‘We’ll go at the pace of the slowest and I’ll get you all up.’ Damon shouted encouragement, as we climbed the steep rainforest path.
‘Pole pole’ (slowly) porters instructed us in Swahili, as they hurried past with their heavy loads. Monkeys played, birds serenaded, the sun warmed us, but where was the white-peaked icon we’d come to climb? 
Eventually we reached camp. The porters cheered and sang. Whilst we’d ambled, they’d carried our kit up on their heads, then erected our tents and prepared supper.
My tent-mate, Tracy and I crawled into our tiny haven, unfolded sleeping bags, then had a ‘let’s pretend’ shower – a bowl of water and bio-wipes. Days blended in a mesmerising dream. Rainforest merged into moorland, then moonscape, with huge succulents and white-necked ravens. 
Kilimanjaro revealed herself on Day 2 – beautiful, inspiring, crowned by snowy glaciers. 
We coped differently with maintaining appearance – Tracy applied mascara and lip-gloss – I just didn’t pack a mirror.
On Day 4 we scaled the Barranco wall – a thousand feet of solidified lava. By now, we were all feeling the altitude – headaches, breathless, our bodies ejecting breakfast (from both ends), dizziness. But we scrambled up the rock face, with help from Damon, Dawa (a real Nepalese Sherpa) and our Tanzanian Guides. 
Day 5 was Summit night. 11pm, wrapped in down jackets and woolly hats, we munched sweet biscuits and drank tea. High-pitched voices and silly jokes betrayed our nerves. Dr Claire cradled her mug as she checked us – Everyone OK? Headaches? Any nausea? 
Thirty-three strangers just five days ago – now firmly bonded. One person’s failure was everyone’s failure – we’d make it together, or not.
At midnight the sky was a mass of stars. We lined up outside.
‘Slowly, don’t talk. Get in the zone.’ Damon checked us.
Breathing heavily, I walked with my new friends, my head-torch lighting the lava path – steep but do-able. After an hour we rested, sitting on rocks. I drank water, bit into an energy bar – but my stomach resisted. Cold penetrated my jacket.
The way got steeper, black, inhospitable, but we pressed on – ‘pole pole’.
Then I hit the wall, couldn’t move, ‘Julius, help me.’
My guide silently offered his arm. Using his strength, I walked again.
‘Nearly there.’ he murmured.
We clambered up large rocks, and there it was, Stella Point – not the summit, but nearly. The steepest climb was done.
Cups of warm apple juice appeared. The sweet liquid pervaded and revived me.
‘Get moving.’ Damon coaxed us, before we were tempted to sit, fall asleep – and freeze.
The air was very thin now. My body screamed, but we trudged on. 
Then we saw the legendary wooden sign – ‘Uhura Peak’. 
The dawning sun threw rainbows on the pure white glaciers. We’d done it.
Elated, we took photos and hugged.
‘Right, get down, don’t linger.’ Damon again.
Dazed, amazed, relieved, we stepped onto the steep shale slope. Some raced down, some walked.
Kilimanjaro – you changed us – for ever.
To climb Kilimanjaro or similar mountain adventures, I would recommend:
http://www.actionforcharity.co.uk
http://www.adventurethamserku.com
Following the recent earthquakes in Nepal, I am collecting for a charity run by Dawa, one of the leaders on the Kilimanjaro climb. It provides schools and teachers for some of the poorest children in the world. Their schools have suffered damage from the earthquakes and they desperately need funds. If you wish to donate: https://www.justgiving.com/Patricia-Heath2
