually had a pulse ox and used it to check our oxygen percentage. We were all fine, numbers wise, which I knew because I'd been using my pulse ox the whole time. The guide said George and Josh were clearly suffering from Altitude sickness. He then launched into the talk. Most people are familiar with some version of the talk. The gist is that things don't always work out, not everything is for everyone, the world can be random, and it's best for everyone's life if you just call whatever it is, off. Except, at the end of the speech he did a 180 and said he'd make sure he did whatever he could to make sure we made it to the summit. “You have planned one years and a half for this, we will use our experience to make sure you make it to your dream.” The first thing he did was to take MY couple of pills of Diamox given to me by a Japanese guy on Aconcagua and give them away to the group. Then he decided to take away one of our acclimation days. “In my experience the best way to make it if you feel bad is to run straight to the top and then back down as fast as you can so it doesn't catch up with you. This is the best way. I have many Diamox if there is a need. This is the trick. No worry, hakunamatata. The trick is “go as fast as you can and do all the drugs”!? That's the best way? All my training and education begs to differ. Also, we had paid for 7 days SPECIFICALLY for the acclimation, and now we were short a day; no refund. We got Africa'd, again! Also, if he had so much Diamox, why was he dispersing mine? I didn't even get told to take it, because I was too fine. Apparently not breathing well isn't a problem. I hadn't come this far to fail though, I would triumph or die. I was in, regardless. George begrudgingly agreed; they did have 12 years experience after all. Josh just wanted to leave.


I got up at 5 for exercises, ate, and one of the guides and some porters broke off to take Josh down. He quit. He was right to do it; he shouldn't have been there. That day George and I pushed through two different camps and arrived at Barafu base camp to make our summit push. We began the day by descending into a ravine to the base of the Great Barranco Wall. Then we climbed the non-technical but steep, nearly 900 ft cliff. From the top of the Barranco Wall we crossed a series of hills and valleys until we descended sharply into Karanga Valley. One more steep climb up lead us to Karanga Camp. We left Karanga and hit the junction which connects with the Mweka Trail. We continued up to the rocky section to Barafu Hut. At this point, we had completed the Southern Circuit. We had an hour break before diner, and then a briefing after the dinner. “bed” was from 8pm – 11pm, 3 hours that we didn't sleep, and then off to the summit. I layed with my prized coconut in my sleeping bag so it wouldn't freeze. The lengths I go to for nonsense. We left at 11pm. You leave around 11pm so that you've got plenty of daylight to get to the summit and back down in case people are moving slow. In our case, slow doesn't even begin to describe it.


We were sluggish from the outset, in no small part from regular exhaustion, we had condensed several days progress into one, and had practically no rest. We were literally falling asleep walking. I almost fell down several times to this, but when I brought it up to the guides they just said “That's normal. That's mountains. When the sun comes, you will be awake.” They weren't wrong. We broke for tea on the side of the mountain and watched the sunrise, and I did feel myself become more conscious. I wouldn't use the words “awake” or “lucid” so much as now I was aware of just how bad off I'd become. The pure numbness of exhaustion had given way to the symptoms of altitude related illnesses. Dizziness, nausea, a lot of difficulty breathing, “brain fog”, and excessive muscular fatigue. So excessive that every couple of steps I would have to stop and manually breath to recover for the next few steps. Apparently some climbers refer to this as the “kili shuffle”. Improper acclimation effectively renders you a 150 year old man. I still presented well enough though, which was better than George was doing at this point. He was frequently falling behind and hunched over on things for support taking breaks. As the hours wen on he slowly stabilized and fell into a groove : “pole, pole, step, step, rest, repeat.” As he found his cadence our conditions flip-flopped; I fell into a downward spiral. On top of my original symptoms, I had true difficulty getting any meaningful air into my body, and the pressure behind my eyes was intense. It felt like I had a severe concussion while underwater. My pace had slowed to a shambling zombie crawl, and the 100 meters my guide grabbed my trekking poles and pulled me along from one end to keep me moving faster. My oxygen concentration was down to 70%, I vomited 3 or 4 times. I was symptomatic of both HAPE (high altitude pulmonary edema) and HACE (high altitude cerebral edema), and both can be deadly. They never gave me any Diamox. George wasn't as bad off, but still not doing great. If this situation didn't warrant the Diamox, what did?


I may have been a barely moving corpse, but I never stopped. A couple of times early in the day, when George was at his worst he looked like he wanted permission to quit. They asked him if he wanted and he said he could make it. Once I became a mindless husk George told his guide I looked dead. “Do you think he'll quit?” the guide asked. George replied “Never.”. He knows me. I don't quit. When I say triumph or die, I mean it. Still, I would prefer the former and it was frustrating because I felt their decisions were sabotaging our safety. If I was the guide and a client looked like I looked, I would likely call it off. I'm glad they didn't. They were the experts, I reasoned. After all, they were trudging up the mountain same as us. They just happened to be better acclimated, and so were unaffected by the push. Or so it seemed. If they thought no Diamox and losing a day was best, who am I to argue? An intelligent, educated, and experienced individual it turns out, because we later learned they'd been taking Diamox the whole time! No wonder they had so much, and also didn't share it.


After the rushed change in altitude felt like it almost killed me, we arrived at the summit. 10am. It took us 11 hours to complete a “7 hour” climb, and this time the pace difference was our fault (or you could argue we were slow because of bad planning on their part...). I wanted to rest for five minutes, shenanigans for five minutes, rest another five, then leave. The guides actually showed awareness. “We can't stay that long, you are not doing well.” Understatement. “Two minutes. We must descend fast.” Fair enough. I brought out the coconut that had been a hassle since I got it, and to the amazement of our guides, chopped it clean in half. “Wow! I think you are the first person ever to do this on the peak of Kilimanjaro!” I'll take it.


