It's been almost three months since our plane landed at OR International airport and our families and friends gave us the welcome home of a lifetime. I was convinced that I would immediately storm my computer, that our Kilimanjaro story would literally pour out of me and that I would be unable to contain the experience. I anticipated that the 23+ blogs I'd outlined on the flights home, would very quickly find their way to print. Turns out, I've been oddly reticent about committing this to paper, or should I say - screen. That's not to say I haven't shared. I say yes every time someone asks me if I'll give a talk and the "Kili roadshow" has been a never ending parade of school classrooms, shul halls and women's gatherings. Rob and I are still trying to figure out what the procrastination symbolises. When we get a handle on it, we'll let you know. She's encouraged, bribed and finally resorted to some Tough Love (yes you can read threats and coercion instead). But finally, she asked if I would write an article for Soul Workout. The 350 word requirement quickly doubled as some initial thoughts spread across the page. It's not my 23 blogs, but it's an introduction and as I've learned, the first step is always the hardest.
My Kilimanjaro trip was nothing I expected it to be for the simple reason that I had no yardstick against which to measure the experience. In fundamental ways, the Kili campaign altered my participation in a life where I had been monumentally and chronically busy often without being completely engaged. I was a frequently preoccupied wife, harassed mother, earnest but essentially distant professional caught up in the details and seeing none of the dimensions of my existence that imbued the mundane with depth or true purpose. I was a pedal spinning around and around without taking cognisance of the spokes that held all the central parts together.
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| Umbwe Cave campsite, Morning Day 2 |
It took catching sight of our first campsite at Umbwe cave, tents pitched at precarious angles as if some careless giant had strewn a handful of dice haphazardly among the roots of the rainforest's trees, to appreciate the lessons of letting go and surrendering to a Higher Power. It took enduring the cold, the lack of basic ablution facilities, the sleeplessness and discomfort of resting weary bodies on inhospitable volcanic rock to fully realise that inhabiting the uncomfortable and confronting the things we find disquieting can in fact birth resilience. It took the stillness of the snow-capped peak swept into sudden relief by the lifting of the clouds during Lecha Dodi on Friday night to instill true peacefulness and a silencing of the constant chatter that is the commentary of my every day’s waking (and sometimes sleeping) moments.
It took my friend and fellow climber E, slipping her arm around my shoulders and supporting me the final torturous steps from Stella Point to Uhuru Peak to understand that although ultimately we are responsible for our own actions, our journeys do not have to be travelled alone. Our challenges can be faced better when we are brave enough to admit to vulnerability. Unbeknown to any of us at the time, E herself was on a long and painful journey toward rehabilitation after severely hurting her back in an accident that rendered her unable to walk.
It took a ten hour descent, slipping and stumbling down the mountain just moments after standing on the very Roof of Africa to understand that often what tests our mettle is fighting a downward journey over and over despite the triumphs we may achieve at other points in our lives. It took climbing Umbwe, arguably the most challenging Kilimanjaro route, to appreciate that all our climbs, our personal trials and most heart-rending challenges will seem the most consuming, the most difficult, until we realise that all our journeys reach up and that salvation only comes from constant motion, moving forward until you no longer have to – until in fact the sun rises. It took a group of disparate women, most of us strangers to one another, from varying backgrounds, wide age ranges and different stages of life to understand how unity shines when a common purpose is articulated. I watched humbled and grateful as a sisterhood wove its magic over the women of the Kilimanjaro climb leaving us forever entwined in a web of mutual love, respect and support.
It took a ten hour descent, slipping and stumbling down the mountain just moments after standing on the very Roof of Africa to understand that often what tests our mettle is fighting a downward journey over and over despite the triumphs we may achieve at other points in our lives. It took climbing Umbwe, arguably the most challenging Kilimanjaro route, to appreciate that all our climbs, our personal trials and most heart-rending challenges will seem the most consuming, the most difficult, until we realise that all our journeys reach up and that salvation only comes from constant motion, moving forward until you no longer have to – until in fact the sun rises. It took a group of disparate women, most of us strangers to one another, from varying backgrounds, wide age ranges and different stages of life to understand how unity shines when a common purpose is articulated. I watched humbled and grateful as a sisterhood wove its magic over the women of the Kilimanjaro climb leaving us forever entwined in a web of mutual love, respect and support.
On summit night, I shuffled forward holding my place in the line. The night sky - icy-cold and indifferent - was dark and endless. It took looking up into the unfathomable depths, ablaze with a cascade of shooting stars to understand that as long as our feet are planted firmly on solid ground, as long as we are prepared to trudge forward one slow, patient footstep at a time, our dreams will always burn bright and true, leading us to the most joyous achievements, the most profound journeys.
By Tali Frankel
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| Team Kili on the summit at Uhuru Peak |
