Haha, I was in Djibouti!

When I found out I was moving to Ethiopia, I went to Barnes & Noble and bought a travel book on the region. It covered Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Djibouti. While I mostly stuck to the Ethiopia parts, I did flip through to see what the region had to offer. When looking through the Djibouti section, I learn there are tours to swim with whale sharks in the country. The more research I did, the more I realized, Djibouti is the only place in the world where you’re pretty much guaranteed to see them if you come from November to February.

I am not quite sure when it happened, but at some point, swimming with whale sharks became a lifelong goal of mine. For years, every time I saw a photo of one of these beasts, I became mesmerized. They are sharks the size of a school bus. If they were so inclined, they could swallow a person whole. Yet they simply swim majestically through the water snacking on plankton and pose no threat to humans. If I had a bucket list, swimming with whale sharks would have been on the top.

When I went home to America for a visit last summer, I threw the idea out to my dad in passing. While he is an avid SCUBA diver and adventurous spirit, this would mean a second trip to Africa since he was already coming with my mom to see Asella and visit Tanzania. He was much more interested in the idea than I expected. Unbelievably, the plans became set. He bought his ticket and we were going to Djibouti.

The trip was a highlight of my service and one of the coolest weeks of my life. The whale sharks were amazing. Everything I had hoped for and more. I could talk about being in the water with those sharks for an hour. If you’re interested, next time you see me, just get me started. But make sure you have nothing planned for the next hour or two. More than that, it was great to spend a week with my dad. Having three siblings, Norm and I have never had an opportunity like this- spending a week together, just the two of us. We spent hours talking and getting to know a different side of each other. I am forever grateful to Norm for not only giving me the chance to fulfill a dream but also, flying halfway across the world to simply spend time hanging out with me.

What follows is my dad’s account of the trip. While I could explain it, I thought it would be unique to read about the experience through his eye. This was his first time in Africa and everything was new to him. I added some pictures but, I give you, Stormin’ Norman’s recap of his first trip to Africa:

My experience in Africa began with arrival in Addis Ababa Ethiopia on a Sunday morning.  I got off the plane and walked through the airport to buy my visa and pick up my check-in luggage (78 pounds full of good stuff for Laura and her Peace Corps Volunteer – PCV - friends).  When I got to the luggage carrousel, I looked toward the front of the airport and I spotted a head of brown hair standing out in a group of Ethiopians.  I never realized that Laura was that tall.  I then looked around the luggage carrousel.  I was the “giant white guy”.  At 6-3, I was a good foot taller than most of the other people gathering their luggage.   At about 5-9 or 5-10, Laura is tall, but in the crowd of Ethiopians, she appeared to be much taller.  So began my journey to Addis, Djibouti and eventually back to Addis.

The next milestone of my trip was watching Laura interact with the people of Ethiopia in their native language of Amharic.  From the airport, we needed to take a cab to the hotel (Bole Rock).  Laura began bartering with the cab drivers.  Many years ago, Laura asked me to take her car into Jiffy Lube for an oil change because she did not want to deal with the mechanics.  This was not the same Laura.  She walked away from one cabbie when he would not meet her price.  She ended up successfully negotiating her target price with a different driver.  I use the cab experience at the airport as the example, but throughout my visit, Laura was the negotiator.  Whenever we hit a snag during the trip, she stepped up and worked through the issue, almost every time on her terms and when not on her terms, the deal always favored her position. 

After Laura and I spent a few hours in Addis, we were back at the airport to head for Djibouti.  After the 13-hour flight from DC to Addis, consuming several adult beverages on the flight and stepping into an 8-hour time change from DC, I slept through most of the flight to Djibouti.  When we arrived, I got to see her use her Amharic again to negotiate the cab price to a driver speaking Arabic.  She won again. 

When we boarded the cab to travel to our hotel – a Sheraton – night had fallen.  As we were driving, I noticed that the buildings were surrounded by 8 to 10-foot block walls with razor wire on the top.   As we proceeded, I noticed that the walls had k-rails (the barriers used to divide freeways in Southern California) strategically placed at the entrances.  When we arrived at the hotel the driver dropped us off about 100 feet from the parking lot entrance.  As we walked to the entrance, we passed a uniformed guard, carrying an AK-47.  We got to the guardhouse at the entrance to the parking lot and there were two more armed guards.  Sitting in the guardhouse was beveled mirror on a six-foot pole that was likely used to check the underside of vehicles for “unstable attachments”.   We arrived at the hotel entrance and passed through the metal detector to get to into the lobby.  When we got to the room, it was a typical Sheraton hotel room.

