I come from a city of millions.
Sometimes I don’t speak to anyone in a day.
I consider those days as the way of silence.
Like the Poor Clare Nuns living under a vow of silence.
Dawn broke early of the Kibo Lodge Guest House.
We woke for morning exercise.
Across the gully the Prayer Man was ranting over a loudspeaker to one and all.
I ignored his fanatic gibberish and stretched my aged body into suppleness.
Before they ran off for a jog, JM warned the team, “We are never alone. No one has time to be alone. For the next thirty-six hours you will be living in shelters you make yourself. There will be no phones. There will be no talking. There will be no lights. You can spend your time thinking, writing in a journal or reading a book.”
“Will M’zee come?” asked Laikyn.
“I will there for you all, but quiet as a Ninja.”
After breakfast we set out into the forest along a trail. We passed our tents set up by Woody and continued to the chosen campsites.
Most of the forest were new trees, but the old stumps came from another age before all our births.
None of them appeared threatening or inviting. The Kibo Lodge was only a twenty-minute walk away.
eight young people away from everything.
Eight young people doing something they had never done.
Being alone.
JM, Fast Steve, Ma’we and I returned to our campsite.
Unlike the team we could speak, but only in whispers.
Like there was a large animal stalking each and every one of us.
I laid in my tent and listened to Radioooo.com off my cellphone.
Music by country and decade.
I loved the Rail Band from Mail 1970s.
I ate cold food.
Ma’we and I drank a small bottle of Konyagi.
Night was the ace of spades.
I spoke with my wives.
They still had enough money.
Ever happy to be in Africa with the team.
In the morning we checked on the campers.
Everyone had their own style.
The mummy.
The stretch-out.
The hope it don’t rain.
The ‘what is is’.
Comfy villa.
The poetress’ perch.
Kibera in the house.
And there’s always WTF.
Then the cave.
JM, Ma’we, Fast Steve, and I slept in tents set up by Woody.
Mine was on a slant.
Never camp on a slant.
Never eat food in your tent.
Take off your boots in the tent.
Piss wherever you want as long as it’s not on your friend’s tent.
Night fell 100%
A scream pierced the quiet.
We ran to its source.
Our flashlights scoured the surroundings.
“I saw a giant rabbit.”
“Giant rabbit.”
“yes, a giant rabbit.”
“I have lvied here for over fifty years and no one has ever seen a giant rabbit,” said JM without reproach.
We stayed for thirty minutes. No giant rabbit returned to the campsite. I went back to my tent.One gril was scared of the dark. I let her sleep in my tent. I slept outside. I hate slants and cursed good woody, wondering what I had done to him to pitch my tent on a slant.
Morning came. The solo was over. No more whispers.
We laughed about the giant rabbit and I said in Elmer Fudd, “I thod I saw a wabbit.”
Ubah laughed and said, “M’zee you are so old.”
“Old as dust.”
She was absolutely right.
I was old, but my friends turned me young.
We were strong, We were alone. Now we were together. We were strong.
Both today and hopefully on Kilimanjaro.
We were one.
Ready for all.
All for one and one for all.
