Climbing the deceptive Mt. Meru

 

Timothy enjoying his moment of triumph on Mt.Meru. Photo/Courtesy 

In Summary

• The trail begins with an open field and we walk amidst a herd of buffaloes.
• Mt. Meru mocks one's attempts to reach the summit.
• You clamber through an impossible uphill incline full of rocks and reach a slightly level plane and you sigh in relief thinking that the summit is just around the next turn, only to take that turn only to be met by another sharper incline of stone and rocks.

It starts with buffaloes: dark, squat and with endless rapt stares. The trail begins with an open field and we walk amidst a herd of buffaloes. The guard insists that they do not attack as a group but one should be wary of a lone buffalo for they are prone to charging and in which instance one must lie down and not run away. You cannot outrun a buffalo, he insists. He then quotes some statistic indicating that the highest cases of animal attacks on humans are from buffaloes. Our steps become light.

ETHEREAL FEELING

We are a group of twenty. We call ourselves The Endurance Club and we all mock the deceiving smallness of Mt. Meru, having climbed Mt Kenya and Mt Kilimanjaro before.

We hurry away from the open field up a small incline that is slightly forested and full of mysterious herbs that the guide knows by name, indicating their usage whose patrons vary from humans to baboons, to as far as giraffes.

Are there giraffes here? I ask. Yes he replies firmly and points tiny pieces of dung on the path, telling us it belongs to a giraffe and that they squeezed out firmly all the nutrients from what they eat, that eventually what is passed out is very little.

I am amazed at what looks like goat droppings and find it difficult to associate it with the massive elegance of a giraffe. We go through a series of grassy terraces and forested inclines and finally encounter a river.

The river flows silently, no sharper sound to it than what would be expected of the slight swishing of a horse’s tail. Spanish moss, a luxuriant green, has crept up over boulders and trees surrounding the forest,  giving it an ethereal feeling.

I stare at a rotting piece of log, laden with lichen mushrooms and draped in green moss and I almost feel it staring back at me, communicating to me.

STEEPER TRAJECTORY

The trajectory turns steeper and our stories and laughter dies. It becomes harder to stare at the environment and I end up watching my steps, mindful to stay on track and not to deviate into the bush.

There are beautiful flowers here too, the landscape is lush with yellows and blues and orange. I make a mental wish that this was my home.

I find myself weaving through a forest of giant fern plants and elephant grass, insects flit about in their mating games and the air is filled with a constant pinging sound.

As I start to wonder when we shall arrive at the first camp, I see a wooden backyard stand peeping above me, and I am relieved. We have reached Miriakamba camp.

THE SUMMIT!

The next day we assemble at the start of the next trail and pray, and we start on our next trek. This part of the forest is almost surreal, forever shrouded with mist. Secret lives lurk in this mist, I see bongos and duikers, elegant and beautiful, running in the darkness of it.

Water drips from the trees, with its soft sound and dead trees, twisted like grotesque carvings of some twisted artist abound. It is an untouched world and we would not have been more awestruck if we saw angels or fairies playing hide and seek in the trees. 

Our guide advised us not to rest but to go ahead and climb Little Meru, a small hill that stood behind saddle hut and that we did, admiring the ease of it, and laughing at how easy it was to climb Mt Meru if this Little Meru was a representation of it. We would swallow our words later.

The thing about Mt. Meru is that it is deceptive.

It mocks your attempt to reach the summit, you finally clamber through an impossible uphill incline full of rocks and reach a slightly level plane and you sigh in relief thinking that the summit is just around the next turn, only to take that turn only to be met by another sharper incline of stone and rocks, inclines through which you could not walk through peacefully but had to hold onto rocks and lift yourself up, and mind you, the oxygen level is so thin for you are over four thousand feet in the air.

Finally after, a series of seemingly endless climbs we finally saw the flag and our energy was revived.

There was no earth and none of its sounds, just the sky, the sun, the sea of cloud under our feet, Mt Kilimanjaro to the east and our mountain, Meru.

Story by Timothy Kimutai

Timothy is a freelance writer and editor. He blogs at literarychronicles.blogspot.com and his book, The Water Spirits won the Kwani? Manuscript Prize