Corinne Hofmann: Back from Africa

After doing that, I bump into a woman creeping out of her tent and ask her how she found the experience of getting to the peak. She says she didn't make it and gave up on this ‘bloody mountain’ at 5,100 meters. She just couldn't see the point of torturing herself any further when she found her drinking water, which she had wrapped up well, had frozen solid. It's not exactly an encouraging story.

Hans is realizing once again that he hasn't come properly equipped. He doesn't have a thermos flask and realises now that even the hottest tea freezes in a few minutes. The pensioner who has already been to the top twice has decided to miss out on our night-time ascent this time and so at least Hans can use his insulating sleeve for his water bottle. The old man also lends him his altitude meter so we can know how far up we've come.

I gobble up the spaghetti we're served for lunch. I might have been totally exhausted when we arrived but after a few minutes in the sun I find I've recovered remarkably well. Over the meal we naturally chat about the ascent ahead of us. We're all a bit nervous, particularly as the tales we've heard from those coming back down haven't exactly been encouraging. We're due to set off at midnight, so that leaves hours to kill in this inhospitable place. A few of us decide to get some sleep during the afternoon. The pensioner decides to climb on a bit higher, while I go back to my gripping book.

The more I read, the calmer I become. Think about all the experiences I've already coped with, just like this woman in Nepal. Perhaps you become stronger in countries like this simply because that's the only way to have a ghost of a chance to achieve what you set out to do. As I read I become more and more certain that I will reach Peak Uhuru tonight, and that certainty calms my nerves.

The time drags however, and I find myself eagerly longing for dinner, which tonight will be served an hour earlier than normal, to allow us time to take a nap afterwards. It's quiet in the camp now as most people have headed on down the mountain. Apart from us there are two other small groups making tonight's ascent.

At long last it's time for the last lot of food to build our strength up. Hans says dryly: ‘It seems a bit like a last supper.’ In a few hours time we were to find out how close that joke was to becoming reality. We're served roast chicken legs and potato salad. Ravenously I scoff down everything that's brought out. Our guide gives us some final words of advice, telling us to put on all the warm clothing we have because it will be very cold up there. I can hardly imagine setting off on a trek wearing so many pullovers and jackets, quite apart from the layers of warm underwear, as I normally break out in a sweat easily. But I do as I'm told and am soon grateful.

Before setting off I sit in my tent and read some more. I've also been trying to work out how big a tip to give the porters afterwards. I'd also like to say a few words of thanks to them and want to make sure I think of something suitable. Just before nine p.m. I hear a wind getting up, but I'm feeling tired and gradually doze off.

At eleven-fifteen I'm woken up, pull on the rest of my clothing which I've been keeping warm inside my sleeping bag. I blow into my hiking boots for a few seconds to warm them up too. Then I pull on hat and gloves, fix my torch around my forehead and I'm all set. In my knapsack I've got my camera, two thermos flasks with hot drinks, some dried fruit and a couple of slices of wholemeal bread. For the moment at least I'm also carrying my waterproof trousers in there.

We all get together for a cup of tea to warm ourselves up before we set off into the unknown. The women are to go first, immediately behind the guide. Before long, Petra's forehead torch starts to fail, and so I take the place immediately behind the guide. We walk really slowly at first as all we can see is the ground immediately beneath our feet and the route is very steep right from the outset. Although the wind is blowing strongly I have to take off a pullover and jacket after the first half-hour. I'm thirsty and miss my container with the straw. I couldn't bring it tonight because the contents would simply freeze. We plod on but it's hard going. Hans is getting headaches. Before long I have to stop to put back on the layers I'd taken off, because the wind has got stronger still.

It's starting to get cold quickly. After an hour or two — you begin to lose track of time — we're all wondering why on earth we're doing this. The wind is so strong I can hardly hear anything from the others in the group behind me, except for the occasional ‘Shit!’ There's another little group ahead of us, but if I look up I start to feel sick. As far as I can see there is nothing in front of us but the black slope of the mountain. There's no sign of the summit, just a path getting ever steeper in ever tighter curves. The wind is picking up even more and my fingers are starting to freeze. All around us now there are scraps of paper and broken glass. There's a woman coming towards us on her way back down. Her mountain clothing doesn't look to me as if it's good enough and the teddy bear on her knapsack seems a little out of place to say the least.

We stop to get our breath ever more frequently now. Every time we halt I have to sit down. The higher we get, the harder it becomes to breathe. Petra's in a bad way. She's had an attack of diarrhea. Once again I ask myself what I'm doing here. Nobody's in a good mood. Petra's tempted to turn back but the assistant guide encourages her to keep going. We forge on, step by step. Hans inspects his altitude meter only to give us all the depressing news that we're not at 5,000 meters yet.

It's still getting colder and windier. I close my eyes to narrow slits to stop them from weeping. The trouble with this is that I'm so tired, my eyes would rather close completely. But I drag myself onwards. Our guide keeps checking to make sure we're on course. All I can think about is how ill and exhausted I feel. The guide tells us: ‘don't think about the mountain. You have to get the mountain out of your heads. Think about home, in Germany, or wherever.’ I do as he says and imagine my daughter. Then all of a sudden I hear a strange voice calling her name, or rather crying it in lament. Again and again I hear like some loud lamentation: ‘Napirai! Naaaapirai!’ Then I realise that it's me, making this noise. My voice sounds strange, alien and far too deep. I have to stop and sit down immediately and take a drink of tea. It feels as if I'm dying of thirst.

Petra and her man say they can't go on. She's absolutely freezing and crouches there on the ground in agony. The wind is howling so fiercely we can hardly open our eyes. The guide advises her to pull on her waterproof trousers. But she won't move and insists she's going back down. Her partner and the two assistant guides pull her waterproof trousers on for her, and then they and she turn around and head back down.

Hans by now has been sick behind a rock. He was about to give up too but thanks to the tea the guide gave him, he has pulled through and is ready to go on. We're still only at 5,200 meters. That means we're only halfway and still have another 695 vertical meters to ascend. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it, but there's no way I'm going to give up now. The guide, Hans and I plough on. Hans is swaying. We're having to push ourselves every single meter of the way. By now I'm leaning on my poles, using my arms to physically drag myself upwards. I have to stop every twenty meters or so because I'm so exhausted I simply can't manage more than that at a time. But after pausing for a couple of minutes, I can then continue. That also helps me get my head back together. But when we start upwards again my energy evaporates after just a couple of steps. I also keep hearing myself call out in this strange voice. I can't help myself. The weaker I get, the louder I moan. At one point I call ‘Mama’, then again for Napirai or my darling Markus. I start trying to count my steps or bang my shoes together after each step. Anything to distract myself from the exhaustion and misery of the moment.