We made a hasty retreat down the mountain, slip sliding along the way, first on ice and snow and then on seemingly endless slopes of scree. With every descending step I regained strength and soon my guide and I were almost an hour ahead of George and his guide. George was now fine from the altitude but physically spent. My guide and I slept on some rocks until they showed up, and then we rucked in the final couple of hours together. We returned to base camp at 1:30pm. We had a 2 hour rest before continuing on to another new camp. Exhausted and reflecting on everything that had gone wrong and been swindled from us, George looked over at me and said “...what else would I expect, doing this with YOU?” We made it though. “We made it.” He had known me going on 14 years by this point, I think he would have been disappointed if all the problems DIDN'T happen. I had always planned to go in the rainy season to mitigate the chance of being shoulder to shoulder with tourists, but thanks to that PLUS Covid, we didn't have to share the mountain with anyone. It was just us. The guides told us they usually go up 3-4 times per month, but now it was mid November and the last they were up was February. Perfect.


After our two hour rest we set off for the next camp. We trudged through a scree filled riverbed for two hours following it until 6pm when it opened directly into a flood plain... were our camp was. Thankfully it didn't rain much. While we were waiting for dinner one of our guides came and said the stove was broken and asked if he could borrow my multi-tool to fix it. The multi-tool that they had made fun of on the first day, because I had it and a flashlight on my belt as part of an everyday carry setup. They said it looked like I was on Kili to kill someone. I assured them I didn't need the tools on my belt for that. I let them borrow it, and we got our dinner, but extremely late. So was this like the first aid kit all over again? If I didn't have the tool, would there have been no dinner because they didn't have one? A lot of companies in Africa have been operating 10, 20, 30 years, but everyday is like they're just starting out working the kinks out. Get it together! This constant confrontation with what I perceived as gross inefficiency actually caused a good deal of healthy introspection. “Get it together, Africa!” implies the second half as “like first world countries in the west and Asia.” Thinking about this I realized that most of the order and infrastructure in these countries was established two generations ago, and not much has been done to improve or even maintain since. For an extreme example of this, see India and it's colonial railways and buildings. The major difference between the states and Africa is that they had not had the benefit of a coordinated push two generations ago to “get it together”. I see the same negligence and inefficiency at every level of operation in the United States, and if this continues it will look like India. I realized that everyone has an obligation to get it together, and keep it together. With that bit of soul searching accomplished I was now back to critiquing, but on a personal level, not a cultural or country level.


Seriously, a decade is enough time to learn to get a tool in case something breaks! I realize often times resources are scarce, but not that. Case in point: George and I had inflatable solar lanterns we were using during the trip. George hung his in our tent, I would take mine to the mess tent. By the time dinner was ready it would be pitch-black and no one could see without the aid of a headlamp, which blinded everyone else eating. Solar lantern fixed that. That final morning one of our guides and the “waiter” came in to ask me something. The guide translated “he is embarrassed to ask you, but we cannot get such lights here. This would be a big help t him. Is there some way you could help him with the light?” Translation: “can he have this?” I gave him the lantern. He seemed genuinely thrilled, and for whatever reason apparently they couldn't get a hold of them otherwise. I was happy to help, but surely in all their years of operation they had realized they needed alight. Was there really no lights they could use? Maybe not. The same guide became pretty close to George and would talk about how he had to keep taking semesters off from school because he didn't have the 100$US to pay for the semester. He wondered if maybe George could “help him out.” George is a generous caring person and at a point in his life were he can afford to be so. On top his regular high-end tips he gave the guy an extra 50$US on the side. He said “What about Nash? Do you think he will help me?” Georges reply was something along the lines of “Nash doesn't even have enough for Nash. I wouldn't ask him.” Good call! Before leaving that final morning we were given the “recommended” tip sheet. It featured breakdowns for all the staff and the recommended amount to tip them. Before leaving on the climb I had done research on the averages and come up with my figure with an over estimate on the high end if they were exceptional. Their “recommended” tip was over 2.5 times what I'd planned, and several hundred dollars above my maximum, even after being split three ways! Josh was still expected to tip in full. Of course we needed to discuss this with him when we got back to the hotel, and we hadn't seen him in days. We couldn't be sure how he would react. “We know you need to discuss” said the guide “No worries, no pressure. Take your time.” When we get back you can talk and we'll be right outside the door waiting.” That IS pressure. “Take your time” is a phrase Africa has taught me to never trust.


We were told we would get up at 5:30 on the final day, but were woken up at 5. Now I had to rush. I hat it. If the time was going to be 5, I would get up at 4 to avoid the rush. Everything was wet from sleeping in the flood plane and we still had a “6 hour” hike out of the park still to do. This time we crushed it. We blasted out in 3.5 hours. By 10:45 in the morning we were taking a series of ridiculous pictures by the victory sign. In two days we hiked 26k and lost a day we'd paid for, and made it through occasionally fatal altitude illnesses with guides that had no first aid. On the way out we were told that Josh had decided to go on a one day excursion the next day, to some hot springs and to a Maasai village for some culture. They wanted to know if we wanted in, for a small price of course. We discussed. When we got back to our hotel and talked to Josh we found out they told him the same thing about us, to try and get him to sign up. Classic. He wasn't even interested, but I was. We signed up. Josh put up no fight against the tip, and the whole thing seemed inconsequential to him. Who drops several thousand dollars on a whim, quits, and doesn't care!? That guy apparently.


George and I spent our half day off relaxing at the comparatively fancy hotel. We got full body massages. The massage was fine, but the lady spent a lot of time and energy on the balls. I think she was trying to proposition me for an additional service, but she was barking up the wrong tree. After massages we got a fancy dinner with drinks. We ordered pizza that took almost two hours to show up even though no other customers were there at the time, and pina coladas that were on the menu, but apparently no one knew how to make, and then the manager said he could make them. They showed up with no coconut or most anything else, it was just big ice cubes with rum. Google the recipe! The place had the internet. George called his girlfriend to to tell her we succeeded in our climb. He talked about how bad off I became. She wondered if on top of all the questionable decisions, maybe the reason I was so bad was because I had recently had Covid. I never thought o that! I was asymptomatic so I paid it no mind, but it IS a respiratory illness with far reaching effects that as of this writing are not fully understood. Interesting. Our pizzas finally showed up along with the ndizi (grilled banana) I'd ordered as an appetizer. The waitress asked if I wanted her to wrap up the ndizi in plastic wrap so I could eat it later. I said yes. She took it and it never returned. I know she didn't return because we sat there talking another couple hours. I still had to pay for them. Cool.