The next morning we decided that we would go to the “high-end hotel” to book our whale shark snorkel and my SCUBA diving.  We left the Sheraton by taxi for the other hotel, passing many facilities surrounded by high walls, razor wire and k-rails.  At the entrance to the high-end hotel, there was a guardhouse with armed guards similar to the Sheraton, but inside the gate there were staggered k-rails.  I assume that they were placed so that any unwanted intruder would need to slow down to get around them giving the guards an opportunity to use their AK-47’s to motivate them to stop.

After we booked the whale shark swim and the dive, we headed to another hotel to change a reservation that I had made but needed to cancel.  We decided to walk.  There were not many people on the street in that area, but we definitely stood out.  It caused me to remember the scene from an Indiana Jones movie when Marcus was trying to blend-in on the street of Cairo.  Despite the high security and that we were oddities to the rest of the population, I never felt threatened or that we were in an unsafe situation.

It turned out that our hotel was in an area where a lot of foreign embassies were located.  Djibouti is across the Red Sea from Yemen, north of Somalia (home of the pirates featured in the Captain Phillips movie) and south of Eritrea (a country with a terrible history for violating human rights).  The part of the world dictated the security precautions and not the people of Djibouti.  Our experience with the people of Djibouti was great.

For dinner on day one, we ate at the restaurant in the Sheraton.  It was an all-you-can-eat buffet.  I realized the value of food to the Peace Corp Volunteer.  Laura was in heaven with the variety of food provided, especially the cheeses.  The next morning, we had the breakfast buffet.  There were many foods that Laura had been missing, including bacon and apples.  The rest of breakfasts and dinners in Djibouti were spent at the Sheraton Buffet.

On day two in Djibouti, we decided to go to the downtown area.  After a 20-minute ride, the cab dropped us off on the main business street.  We walked around the business district, including the market area for the next couple of hours.  There were a lot of smaller shops in the business district that sold a wide variety of goods.  Similarly in the market area, you could buy anything from electronics, to luggage to soap for washing clothing, to fruits and veggies.  There were many people on the streets in the area.  We were the only non-Africans that I observed.  Laura was only one of three adult women who I noticed that did not have a head/hair covering.  There was not alcohol being sold.  The only signs of alcohol I observed in the down town area were a crushed beer can in the street and the “Scotch Club”, which appeared to be a bar/club that was closed for remodeling.

Every day we were in Djibouti, we spent time in the Sheraton pool.  It was nice to swim a little and then sit by the pool and read.  There were alcoholic beverages sold at the Sheraton.  We sampled all of the African beers.  Staying at the hotel were military personnel from Germany and from France.  They also spent time at the pool.

In the evenings, we went into the bar.  An Asian musical group played a very wide variety of music, including tunes from Santana.  Laura and I (Americans) were in a bar in Djibouti, Africa, listening to an Asian band that was singing in Spanish, surrounded by people from Germany and France.

Day three was the swim with the whale sharks.  To try to describe the experience does not give it justice.  Laura and I were in the water with 20-foot long whale sharks.  At first there were one or two.  After a few minutes, we were surrounded.  Whale sharks feed on plankton and can get over 40 feet long.  We were near the shore line and the whale sharks we swam with were in the 15 to 25 foot range; however, after the swim, as the boat moved away from the shore, we saw a few that had to be at least 30 feet long.   

Norm with a shark. At 6'3 and his arms outstretched, I think it is clear our estimate of 20 feet long may have been conservative. They were huge, that is the takeaway...

Some of the best snorkeling I've ever experienced. The reef was pristine and the fish didn't even know to be afraid of us. 

Day four was my SCUBA dive.  I took a boat from Djibouti to a small island.  The dive boat departed from the island.  It was a good dive.  The water temperature was in the 70’s.  Visibility was fairly good – not Caribbean great, but far better than diving off the coast of California.  We saw coral and a lot of topical fish.

