The Voice

The sun rose confidently through the misty clouds near the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. Five minutes ago, the only source of light was the reflection of the silver moon on the ice-covered neck of the mountain. Now, all was illuminated. I had never been to a more barren and beautiful place.

"Let's go guys".

Earnest, whose name conveyed his nature, tried to get us to move. We were still about two hours from reaching the summit, and well behind other climbers. The longer we took to reach the summit, the more dangerous our descent to base camp would become. Earnest knew this, and so did we.

But I could barely breathe. Matt and I were on squatting on our haunches, feeling the shards of rock and glass beneath the soles of our hiking boots.

"Get up Bruce. We need to move." Matt struggled to his feet, and then extended his arm towards me. I took a deep breath and got to my feet.

Earnest clapped his gloved hands together and retook the lead. "Pole pole men. We will get there."

He had repeated that phrase often in the last four days, starting at the green rainforests at the foot of the mountain. Pole Pole. Slowly slowly. Matt and I exchanged a worried look: we weren't sure we could reach the peak.

**4 Days Ago**

I awoke with a jolt, cold sweat running down my arms, my eyes darting in every direction. The hostel room was silent, apart from the occasional snore from a tired traveller. After forty days in East Africa, I still could not sleep through one full night.

Walking helped. I rose and stepped outside the room. The hostel was dimly lit and poorly maintained, but this was to be expected when paying $5 a night. I could hear faint conversations occurring throughout the hostel- no doubt, between lone travellers sipping beers and swapping stories. In the home country, strangers in hotels are to be avoided and ignored. When travelling, strangers become kindred spirits, fellow explorers transversing a strange new land.

I stepped out of the hostel into the streets of Moshi, Tanzania, a small town in the shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro. It was a clear night, and the oval peak of the mountain could be seen from any part of the city, bursting through rings of cloud.

Looking up at the mountain, I knew that I had absolutely no intention of climbing it. Yet I could appreciate why it exerted a strong influence in the popular imagination: it was the chance to stand on the roof of Africa.

A young man caught me staring at the peak. He was trim and strong as a wound wire, with soot black skin and watchful eyes.

"You want to climb Kili? I can take you. Come to my office tomorrow morning, I can give you a good price." Before I could object, he handed me a business card and disappeared into the night.

The business card was bare and functional- it just had a name and an address. The name was Earnest Sali, and his office was around the corner. I turned the card over in my hand, reflexively, and then tossed it onto the side of the road. I had no interest in climbing Kilimanjaro.

****

"Morning Bruce. How'd you sleep?", asked Matt the next morning.

"How do you think I slept?" I responded with a wry smile.

"Walking in the middle of the night again? You do realize we're travelling through unknown cities, right? You need to stop doing it."

Matt could be quite serious when he wanted to be. He was short and blunt. His jet black hair was always swept in an untidy heap to one side of his scalp, and he spoke in quick, hurried sentences. Often, the words bumped and blended into each other in their rush to escape his lips.