The following day we left for the hot spring. Chemka hot spring was the name I was told. The hot spring was just normal temperature water, but it was gorgeous. It was clear emerald in color, fed by an underground hole, and a waterfall. There was a rope swing, and food stalls. I got some exercise in. A native of the area asked if we wanted to go to the waterfall. We said sure. Along the way he kept holding my hand and talking about how I was muscular like a boxer. I was flattered, but I didn't want to be holding hands with this guy, so I put a camera in my hand. He moved to the other hand. I put a camera in both hands! He interlocked the crook of his elbow in the crook of my elbow. I never found out if this was a cultural thing or if he was just super into what I got. We arrived at the waterfall and it cost an additional 5$ per person. I should have known. It was worth it, but some warning would have been nice. After the falls we visited a traditional Maasai village.


The Maasai were the predominant tribe in East Africa, nomadic cattle herders by trade. They wore long robes and live in mud-dung huts, take many wives, and practice salvage survival skills. They have slowly adapted with the times. They are like Africa's Amish, or maybe Mennonites. They continue to salvage, but now have access to better materials. Now their flip flops are made from old tires they find. Up until 30 years ago a male still had to hunt and kill a lion as a right of passage to prove he was worthy to take a bride. The government outlawed this, but they can still do it if the lion kills their cattle first. With two translators, one from English to Swahili and one from Swahili to Maasai, we arrived in the village. They put on the traditional “a tourist is here” dance that is so common all over the world. They formed a circle and began singing and dancing and expecting George and I to do the same. I wasn't briefed on any of this, was very uncomfortable, had no instruction, and it lasted a very long time. Thankfully it ended and they set about demonstrating some of their traditional skills, all of which I was familiar with. They had just as much trouble getting a fire started with a hand drill as anyone does. Even though I knew the skills, the demo was nice. They then produced some bracelets they'd made, hoping we would buy one to support the village. I bought one for my archaeology buddy, but my real prize was the traditional knife/sword the chief had. The knife is an important tool to all bushcraft practitioners, and the Maasai are no exception. Many find their way to town and get whatever they can from the market. Some still use traditional Maasai blades, many replicas of which are available practically everywhere. This traditional knife was actually in use, by the chief no less, and I wanted it. I would support the village by buying this thing. With the help of the different guides/translators who tag teamed negotiated on my behalf we came upon a mutually agreeable deal and the knife was mine.


That evening I popped by a guy's stall in the Moshi market and negotiated for a black market chunk of Tanzanite, the rarest gemstone on earth. It only comes from a mine connected to Mount Kilimanjaro, and scientists estimate that in 20 or so years it will all have been mined. It's Illegal to take out of the country in it's unrefined state. The guy said it would take him a few days to get it for me. George wanted to go on safari so I told the guy I'd check in when I got back.


Our safari briefing was straight forward: don't wear any dark or very bright colors, because it bothers the animals. Khaki on khaki it is! I wasn't too keen on the idea of safari at first, but George really wanted to go. After several days I understood the appeal. In classic fashion the itinerary we were given was scrambled and ignored from the get-go, and the company tried to screw us out of our hotel. Since George had his copy of the contract email on hand, they honored it. First we went to Tarangire National Park, but on the way we passed through Arusha. Unlike the town of Moshi, Arusha is a proper city: stop lights, billboards, ice cream, the whole bit. While passing through Arusha we stopped at supposedly the largest African art museum/gallery/market in Africa and looked at all the goodies. Everything was exquisite, and also for sale, albeit at a high price. If I ever come into a Nic Cage kind of money I've got a few pieces earmarked at the place. The actual property was gorgeous , and I could have easily spent a whole day there. The driver said we could have 10 minutes. His mistake. Don't take me to an incredible museum if you don't want to lose me. 10 minutes was more than enough for a thoroughly disinterest Josh, but George and I struggled to make it out in under an hour. I would eventually like to go back on my own time, but at the moment we had indifferent animals to see.


At Tarangire National Park the noteworthy animals we saw were: Ostriches, monkeys, baboons, zebra, and elephants. Seeing them wasn't easy though. Not because they were shy, just the opposite. They were so used to people driving around they couldn't have cared less we were there. What made them so hard to see was the vehicle and my position in it. The safari vehicle seemed like it was slapped together by people who had no clue of it's purpose. The hold handles on George's side broke off, and mine had been relocated to a position that caused my head to slam into it every time the vehicle hit a bump, which was every time it moved. The seats were bolted so high you couldn't see outside the windows without contorting into a hunched forward ball. The two primary purposes of a safari vehicle are to protect you against extreme terrain and rampaging wildlife, and to allow maximum viewing. It was a fascinating failure on both counts. I defaulted to standing with my head out of the roof hole so I could see. Not safe, but comfy.


At night we moved into an interesting lodge near Lake Manyara National Park. All the accommodations were permanently erected tents with cots inside. The place technically had electricity, but since there had been practically no guests the entire year because of the plague, they had it turned off. They eventually got it back on, so we could have some light to eat in the main building. The staff were nice, the food was good, and the grounds were nice, but during dinner one of the staff came up to us and said the employees were going to put on a show after dinner. Instruments, dancing, acrobats, a whole cultural repertoire was supposedly going to be on display. I knew were this was going and I would have none of it. I didn't come to them for a performance, they were coming to me, and they were going to want money for something I didn't' ask for. No. I had had my fill of that. I was tired of the inaccurate bills with things I didn't order or in the wrong quantities, of everyone expecting a “tip” for everything. “Coffee?” Sure. “That'll be money for the coffee, plus a tip for suggesting it!” To top it off it was well past 8 in the evening and we needed to get up at 5 in the morning. As the instruments started ramping up for the performance I saw a back door and left out of it, going to bed. Josh and George were minutes behind. They called off the performance eventually when no one came.


