CHAPTER 12: TREK TO THE ROOF OF AFRICA – KILIMANJARO, 2013
TREK TO THE ROOF OF AFRICA – KILIMANJARO, 2013
“The best view comes after the hardest climb.”
– Unknown
20th June 2013
Twenty-five challengers set out from Dubai on a mission: to climb to the highest point in Africa, the 5,985m summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. The journey was not just about reaching the peak, but about raising funds for a charity project in Tanzania, supporting the children of Amani Kids.
I was the expedition leader. My responsibility was not only to guide the team, but to hold together their health, safety, and spirit through every step of the climb. That week tested me more mentally and emotionally than physically. Every day I found myself tending to injuries, aches, and the gnawing doubts of challengers who weren’t sure if they could make it. Leadership meant carrying more than my own weight—it meant carrying the fear, fatigue, and hopes of the entire team.
The Summit Push
On the night of June 26th, after arriving at camp around 7pm, we ate quickly and tried to rest. By midnight, the alarm broke the silence, and we set off into the darkness. A river of headlamps stretched endlessly ahead of us. Each step was slow and heavy, the gravel sliding beneath our boots, draining our strength. Oxygen grew thinner with every meter, and each breath felt like work.
One by one, exhaustion forced people to turn back. By the time we reached the first summit, only 11 of us remained. The rest descended with porters, beaten by the cold and fatigue.
The 11 pressed on toward the second summit. By then, I was drained—physically, mentally, emotionally. My vision narrowed to just two meters ahead, glaciers looming around me like silent giants. My tank was empty.
I told the group I couldn’t go on.
They nodded and said, “We’ll make it.”
I turned to leave, but after thirty seconds of walking back toward the first summit, I stopped. A voice inside said: Carry on.
I turned around, pushed myself harder, and after ten minutes caught up with the group. They looked at me in surprise.
“I’m here to the end,” I said.
Something shifted in me—I found another gear, deeper than I thought existed. Together, we climbed on until we stood at the roof of Africa. At 8:30am on June 27th, we reached the highest point on Kilimanjaro. The air was freezing, the temperature a brutal -21°C. We stayed just long enough to take our photos, before the cold forced us to descend.
The Descent
But reaching the summit was not the hardest part. The descent was far tougher. Gravity pulled at us with every step, loose gravel shifting underfoot, each slip threatening injury. Six hours of relentless downhill stretched like an eternity. The Kibo huts were in sight for what felt like hours, never seeming to get closer.
Midway down, Zakki collapsed into delirium. The altitude and lack of oxygen hit him hard—he thought we were walking to a coffee shop. He asked for drinks that weren’t there, convinced we were sitting inside a café while we rested on the mountainside. Panic rippled through us, but there was no time to debate. He needed help, and fast. Step by step, I supported him down the trail, guiding his feet, keeping him moving despite his confusion. When we finally reached Kibo, he was evacuated immediately on a stretcher and taken back to the Marangu Hotel for recovery.
Reflection
Climbing Kilimanjaro taught me that the summit is not the only test. The mountain challenges you on the way up, but it breaks you on the way down. Leadership meant being strong not only for myself but for 25 others, carrying their doubts and fears while battling my own. It remains one of the hardest moments of my life—and one of the most unforgettable.
