Arusha, 19 Mar 2007: Don't climb a volcano in the rain!
by Lianna
We
finally had a few days to spend in one place - Snake Park Campsite in Arusha.
A place to chill out, to do a little maintenance work on BiRT after the severe
roads of recent weeks. We had time to watch the snakes at the park being fed
each day on a diet of small white mice and day-old chicks, time to drink a
few cups of coffee in town, and a beer or 27 in the legendary overland bar
at Snake Park, leading to an inclination to sample a few Ma's Revenges (stroh
rum watered down with a little tequila) and Hot-Rock Hurlers (a noxious combination
of ethanol and tabasco)...
So it was with relaxed hearts and minds, but sore heads and stomachs that
we booked an overnight trip to Ol Doino Lengai, an active volcano a few hours
drive into the beautiful Masaai heartlands.
Setting off early, we took the scenic route past one small tribal village
after another, each a collection of five to ten round wattle-and-daub houses
with thatched roofs, surrounded by a perfectly round fence of thorny acacia
branches. These 'bomas' were impeccably clean. Maintained with pride, they
were all to be found with women sweeping a few sprigs of grass from the hard-packed
dirt floors with a collection of twigs somehow fashioned into a broom, and
a few toddlers running around playing, occasionally chasing us with a happy
curiosity.
As the younger children laugh, the older kids wear expressions of quiet melancholy,
which don't quite mask the tiniest hint of a brewing bitterness - understandable
as they suffered the extreme heat, tending herds of goats as we raced by in
the comfort of our 4x4s and covered them in layers of fine dust, visions of
incomparable and unobtainable wealth. The older teenagers stood around in
groups looking like teenagers the world over. The innocence all but gone,
that hint of bitterness maturing.
The men, tall, gracefully muscled, hardened by a physical life herding cattle
under a harsh sun. Leathered faces with such elegant structure, the grace
and nobility of their high cheekbones and strong jaws, the hardship of their
lives communicated by the deep furrows in their brows. There could have been
no purer depiction of the nature of this warrior tribe of East Africa.
But while every aspect of their outward appearance is evidence of combative
lives, the networks of laughter lines at the corner of each eye tell a different
story. They draw you in, those laughing, smiling eyes. Sat there in a comfortable
4x4, with my Canon SLR hung round my neck and my Oakleys on my head, I did
feel a small sense of loss. For all that we have in the west, we have lost
the soulful nature of these tribal people, their singing and dancing, laughing
and interacting, their openness, their superior ability to communicate without
words. They're not so simple, these 'simple' lives....
...but enough of the philosophical musings.
We were racing past these villages, past men, women and children clad in
red, purple and orange blankets, colourful beads adorning necks, wrists, ears
and ankles, herding goats and cattle through the african savannah. We were
aiming for Lake Natron, a smelly soda lake, full of hot water and the slipperiest
mud, so when we arrived we all obviously took our shoes off 
and
slipped around in it, getting the squidgy black stink between our toes and
trying not to fall over. We took a bunch of pictures of the flamingoes, dozens
upon dozens of one-legged pink birds, looking so strangely out of place in
this dusty brown environment. We tried to avoid buying jewelry from maasai
women who'd chased us to the lake in the hope of a sale, then tried to find
our campsite for the night and prepare for our assault on Ol Doino Lengai,
an active volcano that erupts once each 7 years, most recently in late 2006,
se we figured we'd be safe...
The company we had chosen for this excursion seemed pretty reasonable, except
that none of the men driving the 4x4s seemed to know where we were going or
how to get there. Our scenic drive was therefore extended, and enhanced by
the stunning evening light that Africa is so famous for. Africa views are
the sky and the light, and nowhere more so than here.
Eventually we found a campsite and began to prepare. Our plan was to eat early,
get some sleep, then get up about 11pm, drive to the volcano (still some distance
away) then start up it with our guides and arrive at the top in time to witness
the dawn of a new day from a moonscape crater full of other-worldy ash and
rock formations. After an hour lying in the tent trying to sleep, then an
hour listening to the occassional drop of rain falling on the pertex, we got
up and drove to the volcano just in time for the clouds to gather, and we
began walking as the heavens opened.
The walk up the volcano is not technical. At times it's steep but it's never
extremely hard work. It is, however, up a track made of volcanic ash. A very
fine dust, when mixed with water, becomes a treacherous surface affording
no adhesion to shoes at all, providing not an ounce of friction between our
feet and it. We are supposed to be a group of elite(!), highly skilled(!)
and fit(!) people accustomed to wandering around in hills and mountains, and
making our way up steep rocky buttresses. We were actually a slithering mess,
one cohesive sliding tangle of legs, with soaking clothes, chilled bones and
rapidly failing headtorches that kept circuiting in the wet. It was a comical
farce. We were about 2/3 of the way up when the torrent really began, at which
point our guides made us turn around and walk back down (no mean feat on that
45 degree ice-rink!) as the top ash-fields are at great risk of landslide
in the rain. We needed little persuasion, and raced down (some voluntarily,
others less so) back to dry clothes, warm drinks, tents and a little more
sleep.
This trip has taught me many things so far - not least, not to climb an active
volcano in the rain!!!