The next day we went to Ngorongoro Crater on the far east side of the Serengeti. The crater is what many consider to be their safari highlight and it's easy to see why. A massive area full of wildlife surrounded in 360 degrees by mountains, the terrain is so perfectly positioned it feels fake. The animals roam in large herds, getting right up tot he vehicle. We saw so many of each so regularly we became desensitized to them: zebra, elephants, lions, giraffes, water buffalo, ostriches, rhinos (from a distance), hyenas, and hippopotamus. Though we saw tons of hippos they were all swimming; you would have had a better chance at getting a clear picture of the loch ness monster than one of those hippos. Ngorongoro Crater certainly is an incredible place, with only one drawback. The tourists. Up until this point in Tanzania I had not had to deal with any typical tourists; more or less I had everything to myself. Now there were 14 safari vehicles crammed with cackling selfie-stick waving interlopers. I loathed their legion, and cringed with disgust and resentment at the thought of being lumped in with them. Thankfully the crater is huge, so we could usually be far enough away that we couldn't see them, but anytime something major showed up like a pride of lions there they all were: swarming, clumped together, like flies on a corpse. This was the low season AND during the plague of the century. Had this been high time and with no global pandemic I don't think I could have done it. It would have been like a ride at Disney land. I was genuinely grateful for the state of the world in this one instance.


On the way back to our lodge we stopped at another “art gallery”, this one clearly just a tourist trap shop. The salespeople were like some kind of cross between piranhas and vultures. We didn't stay long. Once we got back to our lodge and ate dinner they again tried to set up a show. I popped smoke and went straight out the back door I used before. I think George may have tried to politely explain we needed to get up early, but I was dust in the wind then.


Our final day on safari we went to Lake Manyara National Park proper, and along the way we picked up a guy name Mat. He was a cool well-traveled 46 year old Englishman, and we spent the day swapping stories and recommendations. He recommended a hostel to me when I returned to Moshi. At the lake we saw again all the “big 5” of safari: Water buffalo, giraffe, lion, rhino, and leopard. We saw all of these minus the leopard, which we was a no show the entire time. With the safari complete we headed back to Moshi to regroup with eh belongings we had stowed tat the hotel. Along the way we stopped at several “mechanics”,guys just standing on the side of the road, to take a look at the vehicle. The driver kept punching the gear shift, and whatever he wanted to happen wasn't happening. Despite these “mechanics” hitting things at random and pouring water on the engine, they never did figure out how to fix what was wrong, or even figure out what was wrong for that matter. I suspect the driver didn't even know how to properly operate the vehicle after I saw him try to engage the four wheel drive by flipping on the air and outlets, and trying different clearly labeled buttons. It seems more difficult as a whole to travel in Africa than other places. There just isn't much of an on-ground infrastructure, and vehicles are constantly breaking down or wrecking on seemingly nothing. We drove past a memorial for a school bus that drove off a cliff and killed 30+ kids and two teachers. It wasn't a wreck, the guy just drove off the side of a gentle curve.


Once back at the hotel a guy picked up my and carried it to our room, despite my constant protesting telling him I didn't want him to. “No problem” he says repeatedly. We get to the room, I take the bag, and he stands there wanting a tip. For the job I requested he NOT do. I shut the door in his face. I get it, but it's draining. When I say don't do it, back off. Most people in Tanzania do. They are happier, or seem happier, and leave you be when requested, unlike in say India or Arabia. We only planned to be at the hotel for the night. George informed me it was American Thanksgiving day. We had a lavish-ish dinner, which arrived late and was not accurate to what we ordered, and finally swam in the hotel pool amidst the Christmas lights and broken carols played over the sound system. We rested for the night, because in the morning we were flying to Zanzibar.


“We” meaning George and I. Josh had decided to fly to Mexico, changing his plans at the last minute from Egypt. He'd already purchased a non refundable ticket towards Egypt, and didn't seem to care. He either had a ton of money or none at all, I don't know which.


Our flight was t o 9:50 in the morning so we thought we had plenty of time. What we didn't count on was Tanzania spontaneously and erratically implementing a pile of security checkpoints. We had to wear masks, even though our entire time in the country we had seen none, they forced hand sanitizer on us, and then we had to move through 4 or 5 different security checkpoints all requiring a clumsy removal of belts and shoes. Mat had warned us that Zanzibar would get a daily light rain, it was the rainy season after all. We didn't think he meant torrential rain.


Our first two minutes in Zanzibar we were greeted with a street flooding monsoon and a lady crashing her car in the flood. A team of bystanders pulled out her unconscious, dead-looking body. A flood and a public death, hell of a first two minutes. It didn't last though, several hours and many opened manholes later and it was like nothing happened. Zanzibar is an interesting nation. It's a mix of East African, Arab, and Indian cultures. It also holds claim to the shortest war in history: 39 minutes, against the British with only one English sailor getting injured. It's a lovely tropical island full of spices, it's nickname is spice island, and tourists. You can tell they have a major tourist churn because everyone and their mother is trying to sell you the same three shirts and bracelets and guide you to the same three places. The highlight of the island was obviously the fact that I could get an entire durian fresh from a cart whenever I wanted! I was paying 2$US for a fruit that in it's condition would cost over 100$ in the central U.S.! I didn't let the opportunity pas me by. George is a vegetarian, and adventurous for a normal person, so I thought he would jump at the chance to try this fresh tropical delicacy. No matter how much I talked it up, or how much he watched me eat them, he wouldn't even taste it. “My body naturally refuses to eat anything that smells like actual garbage.” His loss! Potentially the only downside of being within six degrees of the equator during late November is the sun. The sun is oppressive. It feels like it's unrelenting right in your face from 10 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon. Most people rightly hide somewhere during that time. Our first night we went and got drinks at a rooftop bar and watched the sunset. It was a good way to relax after our adventures on the mainland. We spent the night on a pub crawl reminiscing about the past and questioning the future. 'can you believe we're going on 14 years of knowing each other?' I asked. “...Can you believe you're still alive!?” … Nope.