On day five, we hung out around the hotel.  The following day, we flew out of Djibouti, returning to Addis.  Over 2-1/2 day in Addis, we stopped at a street shop for Ethiopian coffee.  It was the first coffee that I had in over 10 years.  It was very good.  We visited the St. George’s Brewery and drank beer.  We went to one the Ethiopian history museums. 

On the street of Addis, there are shops with a side of beef being displayed.  You are able to pick the cut of meat as well as the amount.  The vendor then cuts the beef as requested and cooks it.  It is brought to your table in small pre-cut pieces on a small charcoal grill.  It is served with bread and injera (a thin, spongy, Ethiopia bread).  The beef is eaten by using the injera or regular bread to pick up the small cuts of beef.  We ordered beer to wash it down.  Unlike Djibouti in which the primary religion is by far Islamic, Addis contains more of a mixture of religions.  Alcohol (beer) is much more available in restaurants and the majority of the women do not wear head/hair covering.

We ate a couple meals at the Bole Rock restaurant/bar.  Whenever we stopped in at the restaurant, at least one of the two televisions was tuned into soccer – either the British Premier Football or African Soccer games.   The games that we saw were rebroadcasts; however, Laura told me that whenever the games are on live, the place is packed.

I left Ethiopia in the middle of December, knowing I would be returning in about seven weeks, when Janet and I would be flying in to visit Laura again.  On that trip we would see her town (Asella), travel to Tanzania to go on Safari and then on to Zanzibar.  However, it did not make leaving any easier. 

I very much enjoyed the time that I was able to spend with Laura.  Addis and Djibouti were so different than the United States.  It made me appreciate the transition that Laura had to make going from America to Ethiopia and the transition that she will have to make when she returns to the US and has to readapt to life in America. 

It’s official, I come home August 4, 2014!

Ras Dashin: The Final Day

On the very final day of the hike, I knew I would have no troubles. I knew it was going to be the easiest day. Our route was the exact same as day three, except in reverse. Remember the day we walked downhill for six straight hours? Now we were walking uphill. And to top it off, we had a deadline that day in order to make it back to Gonder before nightfall. We had to walk over twenty kilometers (12-13 miles), most of which were uphill, all by 2:00 in the afternoon. Now, if you have read the blogs leading up to this, you may be thinking I am crazy. With how much I struggled, there is no way I should be so confident. But I had a secret weapon on the last day: Phil.

They had these helmets that were so small, they looked just like baseball hats. Amazing!

The pervious day, Danielle and I decided we were going to rent mules for the day. We had already reached the summit, and neither of us felt like there was a need to put our bodies through another day of torture. We left camp at 5:00am and had to walk the first section. With darkness and uneven ground, it was not safe to ride the mules yet. During that hour, I felt great about my choice of renting a mule. My legs were stiff and blisters on the back of my heels had become open wounds. No regrets.

The day was wonderful for Danielle and I. We were able to see the beautiful scenery with the added incentive of being able to breath!  I know, we were pretty spoiled. We went ahead of the rest of the group and met back up at the small town we ate lunch in a few days prior. Once the group met back up, Danielle and I learned Joe was struggling pretty mightily. He was having some stomach issues that left him weakened and dehydrated. I gave him an ORS (oral dehydration salts) and hoped he would get better. While we were breaking, we attracted some adorable attention. 

The sign of the café we rested at.

The next few hours passed by without problem. Danielle and I were meandering with the mules while the boys struggled up the mountain. We would gain 1,200 meters (around 4,000 feet) of elevation during the day. Phil was more than up to the task.

My wonderful view for the day

About an hour from the top of the mountain we needed to get over, Dajin came to Danielle and I. He said Joe was now struggling with elevation sickness. Danielle and I both offered up our mules immediately. Phil was eventually selected to go save Joe. He was a little more sturdy and, having experienced elevation sickness myself, it felt right to help Joe anyway I could. I had to walk the next 25 minutes and during that time I came to a serious conclusion: the $13 it cost to rent Phil for the day will be the best-spent money of my life.

