Kids with a mountain to climb

Feb 20 2011 by Philippa Tomson

I JUMPED in the shower and burst into tears. The water was pouring down and I felt guilty. As guilty as sin.

That’s what the last two weeks have done to me.

I made it to the summit of Kilimanjaro at 6.50am on Friday, February 11 and I’ve shed a tear ever since.

The charity trek up Africa’s highest mountain (5,895m) was the most physically, emotionally and mentally challenging experience of my life. And no amount of training prepares you for the dark moments when your head battles with your body.

I will never do it again, but we all need challenges in life and this was my greatest yet. But what really sealed the tears was meeting the youngsters we helped ...

Orphaned children who had lost at least one parent to HIV. Children in a remote, desolate village who walked for hours every day to find water.

Children who put on their one best outfit because they were receiving some strange western visitors. Children who beamed from ear to ear because they were allowed a very special expensive treat to drink – a bottle of pop.

But despite their trials and tribulations, these beautifully-behaved youngsters raised a smile. And, believe me, it was a bigger smile than many of us manage in this very privileged Western world. We might be battling cuts but at least we’ve got running water. At least we’ve got access to healthcare and education.

I was among a group of 18 people from all walks of life who put themselves forward for the adventure of a lifetime, in aid of former athlete Steve Cram’s charity COCO.

In any other environment, personalities would have clashed, arguments would have ensued. Not everyone was my cup of tea and vice versa.

But, as we spent six days trekking up Africa’s highest mountain, assisted by some wonderful guides and hard-working porters, we bonded more than I could possibly say. The camaraderie which developed taught us a lot about friendship and the power of the human spirit.

When altitude sickness set in, when general fatigue took hold, someone was there to give you a friendly hug and to tell you to keep going.

I struggled, rather than danced my way to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. At times during the final seven-hour ascent in the dead of night I thought I would never get there. My legs were dead. Every time I stopped I wanted to fall asleep. Altitude sickness set in and the sub-zero temperatures were playing havoc with my nose and throat.

But this close-knit team dug me out of the hole. They kept pushing me up that mountain and my mental strength eventually overcame my withering body. I arrived home this past week feeling rather confused. Elated that I’d achieved something so challenging, and sad that I had witnessed such hardship.

I was also angry at our arrogance. In this country we think we’re entitled to everything – house, job, car, holiday, presents for birthday and Christmas and a wardrobe full of clothes. It’s complete rubbish. At least we’ve got access to healthcare and education which is more than we can say for millions of others.

We’ve returned with a more positive, grateful outlook. I take shorter showers to avoid wasting water and I’ve lost patience with people who moan like it’s going out of fashion.

How long will this new attitude last? Hopefully, a lifetime. Otherwise, I’ll be back climbing that mountain again – and that’s enough to give me nightmares.

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