Perseverance

Summit view at Mount Kenya

This was my mantra for the past week:  "Left, right, left, right... Don't stop. Don't stop."

I'm just back from five gruelling days climbing Mount Kenya to raise much needed funds for the Alekii school. I was there to reach Lenana point which stands at almost 5,000 metres, the second tallest mountain in Africa after Kilimanjaro.

The mountain has a special significance in Kenya's tribal culture and political history. Kikuyu (the largest tribe in Kenya) believe that God came down to earth here, and that Mount Kenya is the throne on which he would sit. Across the region, most huts are built with the front door opening out towards the mountain, and graves are positioned so that the dead lie facing the peaks.

In the 1950's and early 1960's, during Kenya's state of Emergency towards the end of colonial rule, freedom fighters supporting the movement for independence ran to the mountain to avoid capture by the British. Tough men, they stayed in brutal conditions in caves, yet only survived because of the women in the local towns who would bravely supply them with food and supplies. When Kenya achieved independence in 1963, the national flag was raised at the top of the mountain as a gesture to those who had fought and died in the struggle.

My journey started on Monday where I met my "crew" - porter James, cook Charles and mountain guide Sammy who would accompany me to Lenana. Like all of the men from the local area working on the mountain, they are weathered and incredibly strong. Without their knowledge, perseverance and drive tourists like me would not be make the journey with a week's supply of food and equipment.

After some Colin McRae-esque (RIP) driving along muddy roads, we reach the Sirimon gate to the mountain which stands at 2,600m. By this point I could already feel the air thinning as we set off for the first camp, Old Moses. It was night when we finally arrived, and the combination of my uncomfortable hired hiking boots, wet gear and the onset on altitude sickness made me rethink what a significant challenge this was really going to be. Paracetemol and Imodium were to become two of my best new friends over the course of the week.

Over the next two days, as we climbed higher to the summit approach camp, Shipton, we would walk up to seven hours a day through the cold and rain. At night temperatures would fall well below freezing and the huts had no heating or electricity so it was impossible to properly dry out your gear before getting back into it the next morning.

On Thursday, the summit climb began at 3am, and a group of around ten set out with head torches looking like a gang of miners. This part of the expedition is the most dangerous, and just a few months back a girl had lost her footing and fallen over a ledge and sadly died. Later Sammy would tell me that someone dies every year at this part of the climb.

The ascent was extremely steep, at first on loose scree and then onto snow and ice as the temperature dropped rapidly. After two hours I had lost the feeling in both my hands and the cold burned my nose. My head torch began to flicker on and off as we rounded ledges with intimidating drops.

As the sun began to rise just before six we began our final approach to the summit. The rocks became steeper and it took all our concentration to remain on the path.

The feeling of exhausted, drunken euphoria is hard to convey in words, but even on an overcast day reaching the view from the roof of Africa was simply awe inspiring. I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful. At one point, just for a moment, the rising sun caught the tip of the neighbouring peak which shone like a beacon across the morning sky.

In all over five days we walked the equivalent of around one and a half marathons in freezing wet conditions. I'd climbed Mount Kinabalu a few years back so thought I knew what I was getting myself in for, but this was really on another level.

With lots of time to think over the week, I began to question the perseverance of the climbers. What was their drive? Why did they choose to do this?

For the tourists I think they came under one of two camps. There were the (mostly German) outdoor enthusiasts who were there just to be among nature, pure and simple. There were also tourists who wanted a unique badge to take home to their friends and families, to say proudly  that they'd conquered the mountain and show off their pictures.

For the locals, porters and cooks carrying enormous bags and heavy equipment, this was their livelihood. Their families depended on them to make it through to put food on the table or pay for their children's schooling.

In a similar way for the freedom fighters, persevering on the mountain was survival. Both for them as individuals and for a movement to Independence, which not only their families but their whole country depended on.

For me, this was definitely a challenge to raise money for the school. I thought about some of the kids that I'd spent time with on Rusinga at times when I wanted to give up. To get to the top was the aim, nothing more and nothing less.

As we left the gate on the final day, Sammy said to me that you go up the mountain one person, and another one comes down. I think this is certainly true in part, for everyone learns about themselves by testing how much they can endure. We grow in confidence and stature as we find out that we are capable of so much. And we realise that in life, things that are hard to achieve are worth our determination because they make us bigger people.

I like this quote which opens the door to all possibilities. "With ordinary talent and extraordinary perseverance, all things are attainable." We should take this view and continually challenge ourselves. 

PS - HUGE Thank you to everyone who has already pledged to donate towards Alekii's new school building. So far we have raised over £1,500 which is fantastic, but there is still so much more to do. If you can, please pledge a donation at the bottom of the blog. Much love. Dave x

Challenge

As I write this I can hear children singing their songs as the golden morning light paints a wonderful picture over the Alekii school here on Rusinga Island. My favourite is about their morning routine:

"...I brush my teeth/

I comb my hair/

I have a cup to tea/

I run to schoooooooooool!..."

This always makes me smile. Even at this tender age I think they appreciate how lucky they are to be getting an education at all, there are so many more who sit idly by the beaches watching the world go by, passive observers.

Most of them are orphans, with many of them having lost parents to HIV/AIDS which has ripped the community apart. Despite all the hardship they have been through, they are full of youthful joy and energy, and you can see their various talents shining through in the form of academic ability, artistic temperament and athletic ability. Each pupil is good at something, and they are rightly proud of it.

Sadly, the building which they are taught in is decaying. An old shack of a house, wind blows through the rafters and the old iron sheet roof creeks anxiously. Cracks big enough to put your arm through streak the walls inside. Many of the parents talk about their concern that one day the house will collapse and their children will be trapped inside or worse, that the children would be crushed.