John Cena is HUGE here

We all met up on a road with only thirty more minutes of uphill walking for the rest of the trip. Well, uphill for some. Joe, Danielle, and I muled it. Joe rented a mule for the last bit, but Sammy was not nearly as sturdy as Phil. Danielle and I went ahead, reached our destination, and then waited for Joe and the rest of the gang. We spotted Joe pretty quickly because he looked so awkward. As he came closer, the mule somehow got smaller and smaller. I am confident Joe was bigger than Sammy. There were a few hairy moments where I thought they were going down. But without incident, we all made it to the top.

After saying goodbye to our mules, we finished the last hour downhill. Joe was still feeling the affect of the sickness. I felt terrible knowing exactly how he felt. I had tried to explain the feeling to him on day two, but could not find the words express it. As we finished, he looked at me and said something like, “I get it now.” We discussed the amazing feeling of your body shutting down. How scary it was and how trapped and vulnerable it leaves you. While I would not have wished anyone to feel what I had felt, it was interesting to have someone to talk to who understood. 

A little before 2:00, our van and finish line were in sight. Joe, Daniel, Danielle, Michael, Zach, Yayu, Dajin, and I all grabbed hands and finished linked together. Before we reached the van, we all put our hands in for a Little League style cheer. The perfect ending.

We had a few hours in the van. After a little napping, we all gathered around Zach's ipod and watched The Lion King. It was a surreal moment to look at six twenty-somethings, dirty and smelly, glued to a four inch screen and singing along with Pumba while in Africa.

We eventually got back to the hotel and were able to shower for the first time in five days, yikes. I have never been so dirty and gross in my life.

Don’t think I look so bad? Here is what happened when I moved some bracelets I had been wearing on the trip.

Afterwards, we all separately came to the same conclusion: that five-day hike was a microcosm of our entire Peace Corps service. It was hard. One of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. At times, I hated it. I forgot why I was doing it. I just wanted it to be over. I just wanted to be comfortable, and in my own element again.  Much like Peace Corps, there were two things that got me to the top of that mountain and back.

Comradery

We were in this together; the highs and low, through it all. When I was sick, everyone supported me and helped me through. When other people struggled, I was there for them. That is one of the main unspoken roles of a PCV, supporting each other.

I was riding on a bus once and there was a man sitting too close to me. He put his hand inappropriately on my leg. I politely moved it away and that was it. Later, as we were stopped in another bus station, a man came and began to rub my new, fresh-faced sitemate’s leg. I almost ripped his head off. It is one thing to do something to me, but you do not mess with another volunteer in my presence.

During it all, no matter how much one of us were struggling, we knew we could count on each other. If we needed a break, we simply had to say so. When we needed more water, it was as easy as just asking someone. What is mine is yours and yours is mine (dirty PC communism). We started this as a group and we are going to finish this as a group. The fact we ended hand-in-hand is no coincidence. Had I gone on that trip with strangers, I never would have made it. The people on the trek made the trip for me.

Sheer stubbornness and pride

While some parts of the hike were easier than other, that should not be confused with some parts were easy. Every step was a struggle. I had illnesses. I had blisters. I was sunburned and dehydrated the whole time. Even when we walked downhill for a day, there were new struggles. And the morning after walking downhill, I was perhaps the sorest I have ever been in my life. There was no reason to go through it all. It was voluntary after all. 

I remember being at a training one time and talking with my fellow volunteers about what keeps us here. One answer stuck in my mind. The person said, “I don’t want to deal with the question, ‘I thought you were suppose to be gone for over two years. What happened?’” It is such a simple and possibly silly reason to stay, but that has held us all here one time or another.

I decided I was going to do this and I am going to finish through. I want to look back and know I was stronger than it. I want to be able to tell people all about this experience and not end it awkwardly, feeling like a failure despite my accomplishments. I want to take pride in the fact that when faced with something incredibly hard that I did not have to do, I still did. I want to have confidence in the future that nothing can stop me. 

Ras Dashin or Peace Corps, it is all kind of the same.

Ras Dashin: The Summit!

At 4:15am, the alarm sounded. I rolled over, and tried to punch it off. But the damage was done; I was awake and excited to start the day. The day! We had a quiet breakfast and left camp at 5:00am. The first hour and a half felt like slow going. It was hard to see progress in the dark. It was so cold that my lungs burned. I was tired in every possible way. And it seemed as though we had to stop every 10 minutes for a bathroom break. If nothing else, we Peace Corps volunteers are regular.

