Kilimanjaro

“how did I get here?”  

a simple enough question

one would think

the easy answer is that I got here on a plane

well three planes I suppose

if we’re being technical about it

but I don’t just mean how did I get here

I mean how did I get here

what crazy life path did I go down

to be throwing up my porridge

behind a boulder

atop an African mountain

“uh, are you okay?”

another simple question

with a complicated answer

“I’m fine” I gasp

but I think we all know that’s not the case

it’s been 3 days since ive eaten without you know…

I lift my head to see

the concerned eyes of my guide

he had come to make sure I wasn’t dying

I can’t help but laugh

at the thought

of what he is looking at right now

unwashed braided pig-tails

rainbow woolen socks tucked into boots

sunburnt face and cracked lips

hunched over in pain

and now in laughter

which really just adds to the absurdity of it all

his concern slowly melts away

and he looks me with an awkward smile

clearly trying not to laugh at the puking mzungu

I burst in to tears of joy and exhaustion

I may not know how I got here

but I’m sure as hell glad I did