We spent the next few days on Zanzibar banging out all the major to-dos and finishing up my East African scavenger hunt. First up we decided we'd take a boat out to “prison island”. An island that used to be a prison, but now the prison is an attraction with restaurants and an animal sanctuary. The beaches and pier of Zanzibar's stone town are packed with “captains” of junks vying for you to hire them to take you to prison island. We already told a guy we'd use his boat, but then another guy came up and wouldn't leave us alone and kept dropping the price. I dragged this “captain” to speak with “our””captain” and so that they would haggle each other down for our business. It worked. I don't know why I bothered though, because everything was basically a lie. We were told we'd get snorkeling gear. Nope. We were told we'd have a private boat. Nah, here's a Russian couple, on and on. We got to the island to see the tortoise and peacock sanctuary... more money to get in that we weren't warned of. I got Africa'd again! The first half hour or so it rained hard so we couldn't enjoy the beach. The couple hundred years old tortoise were really neat though... when you could see them through the Russians.


All of Zanzibar is infested with Russians. “Infested” is used on purpose. There is no love lost between the soviets and the zanzibari groups. The reds show up en mass, drink and fight and shout, littering as they go, and use Russian companies so Tanzania and Zanzibar don't see any profits. With few exceptions they were the worst.


When the rain cleared George and I did handstand and played on the beach... that had broken glass from bottles of booze, played in the water full of boat motors, and then we made the half hour journey back to the main island.


Some locals jumped out and tried to sell us a taxi ride to the full moon party that happened to be that night. Pressing them for information and then doing some research we found out that Zanzibar just so happens to be home to one of the top 5 or 10 full moon parties on the planet, and it was in fact that night. I wanted to experience it, but I had slight reservations about what the experience would actually be. I pictured every little thing costing extra money and the place being nothing but Russians. Thankfully I wasn't entirely correct. It was an hour and a half cab ride up tot he party, the price of which we negotiated down with help from our guest house staff, and about 8$US for entry. They had acrobats, fire jugglers, high-wire acts, a couple different stages and everything from dancing to sleeping areas. All arranged on a gorgeous white sand beach. The acrobats and fire jugglers movements were almost a carbon copy of a shaolin temple demonstration. They had great kung fu! The food and booze cost money of course, but you needed to get a proprietary card and load money on it. We each got a conservative amount put on, and blew through it almost immediately. I hadn't really drank alcohol in any real quantity since Christmas eave 12 months prior, and was trying to paced myself. George was in the same boat, except he tackled the drinks like the cross-fit games. He was slamming these cocktails, would disappear, then re-appear with more plus shots. It wasn't more than two hours and I switched to beer if I was to have any hope of keeping pace. Then food. Then finally I switched to water. I hit the wall. If I had one more sip I would have been on the plummeting end of the inverted u-curve of partying. In George's party state he used his credit card and party loaded his card up with more money than we were able to consume. Outside of the red army there were a mix of nations represented among the crowd. One of these was a consultant for the bank who was putting on the little soiree. He dressed in jeans, wore aviator sunglasses even though it was the middle of the night, and turned out to be a martial artist, and a big fan of Jean Claude Van Damme. What are the odds!? We got to talking in the food line, and he asked if I knew of JCVD. Yeah. He's actually super popular in Tanzania and Zanzibar. My people! George showed him a video of my doing the splits between chairs and we hit it off. There was also an Irishmen we saw for all of two seconds, and and Englishman there. The Brit stood out. My height but twice as wide, build solid like a tree with a tattoo that ran from the bottom of his legs to his neck. He was a security contractor in Iraq. He looked it. He was having a helluva time and was a blast to talk with. We game him our party card with a large sum remaining on it. This is a guy would put it to good use! He did offer me his hotel room if I fancied any of the ladies after all, only right we repay the kindness. It was after 3 in the morning by the time we got to bed, and it wasn't a gentle sleep. As a result most of the next day was spent milling about.


You don' think you're in a noisy area if you're up before 6 everyday, but try and sleep past 9 and see what happens. The alley next to my bed must have been some kind of a turf war junction if the sounds were to be believed. Fighting cat gangs, screaming kid gangs, traffic jams, mosques, and what I'm guessing was a marching band were competing for sound supremacy. Getting up was just easier. We slogged our way across the street to grab lunch at a restaurant that was excellent the day before but was not terrible. The service was non existent, and we were being ignored in favor of the Russians. It took almost two hours for our order to be complete, and even then it wasn't accurate. Russians would come in, order, eat, pay, and leave in the time we waited for just some of our food. Anytime we asked what was going on all we got was “pole pole, hakunamatata”, which I then realized was not a philosophy or lifestyle motto, it was just an excuse to shirk responsibility or accountability. It was basically Swahili for a shrug while saying “this is Africa”. After our disappointing lunch we went back and took a three hour nap to prepare for the evening. That night was the ghost tour.


One thing I do while traveling is fulfill ridiculous wedding gift requests for friends who are about to get married. My previous weirdest requested were things like a giant wooden pizza spatula or smuggling Casablanca beer from Casablanca. This particular one was the new high score. The gift requested from East Africa for the occasion of their wedding was “something haunted”. Seemed easy enough. Find a witch doctor, get something haunted. Simple. Except it wasn't. The Tanzanian government had been conducting a literal witch hunt, hunting the witch doctors down, and putting them down. Apparently they kept killing a lot of people, and ripping of the ones they didn't kill, and the government had decided enough was enough. This made my job all the more difficult. Thankfully Zanzibar is a mix of the superstitions of it's cultures, and the supernatural folklore was spread actively, even still. The most famous specter of recent times was called the “popobawa”, a demon/wraith/djinn/curse. It's origins were up for debate depending on who you asked. Some thought the entity a djinn released by it's Arab master to run amok against slave traders, and when the master died there was no one left to control it. Some say it's a wraith, created by the vengeful spirit or spirits of murdered Muslims, subjugated and oppressed. Some say it's a natural reaction to a society leaving the path of righteousness, others a simple curse by the witch doctors that grew too powerful. Whatever the origin, the majority seem to think it's real, and it's modus operandi is raping guys in their sleep. Legend states that it can rape you through walls, and regardless of your sleeping position or the number of pants you have on. If you get raped by popobawa and don't say anything, it will rape you again. To me, it sounds less like a poltergeist and more like a really narcissistic rapist. Like the Zorro of rapists. Still a lot of people believe this, and they say you can only be raped indoors, so as recently as two years ago entire neighborhoods were sleeping in their yard around campfires to try and not get raped by the boogy man.