Little by little, we made it closer and closer to the top. The higher the elevation, the more often we (I) needed to stop for breaks. It was a funny mindset that day. As we hit late morning, I thought, surely we must be close. There was no need to ask Dajin how much further. I could simply look around and still see land masses much higher than me. “At least that much farther,” I told myself.

The further up when went, the stranger the surroundings. It was like walking on the moon. There was no noise. There were strange rock formations. It felt so foreign and alien. This bizarre atmosphere was aided by the lack of oxygen. While the summit is only 15,000 feet, we could really feel it. We all became extremely tired. On one break, Zach and Michael appeared to take a little nap. I kept seeing black birds fly through my peripheral vision. Then I realized it was just black spots, there were no birds around. Being at that elevation and knowing the struggle it took to get there made me amazed at one thing: people climb Mt. Everest. They climb almost double what I had done.  There is no way there is oxygen that high. I have heard stories of people on Everest having full, two-sided conversations with the dead bodies they pass. I get it. Your mind gets loopy. And the elevation I was at does not even compare to Everest. For the rest of my life, I will appreciate every documentary on Everest. It is the pinnacle of what the human body can achieve.  And in case you are wondering, I would rather cut off a toe than attempt it.

So what did it feel like to look up at the summit and know I would be there shortly? A little bit anticlimactic. Of all the sights, all the beauty through the previous days, we all stared at Ras Dashin and thought, “This is it? Really?” It was a ridge that looked like dozens of others we had passed.

This is not to say we did not appreciate it. It was an amazing feeling. Every step truly felt like progress with our goal so close.

The last 10 minutes were “scrambling”. I did not know this term. I think it means having to use your hands to climb. But it was not climbing in the sense we needed rope for safety. As some who climbed trees as a kid, this part was awesome. And going down was just a neat. We when got to the top, we cheered and enjoyed the moment. We spent about an hour on top of the mountain. We even ate some delicious pasta up there. Interesting, there were other ridges within view that almost looked like they were higher. Dajin assured us they were not higher, it is a common misconception.  
 

 

REPRESENT!

All that was left to do was retrace our steps and get back to camp. As we walked down and down, for about 5 hours, I became more and more impressed with myself for making it.  If I had to go back and do it all over again, I’m not sure I could. Through sheer stubbornness and will power, I pushed myself to go further than I thought possible. The sights going down were amazing, perhaps more than the summit itself.

As we arrived back at camp, all the staff and a few people who lived in the area sang congratulations to us. It was a pretty inspiring feeling that left me a little choked up. After walking for 12 hours, with blisters on my feet, every muscle sore, sunburned face and hands, dirt caked on more dirt, those people singing, “Welcome, Ras Dashin. Welcome, Ras Dashin” and handing us flowers was the perfect culmination of the experience.

We celebrated like any good group of Americans would: whiskey and s’mores! We sat around the campfire and even walked Dajin through his first s’more.

Eventually, the sensible ones went to bed (tomorrow would be a 3:30am wake up), leaving Joe, Michael, Zach, Yayu, and myself around the dying fire. We tried to have Yayu tell us stories, but he had drunk a fair share of t’ella while we were eating dinner.  Then, something interesting happened. Joe, Zach, and I all speak what I would call intermediate Amharic. Michael, being from a different region in Ethiopia, speaks Tigrinya. We asked Yayu if we really made it to the top because other ridges looked a little higher. He responded in Amharic. Joe, Zach, and myself all took the same meaning from it. There are three camps you have to stay at if you want to reach the summit of Ras Dashin in a day. We were not staying at one of the three. 

The Luttrulls would claim between our whiskey, his t’ella, and the language barrier, we misunderstood. But we all gathered the same meaning separately from each other. It became an ongoing joke that we didn’t really make it to the top. It all makes sense when you think about it. Everyone knows the tallest point in Ethiopia is Ras Dashin. And our guide made it very clear, we were climbing Ras Dajin, not Ras Dashin.  In actuality, I am pretty sure we made it to the top. But, honestly, I don’t think it matters. And it is a pretty hilarious thought, almost worth it, if we went through all of that and walked to the wrong ridge.

