At the peak of the pandemic, this writer found solace in Africa’s tallest mountain.



THE LIMBS ACHE WITH EVERY STEP AND THE inclement weather does not help. But the summit awaits and Kilimanjaro will not allow you to give up or slip up. For it is not physical stamina alone that will take you there;



your mental perseverance needs to match the might of this majestic mountain that you are on.



Climbing up Africa’s highest mountain, at almost 6,000 meters, means long days and longer nights, walking at one’s pace through forest and desert, through foliage and sand, with gusty winds intercepting any progress. The body almost gives up from the exhaustion of hiking rugged terrain for countless hours every day and fighting the freezing nights and altitude sickness. Medicine helps, but tenacity is the only real cure.



Tanzania’s pride, Mount Kilimanjaro, has been on my bucket list and having been vaccinated abroad, I decided to travel, training for the climb through a second lockdown, pushing my body to its limits.



Come June and I was in Marangu, a small town in the Kilimanjaro region that’s a more established route with many hutments dotting the stretch ensuring you don’t need to sleep outdoors.



Opting for a six-day trek allowed extra time for acclimatization and with all equipment and crew, we were well prepared. The Marangu route normally attracts more climbers, but the pandemic has hit hard the lives of the people who depend on them for a living.



“The flow of incoming tourists is less than other years. Before per month, you would receive up to 25 people but now the demand has gone down to five people per month or none at all,” rued Cecilia Otto Mahala, the Director of Outsight Nature that organized my climb.



This was obvious from the beginning of the climb, with few support staff occupying the huts along the way. Those impacted by this decline in tourism include the cooks, porters, and guides that facilitate these treks as their lives depend on human footfall up the great mountain.



They are the core crew or the lifeline responsible for keeping climbers safe, sated, and alive with hot food and essential services otherwise not available on a mountain.



While death rates on Kilimanjaro are low, a climber cannot successfully complete the mission without guides to provide direction both physical and mental, or porters to carry items that may otherwise wear you down. There came a point during our trek when I could not even carry my own day pack because of how weary my body was.



“Most of the guides lost their jobs, especially those who were employed with tour companies. Other companies shut down their operations; it was difficult not only for them but also those who had families that rely on them&#8230; some had to find alternative economic activities,” added Mahala.



“As a tour operator, I faced tremendous loss. Most of the people are still afraid to travel, some come with a limited budget and still want to travel. This makes me run my business at a low cost, sometimes with no profit.”



While there were other climbers as we progressed up the mountain, they were mostly in small groups, and interaction with them was minimal. Opting for the Marangu route was not the easiest choice as it’s steep and difficult to navigate towards the end. But it’s scenic, covering the mountain’s many ecosystems.



After four days of relentless climbing – and thankfully, no altitude sickness – I was finally at the summit. Being on the highest free-standing mountain in the world, with the clouds and the clean, crisp air caressing my face, the sense of awe and achievement was incomparable.



From montane forest right out of a fairytale to dry alpine desert with killer winds and walking through glistening glaciers in the last leg, it is a journey that you undertake with nature.



Being cut off from civilization – and the internet – the climber spends a lot of time in the company of rare fauna and flora.



With the vaccine roll-out picking up across the world, things should hopefully start looking up for tourism in Africa and in these parts. The challenge will remain to protect those working in the local industry.



“I cannot say can say there is 99% positivity in 2021 but there is hope with the ongoing bookings till now&#8230; governments should make sure people follow all Covid protocols to minimize risks. This will make a better future for the tourism industry in 2022,” said Mahala, her eyes twinkling with hope looking up the face of a mountain that will continue to hold the world in awe.



BY INAARA GANGJI

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Conquering The Peak: Solace On Africa’s Tallest Mountain

The rumblings of Covid-19’s devastating impact on the tourism industry could be felt deep in Tanzania’s wildlife parks too, where this year, few arrived to witness the annual wildebeest migration.



July at the Serengeti National Park in Tanzania was a different experience this year. The unending savannah looked the same, the animals roamed in their natural habitat and the wildebeest set out to migrate in vast numbers as they do this time every year. But it was the silence that was deafening. Normally, at this time, every year, the park is a magnet for international tourists eager to witness the largest animal migration in the world.