On another occasion a school was shut down for a week because someone said they saw a ghost take the form of a pair of pants and try to kidnap menstruating girls. Later the ghost took the form of a bag flying around. Phantom, or windswept garbage?


With incidents like these I knew Zanzibar was the place to get “something haunted”. With more effort than you would believe, I was able to locate a “ghost tour” that would take us to all the reputedly spectral hot-spots. First was the hundreds years old banyan hanging tree, in the middle of town. Supposedly the tree was infested with evil spirits that the locals would come to in the middle of the night to make Faustian bargains with. From this tree I snatched some leaves and sticks. Next up was a graveyard behind a mosque that was apparently haunted BEFORE the neighboring building collapsed on it. I dug through the rubble of the grave that looked like it got the worst of it. I figured that guy would be the angriest. Some say that graveyard and it's vengeful spirits were the thing that gave birth to popobawa. I took a stone from the guy's grave. Afterwords we headed to the clearing where the witch doctors used to gather to make their sacrificial rituals. They even made powder from human babies! It was used in some kind of medicine or spell, but the guy didn't know what kind. I'm assuming boner pills. It's always boner pills. Ponce de Leon bankrupted a nation, decimated whole cultures, and marched people through the jungle for a lifetime in search of the fountain of youth to cure his erectile dysfunction; snorting a line of baby dust is nothing in comparison. I was sure to grab a stone from the area. We stopped at the school that was closed for a week because of weirdo pedophilia-pants-garbage ghosts, and I grabbed some stones from the location of the sighting. Finally we went to Tippu Tip's (real name Hamad bin Muhammad bin Juma bin Rajab el Murjebi) house. He was supposedly a half African half Arab slave trader. In fact, he was “THE” slave trader, amassing a fortune across several countries selling out everyone and everything he could. He was also an Ivory trader. He not only dealt in slaves but had about 10,000 if them himself which he used for his plantations. He was reviled. Sometime after the revolution in the 60's his house was turned into flats to be lived in by several families, though when I was there it was in a state of disrepair... more than everywhere else I mean. I found a few broken pieces of the foundation of the mansion of this slave and ivory trader and took them. Not far away his his tomb, and it did not look respected or kept up. It was open. For the final piece of the collection I raided a stone from the inside. If anything were to be haunted with any kind of bad juju it would be the sticks, leaves, and stones I had collected. Following the Arabian folklore of containing such toxic spirit energy I put these items in a sealed vessel of brass. It even had silver plating, used for the same purpose in European mythology, to keep the evil from leaking out. This container wasn't easy to find either, but there's a large Arab population I Zanzibar, and I knew that if I wandered the back alleys of the sort-of medina long enough, I would find a creepy old curio antique dealer. I was right. The thing looked like it could have been cursed on it's own. I was told I could clean it with a mix of lemon juice and garlic, but I left it as is for ambiance. The old Arab lady was trying to haggle me down in price for awhile, but I literally couldn't go higher because I had no more money. “I'll take card. You give me cash, pay rest with card.” I don't have a car. “what?” or a phone. “you don't have a phone!?” I'm not important enough for a phone. “there's people here who can't afford to eat, but thy still have a mobile. What if you get in trouble, who's going to call for you?” No one. That's why I try and avoid trouble (as I haggle for a vessel to contain cursed stones I pilfered from a tomb). “you're funny. Where's your friend? He'll lend you money.” Unlikely. He just lent me a bunch of money... we went around for awhile. “Fine. Just give me the cash. It's early, I don't want to start the day bad.” She gave me what I wanted as George walked in from buying a shirt down the alley. She said to him “Your friend is tough, smart”. I told her I wasn't tough, just stupid. “Not stupid, brilliant.” Half and half? Speaking of which, apparently if you know the correct old Arabic incantation you can use the negative energy trapped in the container to summon some bad things... or was it you needed the incantation to control the badness that's always leaking out? … It probably won't be plot relevant; I'm sure it's fine. Mission Accomplished: Happy Wedding!


The last thing we did before leaving Zanzibar was to go to the Freddy mercury museum. As a fan of his, and museums, we had to go. It was nice.


Returning to Moshi from Zanzibar the security checkpoints were even more ridiculous. There were 5 or 6 of them, and just like everywhere else in the country, no one knew what they were doing. There was misinformation everywhere from the staff to the signage. One of the “x-ray” scanners just dropped everyone's things into a big mixed unguarded pile on the floor. The airline also printed out the wrong ticket for me, and if we hadn't caught it I would have been stranded halfway in Dar Es Salaam! The flights themselves were fine enough, but they were extra floppy. I imagined the plane “captains” were captains the same way the Zanzibar junker “captains” were captains. I doubted their qualifications.


The reason George and I had returned to Moshi was because we were leaving Tanzania entirely and our flight was out of Moshi. His was leaving that evening, mine a week later. We said our farewells and my new concern was arguing with taxi drivers. I'd already been to town several times by this point, so I had some bargaining power. I ripped on several drivers who where clearly out of their depths, but there was one who was trying to sell me tours and everything else, and tried to hand me his business card. 'I've already done everything here, what do I need you for? Don't give me this.' I said, berating him in front of the rest of the crews in front of the airport. After I had torn my way through the pile of scam artists outside the airport I found an accommodating driver (of course) who gave me the price I wanted and said he was very familiar with the hostel I was going to. Of course he was. Then he pawned me off on one of his lackey that not only had no idea where I was going, he called the place and couldn't find it because he didn't know the town or street names. Then he went out of his way to run over a dog crossing the street. The kid finally found the place and carried my big bag up four flights of stairs despite my protests, and stood around wanting a tip. The tip was: If you don't want me to treat you like a piece of shit, then don't be an animal abusing piece of shit.