The Alekii Self Help Group, a community based organisation who maintain the school through their own donations have confirmed that they need to be out  January  next year, and so have just two months to raise $8,000 to build a new school of three new classrooms which would allow more pupils to enrol whilst providing a safe environment for the children to learn in.

Mount Kenya

It's for this reason that I've decided to do some fundraising of my own. Next week I will be climbing Mount Kenya, the second tallest mountain in Africa after Kilimanjaro. It is a difficult five day climb with altitude sickness being likely, and the small rains have just started so I expect to have to battle through the weather, but it will be worth it if we can raise some money and get this new school built.

 So far this has been something of a one-way monologue from me, but now I want you to get involved. I'm going to get the fundraising started with £300 and I'd like to try and raise £2,000 eventually. If you can, please support me in doing this for Alekii. 100% of all donations go direct to the construction of the new school, there is zero administration in this charity as no one draws a salary, and all materials are donated by members. Please post your name and donation amount in the comments field underneath, and I'll transfer on your behalf.

Pamela

You'll be helping children like Pamela, who lost her parents to HIV/AIDS early in her life. She lives with her aunt and uncle who already have three children. With just a fisherman's salary between them,  they would not be able to pay the government school fees and she would not receive an education at all. If the Alekii school is forced to close, it will be children like Pamela who will miss out on a critical stage of their development, and be severely limited in reaching their potential for the rest of their lives.

If you can, please support Alekii today by sponsoring me in this challenge. I guarantee that your donation will be wisely spent, and to these children it could mean the difference between achieving their potential and a life consigned to poverty.

Thank you all.

Simplicity

So this is village life. I am in the beautiful Rusinga Island on the shores of Lake Victoria in South West Kenya. I arrived by boat after a seven hour bus ride from Uganda about a week ago, just as the sun set over the volcanic hills that dominate this impressive landscape. I am here to volunteer for the Alekii Self Help Group, a community based organisation who run a school for around 50 vulnerable children on the island.

As the light faded, I took a motorbike taxi (boda boda) through Mbita which is the local town. Women fan their fires by the road side preparing their evening meal, whilst men cast off into the lake on small wooden fishing boats which look impossibly fragile yet seem to perform their task ably.

As we passed the outskirts of the town we are plunged into darkness, and bounce along a dusty dirt track which leads to my new home. I am introduced to my family, mama and baba who are to be my surrogate parents for three weeks, and brothers and sisters who greet me affectionately.

They live in a humble yet welcoming house. Inside, light warms the interior from gas lamps, and I am drawn the shadows of framed pictures and certificates of achievement which are proudly hung with nails and string around the living room. There is no running water or electricity here, and the latrine is something to behold.

My shower

My routine here is straight forward. The family donkey as my alarm clock, I am up around 5.30 every morning to train with my new brother Evans who is a semi-professional kick boxer. We run under the sunrise as roosters sing their morning songs, pass bemused villagers who rarely encounter mzungo (white person) in this corner of Kenya before I learn how to fight. Evans tells me that he had the opportunity to compete in national championships some years ago, but the family could not afford the bus fare to Mombassa on the other side of the country so sadly he couldn't go.

In the mornings I work with Francis Opiyo who is the project co-ordinator for the group, a skilled web developer and computer technician who leads on much of the work the Alekii group does. He is passionate about education, and the plight faced by many children on the island.

HIV/AIDS has decimated the local population, with estimates of 40% infection rate being given by the government. This is the worst affected region in the country for this terrible disease, and it has resulted in a huge number of orphaned children who face challenges in accessing food and essential primary education. 70% of pupils at the school are total orphans, and without the Alekii school, it is highly likely that these young, bright children would not receive any schooling at all.

And we are working hard. In a chance meeting with the local District Development Officer, we are made aware of a grant opportunity for innovative projects which support the millennium goals. The only problem is that the deadline is the next morning, so we work through the night on a proposal for $20,000 for a sustainable farm which would provide income and food for the school and its pupils. We find out whether we were successful this month.

More pressingly, I am also working on an emergency appeal for a new school building as the Department of Health have recommended that the school move premises immediately as the current building is not up to standard. At present there are not funds for this, and it would leave the pupils without education as most cannot afford the small fees levied by the local government primary school. 

In the afternoons I return to the school to coach the football team, borrowing boots which are two sizes too small yet preferable to attempting to play football in my clown-esque running shoes. I've realised that there is no better sound in the world than children laughing and screaming as the chase the ball, and they celebrate like Premier League stars when they score which makes me laugh.

Evenings are for family meals of fresh fish and ugali. and I sit outside with baba listening to how he sees the world. He is wise, and has lived through droughts,  the struggle for independence, and more recently the violence which marred the 2007/8 election.

The family are not rich by any means, but compared to many of the children at the school who are sometimes forced to survive on just a chapatti a day for food, they are comfortable.  Before retirement, both baba and mama were teachers, and their passion for education has led them to also be involved in the Alekii school. The brothers and sisters work hard as boda drivers, hotel managers or around the home where they grow maize and wheat as well as delicious bananas, pineapples and oranges.

They are rightly proud of their children who are educated and intelligent, and of the success they have made of the family home. They are, in the main, happy people who are a joy to be around and I feel privileged to be welcomed into their family.

Here I am fit and healthy, and I laugh heartily every day with brilliant people who have learned to appreciate what they have, rather than wish for what they do not.

"Simplify, simplify" is a Henry David Thoreau quote which is appropriate here. I think he meant that to be happy and contented we should strip our lives of the extras which in reality are not important. By doing this, we learn more about ourselves, each other, and the world we live in, which is a gift that we should treasure. This is village life.