Ras Dashin: Day 3

I awoke the morning of day three and could sense the worst was behind me. I was feeling close to normal, and excited for the day. We would walk for about an hour uphill, six hours downhill, and finish with another hour uphill. During that time, there would be breaks for rest, pictures, and lunch. I was relieved to have a less strenuous day and Dajin assured me, the day would help me acclimatize. While I would not exactly called Dajin supportive, he told me stories of people having much worse cases of elevation sickness who made it to the top. I learned that elevation sickness is not a logical illness. Just because I was hit by it at 13,000 feet did not necessarily mean it would affect me at 15,000 feet. 

There were certain moments of the day, and of the trip, where it felt like we were as far from civilization as possible. Sitting on a ridge overlooking endless beauty, it was easy to forget this is routine for people. There was one such moment as we peaked after the first hour. We looked around at the skyline, mountains, and monkeys and felt so isolated. Suddenly, a shepherd and all his sheep appeared, knock us back into place. Just another day of work for this man.

Now, walking downhill for six hours felt like a huge relief at first. The further down we went, the thicker the air. Our muscles were given a reprieve. The day was a recipe for ease. But as we learned, walking downhill has its own set of problems. While we did not need to stop for breaks, we had to go extremely slow. The terrain was slippery gravel and it seems like every few minutes there was the familiar sliding sound of someone taking a spill. Most of the time, we were able to catch ourselves. Few true falls (that day, defined as ground/butt contact) occurred. But looking down a mountain and loosing your footing gives you pause to say the least. As I was falling asleep that night, I kept being jolted awake with the sensation of slipping. I mentioned this to Danielle the next day and she experienced the same feeling. Even still, I would not have traded it for uphill. 

At about 1:00, we arrived at a small town where we would eat lunch. It felt like being in an old western. I am sure to the average forenji coming through, the town might be a highlight of the trip. It felt like half the town came by to look at us. Adorable children with no pants yelled hello. But, I have seen enough children with no pants for a lifetime. It was nice to see a little town tucked away in the middle of no where but it was noteworthy for one reason: t’ella*. Yayu mentioned there was special t’ella sold in the town. Some of our group (mainly some of the boys) really wanted to try it. We bought a pitcher and all drank a bit. It tasted good, but one drink was enough for me. It was extremely thick and I questioned the cleanliness of the water used to make it. The pitcher was eventually finished and, perhaps as a result, Joe and Zach were extremely talkative for the next hour or so.

*T’ella is home brewed beer. It is very common throughout the country and you can count on drinking some every holiday. But this rural area was supposed to have a style of t’ella not found anywhere else in the country.

 

As we took a short break before the last hour of the day, Yayu showed off his jumping skills. He effortlessly jumped a six-foot gap and landed on wet rocks. This just simply added to the lore that was slowly becoming Yayu. He also encouraged Michael and Zach to give it a try. They made it with success, much to the chagrin of Dajin.

Once we arrive to camp, we cleaned up and ate dinner. We stayed up talking for quite a bit. We would be at that campsite for the next two nights and luckily, it was fairly warm. We were able to enjoy the evening without being wrapped in blankets. We called it a night and enjoy some sleep knowing the next day was Ras Dashin: the top of Ethiopia.

Ras Dashin: Day 2

We woke up bright and early on the second day of our trek to find frost on the ground and breakfast waiting.

I felt significantly better than the previous night. There were certain points throughout the evening that I was genuinely concerned I would not be able to continue the next day. While there were mules for rent and I would not be stranded, I didn’t want to be left behind and miss out on the adventure.  During the day, I took a steady stream of pain medication in hopes to quell the headache before it began. I also wore a hat with a scarf wrapped around it, which kept as much sunlight out as possible. This is also why from here on out, it looks like I’m wearing a hijab in every picture.

The day started off fairly well, but I still felt a little off from the headache. I tried to persevere through, not realizing this would be the best I felt all day. We headed uphill towards a peak that had spectacular views. At about 13,000 feet, it was highest any of us had ever been. We walked to a ledge that overlooked miles and miles of rolling mountains and from there, topped a “little” mountain. 

