Humping Up Mount Homa

After a three hour drive on a road that reminded me of my Cambodian ass-breaking experience, and non-stop shouts of ‘Mzungu!!’ from every kid we passed, we arrived at the base of Mt Homa just in time for the mid-day heat.

Popping out my tiny Global Positions System receiver (GPS for short), I noted our starting position at S 00’24.013 and E 34’28.731 which means that we were next to Lake Victoria and a stone’s throw from the equator, yet at 4,238 feet above sea level so the air was thin and somewhat cool.

Then we were off for the peak, walking through slash and burn subsistence agriculture until the land became too steep to farm and the bush became to thick to push through, forcing us to following cow paths up the mountain.

Soon, Sabeans, lacking her inhaler, had to turn back when a bout of asthma stopped her accent, yet Mark and I, while regretting that Sabeans was going to miss the view from the top, did not stop, and continued up, up, and up.

She turned out to be the lucky one, for as soon as we started to really climb, the cow paths became goat trails, which then dissolved into formidable mats of thorn bushes. Pressing on, we men did not let a few dozen scratches or even an occasional draw of blood to slow us down.

The mountain accomplished that easy enough later with sheer rock walls that we took two hours of bushwhacking to circumvent, loosing a water bottle and our patience in the process. Interestingly we did come across a farmer making charcoal from the bushes during this circumventing. He was wearing a Washington DC sweater, but didn’t understand my hand signals asking for directions to the top of the mountain or explaining his sweater’s significance to me.

Luckily, Mark and I found a route to the top a while later, though it was the second-highest peak. Our goal, the highest peak, lay across a valley filled with thorn bushes that Mark and I felt were not worth the trouble. Instead we did what any 21st Century explorer does on making it to the top of a mountain; we yanked out our cell phones and started to dial.

While Mark chatted with Sabeans and a few co-workers, I powered up my cell and attempted to call my folks in America. Only Kenya’s antiquated international switch, which gave me a continuous busy signal, kept me from sharing my euphoria with people 7,000 miles and an ocean away. Instead, I pulled out my GPS and noted our maximum elevation: 5,683 feet above sea level.

Isn’t technology amazing!!