have nowhere to go, no real home and my wandering heart started to ache. ***

Transcription

1 The Summit I held my pen and closed my eyes. But there was nothing I could do. A tear slowly descended onto the paper of the brand new journal I bought because it had a quote about travelling on the cover. I had intended to write about my journeys, but instead I felt as if I was going nowhere. A few weeks before I thought I was okay, I was reading a story I wrote about living in Kenya and laughing like it was nothing. But it wasn t nothing. I realized that I have nowhere to go, no real home and my wandering heart started to ache. When I was fifteen I was in my sophomore year at a boarding school in Kenya. My mom decided that she and my father, along with my brother Jack and I, were going to do the impossible and climb a mountain. Mount Kenya. I played field hockey in high school, but when we weren t in season or training I mostly sat around everyday being my un- athletic self. My favorite activities included buying snacks from the student center and scoping the boy s rugby practice, not preparing to climb a mountain. I had never climbed anything. Instead of starting with something small, I would climb a 17,000- foot mountain, the second highest in Africa, topped only by Mount Kilimanjaro. I probably should have prepared myself before climbing a mountain. I was naïve and thought that it would come naturally. There were books and guides I could have read. But I did none of that. Instead I googled things. I found out that the summit of Mt. Kenya was the height of Everest s base camp. I felt nervous thinking about all the possibilities or what could go wrong on the top of a mountain. I packed all my mountain climbing belongings into a backpack and a duffel. It wasn t much because I didn t know what to expect. Before we left I scrounged up all the granola

2 bars and chips in the house. It had been three years since I saw snow and I had to borrow a green insulated coat from my friend Kimberly. My friend Tyler lent me a Camelbak, a special water- carrying backpack. But even though I technically had all the belongings I would need for an intense climb, I still had no idea what to expect. Instead I boarded a bus for the six- hour drive on a Friday morning. It was a little after eleven and I already felt nauseous thinking about the trip ahead. A few hours later we were at the base of the mountain. We had to stop briefly to get supplies for our trip: food, water, and a first aid kit. I thought that the first day would probably be easy, especially since it was almost dark. What are we doing? I asked my mom. Everyone was milling around outside the busses waiting to be told what to do next. I think we have to hike to our base camp tonight, she said. My mom didn t look upset but she didn t look thrilled either. We had signed up for this, after all. What? I said. I knew the base camp was a good several miles from where our bus was parked. It was mostly straightforward terrain but the sky was black and daunting. I pursed my lips and avoided making eye contact with the guides. The other hiker s conversation only made me feel nervous, so I feigned interest and played with the straps on my backpack. I pulled it on and started the trail with a little less exuberance than my overjoyed fourteen- year- old brother. The base camp was not too far and the pebbly way was lit by a beautiful full moon. Streams surrounded us and gushed a relaxing sound as the cool night air whipped my hair around. It would be days before my hair would see a shower again.

3 Around ten we finally reached our cabin. It was very dark, very Kenyan, and very wooden. There was one dirty bathroom with a hole in the floor. The only lights illuminating our bedroom were kerosene lanterns one for each room. The dining room had a long Alice in Wonderland- esque table for everyone to eat from. We were fed meals full of carbs so that we would feel more energetic in the morning. It wasn t bad, until I realized that I would be bunking in the same room as an old English teacher. The rooms at the base camp were small and cramped with bunk beds lining the walls. Just ten feet away from me I could uncomfortably hear Mr. Haynes snoring. The next day we woke up early and were fed more carbs. The porters who lugged our stuff up the mountain for us were already chipper and singing when we woke up. Our terrain that day would be interesting: hills and valleys. Earlier in this semester, I stared blankly at the teacher of my UNCW memoir class. She was looking at me with her grey hair tied back and her glasses on the edge of her nose. Your story was so interesting, Cassidy, she told me. I wish you would write more about Africa. I want to. I really want my next story to be about when I moved away from Kenya to go to college, I said. Is your family still there? she asked me after a few more questions. When I answered that yes, in fact they were there but that they were moving back to the States next summer she turned away from me slightly. Oh, so that means that you won t have any ties to Africa anymore.

4 I meekly nodded because I was stunned. I wanted to scream at her that actually I would always have ties to Kenya. That it would always be the place that I grew up. My memory would forever be stamped by the teenage years I spent there. I will never be able to go to as many states as countries I ve been to. My life wasn t normal, but it was mine. If my family decided to move to their home country did that cut my ties with the beloved place I grew up? But instead of answering my own questions I walked out of her classroom and drove home. I was standing next to my mom, sweaty, with hands on my hips. She passed me the water bottle and rolled her eyes. We both were thinking the same thing. Why can t we take longer breaks? I mumbled. I grumpily furrowed my eyebrows. We had been climbing the mountain for hours and my mom and I were steadily keeping up the rear of the pack. The people closer to the front would stop and take a break for several minutes, and by the time we caught up they were perky and ready to start up the mountain again. That left us without any break time. You can do it, my mom breathed out a sigh of encouragement. Besides, I think we stop at the next camp around two o clock. I have no idea how much longer that will be, though. She turned around looking for one of the Kenyan guides. Jambo, Miss, a man said to her. He walked up and introduced himself with a typical Kenyan accent. Each word sounds like the end of a question, when your voice gets a bit higher. Do you know how much farther the camp is? my mom asked. Oh, it s just a few more miles, he said cheerily. Just over that little hill!