 

It was around this time that I started to feel horrible. While my headache did not come back, I began feeling nauseous, light headed, and tired- like I could have sat down right there and gone to sleep. Turns out, I was suffering from elevation sickness but at the time I didn’t realize it. My pace considerably slowed but I tried not to say anything at first. I mentioned to Joe something was not right, but I didn’t know what it was. From there, we were walking downhill for a period. I assumed I would start to feel better as the walking became less strenuous. But that was the moment I knew I was in serious trouble.

We walked downhill for 30 minutes and I still felt just as bad. All my symptoms were getting worse despite the lower elevation and less taxing walk. Down, down, down we went and down, down, down I went. We reached the bottom and I looked up at one of the most looming sights I will ever see in my life. The next 3 hours of the walk were all uphill- serious uphill. Over the course of that time, we would gain something like 600 meters of elevation- just shy of 2,000 feet. I stopped in my tracks. Everyone knew I had slowed down, but I don’t think they realized how bad off I was. We took a break during which Joe gave me some motion sickness pills. We hoped they would curb the queasy feeling and after a while, they did just that.

Words cannot describe how I felt at that moment. Despite the lower elevation, I still felt like I could not breath. My body was so incredibly tired, more than it should have been given the amount of walking. The only way I can describe it is my body was shutting down. I have never experienced anything like it, and I hope to never again. As we started walking, I had to take breaks. It started as walk two minutes, and then sit. Walk one minute, and then sit. It got to a point where I told myself, take ten steps, and then sit. I made it seven. I remember thinking, “if I am feeling this awful at 13,000 feet, there is no way I can summit”. As if I was not going through enough, I started beating myself up over the whole situation: This is just cause I’m so out of shape. This is so embarrassing; no one else is struggling like this. I am slowing everyone down and they must be so annoyed with me. I paid all this money and I am going to fail.

At this snail’s pace, we eventually made it to the peak. We ate a late lunch and I was pretty quiet still feeling discouraged and embarrassed. I took some comfort in knowing that the rest would be downhill. But as we were walking the rest of the day, I started feeling better. Sure, the lower elevation and pills had something to do with it, but I owe my upswing that day to the five fellow volunteers on that trip.

Despite what was going on in my head, never once did any of the PCVs say anything that was not supportive. I apologized for slowing them down and they wouldn’t hear it. They all to me this was hard stuff and I was sick yesterday. They told me to stop worrying about everything; it was kicking their butts too. They all waited patiently. Any time I needed a break, they never once complained. In fact, more often than not, someone simply said, “Good! Me too!” They made jokes that had me laughing and soon enough, I felt much better. I was even able to start enjoying some of the scenery again.

These special trees only grow at an elevation that makes your lungs hurt- around 3,800 meters (12,500 ft.) I’m not sure I’d recommend seeing them. Also, there were tons of monkeys that had pretty amazing camouflage. That is not a rock it in the middle, it’s a monkey!

Joe, Yayu, and Zach. The phrase “it is cold” in Amharic is extremely similar to a dirty phrase in Amharic. It became an ongoing joke to try to say the dirty phrase as often as possible without laughing. Dajin did not enjoy this game. Yayu loved it. In this photo, instead of saying “cheese”, Joe and Zach said the dirty phrase. Yayu’s face is priceless.

While I was still feeling bad, the last few hours of the day were enjoyable. The sights were beautiful. My mental state picked up. I realized it was elevation sickness and there was no reason to beat myself up about being slow. And Joe, Michael, Zach, and the Luttrulls kept being nothing but supportive.

When we got to the campsite, I felt an incredible sense of accomplishment. Throughout the day, every part of me wanted to stop. Every step was a struggle. But I did it. I made it. At that point, I felt, ironically, invincible. If I could make it through that day, there was nothing that could possibly stop me. I may be slow, but I will get there. The next day would be mostly downhill and the extra day would give me time to acclimate to the elevation. As we sat around that night eating dinner and playing games around the campfire, I knew that no matter what happened, I felt a sense of pride in myself that was worth the journey. Looking back, that was definitely a turning point in the trip for me. No matter how hard it got, I knew I could keep going.

After two days of misery, it all goes up from here (pun intended)