A Matatu to Kilimanjaro and Frustration

Monday, September 5, 2005
Yesterday, on the drive to Marangu, we had all seen the crown of Kilimanjaro poking through the clouds.

Today we are all going on a day hike on the famed mountain's lower slopes.

It was not included in the price of our trip with Exodus, but everybody in our group decided to do it (even Lizzie who's recently had knee surgery). Anne-Dorte and Wayne have arranged for the local guides and drivers we need for this expedition.

After breakfast, we wait out in the lane for our transportation to arrive. Anne-Dorte is shaking her head, annoyed. As usual, she says, the locals are late.

Well, to be more accurate, one vehicle was there on time, the second arrived half an hour late, and the third one didn't show up at all. Then our vehicle that arrived late inexplicably decided to leave without us.

One of our new Kilimanjaro guides flagged down a local matatu, and a minute later about twenty local people were climbing out of it and walking away down the street with all their packages.

Did we just kick all those poor people off their bus? I was a little appalled.

"Higher fare wins", somebody near me muttered, obviously thinking along the same lines.

There were three African guides with us plus the two drivers and twenty of us in our group. Anne-Dorte and Wayne were staying behind so that meant we needed to squeeze twenty-five people into the two vehicles.

Eight of us piled into the Land-Rover (Jen and I shared a single seat), while the other seventeen squished into the mini-van. It was an amazing feat, but we certainly weren't even the most packed vehicle around.

As we squealed recklessly along the road to the mountain, we passed matatus with people leaning precariously out the windows, and on the outside of that same van three people were riding along by clinging onto the tailgate and the outside door somehow.

"What have they got? Spidey-fingers?", somebody in my Land-Rover marvelled.

We also saw a couple of young men riding half-in and half-out of a car's trunk, looking for all the world like kidnap victims making their escape.

It was a wild no-seat-belts ride up to the base of the mountain, honking and swerving to avoid other vehicles on the road, but we made it.

Once in Kilimanjaro's parking lot, we made a group decision to hold off paying the drivers so that they would indeed return to pick us up later in the day. We were getting shady character vibes off these guys unfortunately.

We pooled all our money ($30 US each to pay for the entrance fee plus our share of transportation and guide fees on top of that) and we gave it all to today's treasurer, Andy.

And then the "fun" began. The African guides decided to change their fees and wanted more money up front for each of them.

And they said we had to hire an extra guide,their friend here, and pay him too. Or they wouldn't let us climb.

Now, they told us, the entrance fee is wrong too. We want more money.

And, oh, about a fee for..oh never mind what for...but it will cost you this much.

We could tell we were getting shafted, but if we wanted to climb today we had no choice but to pay up or waste all morning arguing with these guys. We would let Anne-Dorte and Wayne know what happened later.

We were feeling pretty cranky with our guides after an hour of sorting out our New Fees, but, as Andy philosophically noted, we can call it a true African experience.

We signed our names in the official registration books at the bottom of the mountain, and began our hike to Base Camp.