Day 18 - Kilimanjaro

Part of our group decided to get up ridiculously early again and go on a 9 hour hike, but I joined the group that had breakfast at a more decent hour and then got a guided tour around the village. Here again, local farmers from the fair trade coffee cooperation take turn welcoming tourists and showing them around. The big warehouse where the farmers from the cooperation bring their coffee was rather empty as a most coffee had been transported to Moshi to get roasted. We were however welcomed at the farm of our farmer to see how the people here make coffee for their own private use. We got to pick our own coffee berries and use a medieval looking machine to get the beans from the berries. They had recently bought a more modern, electrical powered machine in the village that people could use, but I got the impression that this piece of ‘traditional machinery’ was still in daily use and not just for the tourists. After this, the beans had to be dried for a few days, but we did not have to wait for this of course, we got some beans that had been dried already and we got to roast them over the fire of the out-door kitchen of the farm. After the sound of the beans changed from sound 1 (hissing) to sound 2 (popping), they were done and ready for some manual grinding. When this whole process was over we got to make some coffee from the end-product, but I felt a bit sorry for this guy when more than half the people in our group told him that they don’t drink coffee.

We also learned the life-cycle of the coffee bushes. About three years after planting, they start producing decent amounts of coffee and the bushes are then maintained for about 60 years before they are replaced by new ones. Somebody in our group asked, whether they would produce the same amount and the same quality coffee during those 60 years. Apparently, replacing these bushes about 15 years earlier than tradition dictates would yield much better harvests, so the obvious question was why they did not do that. The farmer replied that this was a question that all tourists asked and he had a secretive smile that suggested that there was a clear and important reason that we all failed to see. We were all very curious what this could be, but it felt a bit like an anti-climax when we heard that this was because of tradition and because they wanted to show their respect to their forefathers by sticking to the traditions that they had set. I have to admit that to me personally this does not seem like a good reason, but I was a bit disappointed by the condescension that this invoked in some of my group members. To me, this is another clear example of efficiency being the number one priority in Dutch culture and our difficulty (or for some people incapability) comprehending that other people might have a different set of priorities. Again, by no means would I have made the same decision these farmers are making, but I think it would be good for some of us to realize that another set of priorities does not necessarily make you stupid or dumb. In another example, it seems to be very smart to us to save money and prepare for the distant future and to a large extent I agree, but here context is important as well. Given the current economic crisis, my generation is already at bigger risk of losing our pension money than our parents, but in recent history we have seen that the concept of saving and preparing can be quite beneficial. To me it’s however not that hard to imagine a different approach to these things if you grow up in an area where conflict and natural disasters regularly takes all you’ve got. And if generations have gotten by, by taking each day as it comes without worrying too much about the day after, I can see how that does not promote our way of thinking. Here, saving money for later may be just as stupid as we think it is not to.

On our way back to our campsite we passed a local market. Any organization here was not immediately obvious to our Western eyes, but people came there to buy and sell stuff and for that purpose it worked perfectly .When I asked a lady her name and then tried to get my question across in sign/body language, she offered me some passion fruit. I did not recognize it at first as its color was quite different from what it looks like in our supermarket, but it still tasted the same. I also tried some fried snack that looked and tasted a bit like a ‘kipcorn’ but was vegetarian, I figured it was safe enough as it had been fried, although others thought that the local newspaper it was wrapped in might not have been. But it met my requirements of being tasty and not making me ill.

After our tour we enjoyed some more local cuisine that, like the meals of our cook, did not taste at all like their names, but since I really like chicken soup and pea soup, I really enjoyed the potato soup and banana soup that we got served.

The afternoon was reserved for a 3 hour hike and although our climb only totaled a few hundred meters, I can now say that I climbed Kili. Our guide was (or looked like) quite an old man. He would speak in a low voice and volume and would not waist a single word in getting his information across. He walked us passed a school and thought us that the ‘jambo’ that we had been using to greet Kenyans and Tanzanians all the time, was only appropriate for younger people and that we should use ‘chikamo’ to show our respect to the elderly. He also showed us how the yuka plant is used to indicate a property boundary, but how it can also be used to indicate that you have banana beer for sale if you ty a knot in it a certain way and place it on the road, or how it can indicate danger ahead when placed on the road tied in another knot. Then he lowered his voice further and described that sometimes when you are drunk and use some unnecessary words (I guess when he was drunk he would use more words than normal) that you regret later that night, you can use the yuka plant in combination with a wise person to go to the other persons house early in the morning and apologize. I was glad I was not a wise person there, because that might mean a lot of early mornings.

At some point we were walking across some fields on a path that was about one foot wide (and then I mean one width of a foot, not the official measure). Two ladies were working the fields and all of a sudden one of them completely freaked out, started yelling at us and at some point even started to throw rocks. Obviously we had no idea what she was saying, or what we had done wrong, our guide was however not impressed and calmly explained that this lady was crazy and that we had every right to pass on this path. “Just crazy” he repeated and that was all that needed to be said about this according to him.

The land here was again very lush and green, with plenty of water running through it. When we approached a line of very tall trees our guide again seemed to lower his voice further and explained to us that those trees indicate the border of the Kilimanjaro NP. The stones that were used previously to indicate the borders would be moved by the locals and that’s why they resorted to trees. No people were allowed in the park he said and those that wanted to climb to the summit could only do so over dedicated trails. Getting caught while crossing the border only 2 meters would result in a $60.000 fine and when we asked whether they patrol regularly, he held his finger in front of his lips to warn us to be quiet and pointed to some bushes behind which the headquarters of the guards were located.

That evening the ladies from the village had prepared another nice meal at the campsite. Afterwards we had a last look up to the stars, as this was the last night camping and the last night for an unobstructed gaze at the stars and the milky way. I would get amazed every time I saw how incredible the skies look without light pollution.