The hostel itself was very nice, and I mentioned that Mat had recommended them to me with his old accommodations of 7$ per night. They replied “Actually, his room was 6$ per night”. 6$ per night! Breakfast included! I planned to base up there while I sorted myself out. My initial plan was to run up to Nairobi, Kenya for the week. However, Kenya was playing by the same rules as 90% of the planet, and they were on lock-down. I heard Kenyon citizens saying they weren't even sure if they could get back in. I didn't have a good shot: I didn't have 3 days to get a negative test result, plus the visa to get in, and the buses were shut down so I would have had to have flown. I didn't have the funds for the plane, or the black market negative test results, and everything else I would have to bribe to get there and back in a week. For the time being it looked like Moshi and I were going to get cozy, and we did.


The first morning I was staying at this rooftop bar hostel I got up at the normal time of sunrise to do my morning exercises on the balcony. I noticed the other person in the room had things strewn around and hanging from their bed. I couldn't get a clear look because of the mosquito net and all the cloths hanging around, but judging from the type of garments and all the floral patterns I was confident it was a girl. It was a French guy. We wound up chatting for the day. He was leaving to go climb Kilimanjaro the following morning, so I briefed him on what to expect. He was a cool guy and we swapped YouTube videos. He said I was a unique guy, who should probably be regularly paid just to have people watch the nonsense I normally engage with. I would be all for it. He also warned me thee was a crackpot Belgian guy staying at the hostel who was convinced COVID was released by financial elite on purpose. The Frenchman and I chatted in the rooftop bar before he left, and I signed the hostel's adventurer's log book. Then I saw the Bulgarian guy. He kept grabbing people to arm wrestle him and talking about how strong he was. He challenged everyone around me, but never said a word to me. He left two days after I got there, so maybe he was just tired from talking about how great he was?
Before George left the CEO of the company we were using said he wanted to arrange a challenge match between me and some village wrestlers that used a style similar to Judo apparently, but would do it the next time I was in the country. I told him I was all about it. “Don't do it, they'll pull out one of your eyes.” I responded 'Fine. If they pull out one of my eyes, I'll take all of theirs! ' “... please don't pull out anyone's eyes.” The number I take will depend on them. We'll see if the match ever comes to fruition.


I went out on the town to finish up my last minute scavenger hunting, but without George there wasn't anyone to joke with about the silliness of everything. Now it was just regular inefficient frustrating nonsense. The hostel was great, but Africa as a whole … well, it was like pretty much anywhere else really. Everyone trying to rip you off. The people on the street actually remembered me from the last time I was in town, and were asking where George was. Good memories! I still didn't buy anything though. Nothing but fruit and street food that is. Touts kept telling me I looked strong, and must be some kind of boxer or wrestler. I didn't mind, but they never seemed to turn their compliments into some kind of sales pitch, which I thought was odd. On any given walk upwards of eight people would be begging me for money. Some of them would stay stationary, others would follow me for a very long time. One said bluntly after I shut him down several times “Just give me 2$ to eat.” I countered with 'And what about the other seven people? If I give to you I have to give to them.' “Just give to me.” 'An then what happens tonight when everyone wants more? What about tomorrow? What happens when I run out?' “Hakunamatata, just give to me.” 'No. I can't fix the entire mismanaged world by myself.' Even though I want to.

Several days into my stay I came down with the 3rd worst diarrhea of my life. It lasted for over a day, and I wound up passing out from the diarrhea. The pain was incredible, and the cramps felt like giardia crossed with an appendicitis. I seriously but only very briefly, thought about stabbing myself in the stomach to try and relieve some of the bloating. The thought of missing the target or hitting anything collateral and needing to use a medical service in East Africa was enough to keep me from doing it, but the pain was that intense. I considered for a moment that I may have botulism, but crunched the numbers and realized I would have been dead already. I never found out the cause, but I was eating so much street food and fresh jack fruit, it could have been anything. I spent the next two days eating nothing but fresh bananas and drinking salt&sugar water. I didn't have enough time to conduct a thorough single variable at a time experiment, so I just stayed away from everything I had been eating up until that point. There was still plenty of delicious food to choose from, and a meal with a beer was still under 3$. During my recovery from the potentially lethal diarrhea I stayed put in my rooftop bar and focused on my reading and writing, beat-style. I wrote heavily and started and finished two different books. One was about the effective use of power and advantage in society, and the other was a socioeconomic deep dive into how and why the USA is in the weak position it's in. The latter was so long, dense, and linguistically self-indulgent I genuinely don't think I could have read it unless I was trapped somewhere. I wanted it's juicy knowledge nuggets though, so read it I did.

As I was sitting reading and writing in the rooftop bar the waitress came up and asked me a question about an app on her phone. You're asking the wrong guy, lady. “You don't use this app?” I don't own a phone. “What!? How!?” Don't need one. “Phone's are crucial to this life.” YOUR life maybe. “Why have you chosen such a difficult life!?” I thought The question was odd coming from a Tanzanian girl. Africa is famous for it's poverty stricken countries, and of those, Tanzania is one of the poorest. I looked across the street and saw on the rooftop of the building across the street a baby's crib that had been on fire at one point. This girl from one of the poorest places on this planet asked me why I have chosen such a difficult life. I told her it was good enough for me. She laughed, with just the vaguest hint of condescension in the laugh, as if I was too ignorant to know how bad I truly had it. The feeling was mutual.