5 A couple more miles my ass. My mom and I snapped our water bottles closed and put our backpacks on. We had been hearing the same thing all morning. I wish they d cut the bullshit and just tell it like it is, I said. Really, my mom said as she nodded. Our baseball hats bobbed up and down as we tried to regain our footing under the heavy backpacks. The only thing neither of us could deny was the beauty of the mountain. The grassy shrubs and perfect boulders met us at every corner. There were mountain goats grazing nearby that were so absorbed in their lunches, they barely noticed us. When we finally did stop it was because we were going to make camp for the night. It took me a long time before I finally fell asleep and even then I woke up almost every hour. I was worried by the thought of actually summiting the next day. I didn t want to be one of those climbers who came all the way for nothing. There were deep crevices all up the trail that I could slip into, and I knew it would be icy. It was already so cold my contacts kept falling out and would barely stick to my eyes. I had put on a brave and obnoxious face in front of my mother, but I was really nervous that I would get all that way and not succeed. I always thought that climbing a mountain meant you were constantly going uphill. It wasn t until I decided to climb one that I realized that sometimes you have to go through some flat parts, or even some parts that felt like you were going downhill, to get to the top. When I first left Kenya to go to college I was too excited to feel fear. I was seventeen and got accepted to my dream school, High Point University. It was my dream school for

6 two reasons: purple is my favorite color as well as the school s color and they have an ice cream truck. In the five years that I lived abroad in Kenya I only spent about two months in the US total. I was awkward and couldn t do normal tasks like my peers. I felt frustrated that I didn t know how to pump gas, use an ATM, or even drive a car. I tried to reach out to anyone I saw wearing a shirt with a picture of Africa on it, nearly barking have you ever been there!? at them as they walked past me. I wanted to fit in but the only thing I had in common were the clothes I wore. Most every night I huddled over my laptop and skyped my boyfriend, Greg, because it was the only thing that made me feel better. My heart was in too many places and I didn t know how to settle it. Just breathe, my mom was saying to me. I was on my way up to the peak of Mt. Kenya and my lungs felt as if they were quickly collapsing. I could barely walk two feet without having to stop and take a breath. I sighed and put my hands on my knees. Come on, Cassidy, I know you have it in you. I didn t climb all this way to watch you just walk back down. I can t even think, I said. My head was foggy and filled with the thin mountaintop air. I had a glowing light attached to a band around my forehead, which provided me with very little insight as to what was ahead. It was starting to get lighter and I wanted desperately to feel the pride I knew would be waiting at the summit. We re less than one hundred feet away now, my mom called behind her. I could see the outline of a lake several hundred feet below me on my right. In the distance I could

7 just barely make out the peak of the mountain. I wanted more than anything to make it to the top. Fifty now! she shouted back. I can do this, I said as I paced each step. The light from my headband illuminated my walkway. The crisp air chilled my nose, the only thing exposed to the cold besides my eyes. I squinted ahead to see how much farther the summit was. Twenty- five feet! my mom called, this time I heard one of the guides voices with hers. I tried to focus my attention forward as I heard agitated banter behind me. The swarthy European who was on our trip had an asthma spell and one of the guides was telling him to take it easy. He huffed and argued that he would still be able to make it, but his doubled- over frame revealed his false confidence in himself. As he started his descent I focused on the finish line. I wasn t going to let my failure define me. You re right here! You can do it! my mom yelled. I thrust myself up one last step and let the dizzying air brush my cheeks. You did it! I heard a single congratulation as I took my final step. No, we both did! I said through chapped lips. I slowly let my boot down on the slippery ice. The sun was just rising and reflecting off nearby peaks as the lakes below us sat calm and transfixed. Everything looked fresh and still, puffs of untouched snow protected the peaks. Each climber could only take a few hazy steps before resting and watching the sunrise, which made little bits of snow sparkle and dance. I could see green trees dotting the dry plains miles below us. I posed for a picture with the final summit marker and smiled at my mom.

8 I knew you had it in you, baby girl, she said. We hugged each other for a long time as if in silent agreement over our accomplishment. I may not ever fit in. I probably won t ever climb another mountain. But I will learn to live, and to let go.