how kili came to be.

mawenzi ridge at dawn

Last December, as I was saying goodbye to DC, I spent an evening hanging out with my friend Dan. He played Jose Gonzalez on his Martin and we talked about respective futures - mine filled with Africa, his filled with international arbitration. We were equally excited about our diverging paths, and as I ducked out into a mist-filled dusk, I said good night with "Kili 2010!"

Nine months later, thanks to the economic downturn and my tendency to say "sure, why not?," Dan was scheduling a nice long holiday and suggested we take the Kili trip early. "Sure, why not?" I didn't have anything else solid on the calendar in September.

As the summer passed, August 28 came at me like a slow motion, un-dodge-able bullet. With my name on it. I rushed to get everything in line with One Mango Tree so that I could piss off on yet another holiday (one which I was quite sure I did not really deserve). To climb a mountain, at that. I went to yoga a few days before climbing - that constituted my training.

With the summit now in the rear view mirror and attention turning to riots in Kampala and the annoying pain in my left toe nail that reminds me it's going to fall off, it's somehow hard to believe I was ever on those beautiful slopes. So I figured I'd write about it, before the details become even more fleeting.