Once I had recovered a polish guy named Max checked into the hostel. He WAS polish, but now he was French. He had made it through five years of the French Foreign Legion. He now spent half the year working as a chef in Las Vegas, and the other half traveling the world. He was 46 years old and had been to 107 countries at this point. He never failed to deliver an interesting story or a joke. , but he kept asking me if I was in someone's military, never satisfied with the answer I gave him. A couple of Israeli guys showed up to climb the mountain, and they went to go get packed before their climbing company came to get them. As they were waiting the company owner showed up, made his way to the rooftop bar and sat on the stool next to me. “Remember me?” he said. I turned to face the cab driver I had berated so hard the week before. He turned out to be the CEO of a very impressive company, the one the Israelis were using, and he was there to pick them up. Small world. The CEO and I actually had a really good talk for several hours about the nature of traveling and philosophy before parting ways. I actually took his business card this time, though I never expected to cross paths with him again.

My days where running out in East Africa, and I still had one final thing to grab off of the list: A raw unprocessed chunk of Tanzanite. My contact from before had fallen through, but I had made many new ones. I spent the week in town falling further and further down the black market, the people I met becoming deeper and deeper embedded in the system. Finally over many meetings I was able to get the secretary chair of the mining committee himself to smuggle me out what I wanted. He was several hours late for our final rendezvous, but he delivered. He also worked out of a semi legitimate antique dealers office in the side of an active post office. We had to position ourselves so the “security guard” in this tiny post office, who was holding the largest tactical shotgun I had ever seen, couldn't see or hear us. When presented with the stone I renegotiated the price, and had him throw in some currency from Rhodesia as a bonus. “You know this is illegal. It can't be bought, you can't possess it, and it can't leave the country or continent... How do you plan on getting it out?” None of your business. Everyone in Africa may be on the take, but not everyone is on the same take. Loose lips sink ships, and for all I knew he was going to tell a customs officer about it to shake me down, then he would have payment and the stone. No thanks. We thanked each other for our business, and said we would do more in the future. I headed back to the hostel to arrange transport to the airport. I was leaving in a few hours. While walking I was ran into by one of the contacts I had used to track down the Tanzanite. “Our mutual friend has a job offer for you. Come with me.” I followed him, and met the CEO again, the one I had mistaken for a cabby and ripped a new one. “I want to discuss a job offer with you.” he said. “I want to show you my office, come with me.” I got in his white windowless unmarked panel van and we drove to the outskirts of town where we pulled into the basement of the basement of a pitch black parking garage. We pulled into the middle and stopped. No sound. It dawned on me I might be about to get murdered. 'I'll give them more than they bargained for.' I thought before immediately realizing that all my everyday carry tools were packed for the airport. 'Crap.'. Instead of murdering me, they lead me to an elevator that went straight to the top of the only skyscraper in Moshi. His tour company's office was at the top, in a fancy glass walled room lined with plaques and commendations. Instead of killing me, he had brought me there to give me an hour long pitch. Apparently the talk we had at the bar really impressed him, and he wanted me to work as an asset for his company. His company actually sounded very good, much better than the one George and I had used, and cheaper too! I told him I was in, and I would try to get him in contact with my WFR Japan guy, and see if maybe we could get something going. Although with the way the world is, nothing is a guarantee, especially tourism. He offered me a free ride to the airport, which I dared not refuse.

I stopped at the hostel to grab my things, and ran into the Frenchman who was returning from his climb. “I'm so glad I ran into you!” he yelled. Why? “When I was on the mountain, everyone was talking about this crazy American guy who chopped a coconut on the summit of Kilimanjaro! I said 'I know that guy!' and showed them your blog. You're a legend on the mountain now!” We laughed and he said maybe NOW I could make some money off of being me. Here's hoping. I jumped in the van with the CEO and went to the airport. I was 6 hours early, but after all the security checkpoints last time I wasn't going to take any chances. The place was naturally packed with Russians going to Zanzibar. I did meet the founder of “thebigforty.com”, and we chatted about life for awhile, and traded some good jokes One Tanzanian lady's checked bag was just an old cardboard box. I laughed. Then it was back to being frustrated.

The checkpoints had me disrobe twice at the Moshi airport, and three times in Qatar. I was awake for 48 hours, and in transit for 31 of those hours. It was a wild frustrating ride of conflicting over enforcement of rules and a complete lack of rules; It was a perfect thematic end to my most recent journey in Africa. Now, I just needed to see if any of these piles of job prospects could have something done with them. As long as there's no new diseases or politically related problems... I'm sure it's fine...

Hakunamatata

-NASH


From George's social media post on returning:

“As I'm sitting here with the sweetest and doofiest pup I've ever met, I unpack and reflect on the past 2+ weeks I spent in Tanzania.
I spent 6 days climbing the tallest peak on the African continent, 1 day visiting a Maasai village and hot spring, 3 days on Safari in Ngorogoro Crater, Lake Manyara National Park & Tarangire National Park and 4 days in beautiful Zanzibar visiting the markets, beaches and walking all over the island.
Now, after 34 straight hours of travelling back, I'm safe and sound at home, glad to be back but so grateful for the experience. It wasn't glamorous. Traveling "Nash style" seldom is, but I couldn't ask for a better travelling companion. I would have never had this experience without his persistence, which I'm grateful for. There were lots of laughs, but also plenty of struggle and discomfort.
Summiting Mt. Kilimanjaro was a combination of awe, inspiration, exhaustion, delirium, nausea, dizziness and sheer determination. Altitude sickness is no joke, and as I struggled to catch my breath after each pitiful step, I wondered to myself why I was doing this. I was on the verge of falling asleep (or passing out depending on how you look at it) as I struggled up the snow fields. As I vommited into the snow I dug deep and pulled from all my past wilderness experience and my comfort and familiarity with being uncomfortable. Without our guides (Innocent and Saidi) I wouldn't have made it.
Thanks to everyone who commented on my posts. I'm glad I could take you all on this adventure. I have a ton of GoPro footage to go through, so a video should be coming soon.
"Anything worth doing is worth doing to the max!" -Nash “

TO THE MAX!