Now three months after our first course in Italian, here we all are living in Lugano. Napirai is getting used to it although she still misses some of her old friends. But three hours’ train journey isn't exactly an impossible distance to cover. We're living in Switzerland after all, not Africa, and so far not one of us regrets the sudden move. Our flat is in an old villa and the owner has become a friend and a modern grandma-figure, a real ray of sunshine.
Since I've moved to Ticino I've felt more and more obliged to do what so many of my readers have asked and write a follow-up to my first book. Up until now I'd never have thought of it. But living here in these almost tropical temperatures with a wonderful view over the lake and all our interesting new acquaintances, I'm bound to find it easy. It will also be a way to answer all the questions I keep getting asked in letters. I start work straight away and find I'm really enjoying it, and so I put off my plans to start a hotel indefinitely.
Once more I'm astonished how a decision made in an instant can change your life and suddenly break an old routine and set you off on a different path. It's only a question of having the courage to make the change.
Off to Kilimanjaro
Over the next six months as I sit there writing, I get pangs of homesickness for Africa and wonder how I'd feel to be back on African soil. A brochure for treks arrived recently as it's something I've always thought of doing. While flicking through it I light on Kilimanjaro. On closer investigation I discover you can fly direct from Europe to Kilimanjaro, and all of a sudden I'm desperate to go back to Africa. To the roof of Africa!
I start to pore over the different ascents to the summit. I go to the computer, search for Kilimanjaro online and start perusing anything and everything that looks interesting. That evening I can't get to sleep. I keep wondering if I'm fit enough to get up to the top. I can't talk it over with Markus straight away as he's off in Morocco for ten days on a business trip and I don't want to start discussing such an off-the-wall idea over the phone. My mind keeps running over it all in bed so that the next morning I feel as if I've been hiking all night.
I'm certain of one thing: I'm going to have a go at it! I'd really love to go back to Africa and if I still can't go back to Kenya at least I can look down on it from above.
Napirai isn't exactly enamored of my plan: ‘Isn't it dangerous, Mama?’ she asks. ‘Do other women your age manage it?’
The cheek of her! I can hardly wait for Markus to come back now. The idea has so seized hold of me that I can hardly think of anything else and the next time he's on the phone I mention it to him. To my great surprise, he says he thinks it's a good idea and tells me to go ahead. I'm overjoyed.
The very next day I start trying to get myself fit. I no longer take a brief stroll into the mountains every couple of days: instead I'm now doing three to seven hours a day. On top of that I go swimming once a week and follow up with a sauna. Here in Ticino the weather is mild enough, even in December, to trek up as high as 1,700 meters without running into snow. There are steep tracks with little or no snow at all.
When Markus gets home he's astonished to find the house full of books about Kilimanjaro, that I've already booked an appointment with a doctor for my inoculations and that I'm on a daily fitness course, carrying the dumbbell he uses for weights training in my rucksack. He can see I'm serious about it all.
One day before Christmas when I'm out on my trek, I come across a little mountain restaurant at about the 1,500 meter level. As it's on a pass, there's a magnificent view all around as far as the Alps of the Valais canton. I'm the only customer so I get into a conversation with the landlord who tells me the business has only been going since the previous summer. He tells me he's offering a five-course dinner on New Year's Eve with bed and breakfast for a limited group of twenty people. I reckon that would be a perfect start to the new year and don't think it would be hard to convince my nearest and dearest. On the way back down again I marvel at the gentle pink sunset spreading across the mountain ranges all around. It's as pretty as a fairy story and I'm cross with myself for not having brought my camera.
Two weeks later we spend New Year's Eve as I'd hoped up in the cosy little mountain restaurant with a few good friends including Madeleine and her partner. We're deep in the snow in bright sunshine but bitter cold. Napirai, however, preferred to spend New Year's Eve with her friends in her ‘old’ home. Up in the mountain restaurant though it's just like being at home with the landlord serving up one delicious dish after another. At midnight we fill our glasses with sparkling wine and toast one another before heading out on to the mountainside to look down at the valley spread beneath us and the stars above. It's a magic moment.
We wake up next morning after only a few hours sleep to find perfect mountain weather. A few of us decide to go on a mountain hike to the next restaurant, and it's late in the evening of New Year's Day 2003 before we get back to our house in the valley surrounded by palm trees. After a New Year's Eve like that, the year to follow can only be successful.
In the next few days I choose the tour company I want to use for Kilimanjaro and pick the route I want to take. I want the prettiest rather than the easiest route and go for the Machame ascent. On this route there are two acclimatisation stops built in and that seems important. There's also a two-day safari tacked on to the tour.
Every day that passes makes me more excited; I can't wait to see how I cope with this new adventure. Times just flies by. Especially as I'm out every day walking. I really enjoy it but at the same time I'm getting impatient and can't wait to be off. A week before my departure date I've already bought all the equipment. It has to be well thought out as we'll be passing through every type of climate from the savannah to arctic glacier conditions. A lot of my friends say they admire my courage which I find embarrassing as I have no idea how I'm going to cope.
Four days before we're due to leave I get the final documents and a list of names of the other travelers. There are only six of us in the group, which strikes me as good. Looking through the list of names I try to imagine them and decide that three of them must be older, experienced mountaineers. There is also a young couple. I'm pleased there's at least one woman as otherwise I might have scared off all the men.
The day before my departure I'm all packed, but incredibly I haven't got an attack of nerves. Despite my eagerness to be off, however, I feel bad saying goodbye to Markus and Napirai, even though I know she'll be well looked after. Eventually I'm sitting in the train to Zurich where three hours later my friend Madeleine meets me. I'm spending the night at her place as my plane leaves at seven in the morning.
I only gradually begin to realise I'm on my way when the plane takes off for Amsterdam where I'm going to join up with my fellow adventurers. And one and a half hours later I'm queuing up at the check-in for the next leg of the journey to Kilimanjaro. It's amazing how many people are trying to get on to the flight. Most of them, however, are setting off on a safari. I look around to see if I can pick out my traveling companions, and within half an hour I reckon I've identified them all. But I make no effort to approach them as they don't seem interested in talking.
The picture I'd imagined of them all turns out, nine hours later when we land, to be pretty accurate. Our group consists of a pensioner who tells us he's been to the top twice already, another pensioner I'll call Franz and his thirty-four-year-old son Hans, as well as a young couple in their mid-twenties. My training in the sales business and my facility for getting to know people makes me think we couldn't be any more different. Oh well, one way or the other we'll have to get better acquainted as we climb the mountain together.