This park was eerily empty, and I was the only guest at the camp I stayed at.&nbsp;



Having gone on safari many times, including to the Maasai Mara on the Kenyan side of the park, and to other parks in East and West Africa, this experience was humbling. Covid-19’s devastating impact on the tourism industry could be felt here too, as tour operators and other stakeholders pivoted in unexpected ways to focus on the domestic market.



The Mbalageti Safari Camp, the property I stayed at, in any other year, attracts at least 75% of the tourists who arrive to see the wildebeest migration. The camp is located on a hill overlooking the Mbalageti River and is one of 37 permanent camps in the park. This time period coincides with not only the annual migration in the Western Corridor, but also the summer vacation period in the United States and Europe, from where most tourists normally arrive.



Shamez Karmali, the sales and marketing director at Mbalageti, admits: “We have seen guest volumes drop by over 90% during this high season… we have been forced to reduce our on-site headcount, due to lack of necessity, as well as manage costs.” In an effort to revive the industry, many local tour and safari operators have had to drop prices, to make these experiences more affordable for the price-sensitive local market. They are hopeful things will pick up once people regain confidence in international travel.



For locals like me, the reduced prices and slow tourist traffic, proved to be advantageous at this time, especially since outbound travel is still not an option due to the pandemic.&nbsp;



A possible boom in domestic tourism was wholly unexpected when Karmali drew up operational expectations for the year at Mbalageti, and he fully believes this to be the case industry-wide.&nbsp;



Even with the current travel restrictions in place across the globe, Tanzania has opened its borders to tourists. But in the short time the borders were closed, the positive impact of it was that many shortcomings in the industry were brought to light, says Collin Fortes, a director at Fortes Africa Ltd, which both the private sector and government have worked to address. One of the key issues was health and safety. The government provided training sessions for stakeholders on how to go about making this better, which in turn has improved the outlook on providing better customer service, especially since competition is now at its peak, adds Fortes. Fortes has since seen a rise in self-drive safari and camping requests from international tourists, but adds these are not ideal conditions for tourists who want a relaxing holiday.&nbsp;



The future of the tourism industry remains uncertain. Fortes and others like him have been inspired to get creative and market packages in line with the domestic market. “The current market conditions would not allow us to be viable if they persist for a prolonged period,” rues Karmali.&nbsp;



But for the mighty wildebeest, migrating across the ecosystems, it was business as usual.



-By Inaara Gangji

Africa. Tanzania. Serengeti National Park. The Mara River Area. The Annual Migration of The Wildebeests (connochaetes Taurinus)

The Greatest Show On Earth Few Saw

The beasts and the drama of the African bush, far from the harsh lights of big city Johannesburg.  



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There is a mystique about the African bush that enchants
visitors from all over the world. Some of them become so captivated they decide
to stay on, or return time and again. 



Even a born and bred African like me, albeit of European
descent, cannot say no to a few days of “bundu bashing”. There is nothing quite
like escaping the bumper-to-bumper traffic and constant hum of the big city, to
experience a range of smells as you move through the bush. The scent of the
long grass. The whiff from the marula trees. The odor of fresh dung. 



And at night, when you look up to the canopy of the sky, you
feel as though you could reach out and touch the stars. The Southern Cross.
Orion’s Belt. The river of the Milky Way. Venus, the morning and the evening
star. The red glint of Mars.



On the day our group arrives at the exclusive Sable Camp at
MalaMala within the larger Sabi Sands Game Reserve, which shares a 19-kilometer
open border with South Africa’s Kruger National Park, it is hot and humid. 



<div class="wp-block-image"><figure class="aligncenter"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="932" height="617" src="https://www.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stai1.png.png" alt="" class="wp-image-40700" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stai1.png.png 932w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stai1.png-300x199.png 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stai1.png-600x397.png 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stai1.png-768x508.png 768w" sizes="(max-width: 932px) 100vw, 932px" /><figcaption> Sabi Sands Game Reserve. Picture: Jill de Villiers</figcaption></figure></div>



On this day in the country’s Mpumalanga province, it hits 39
degrees. We settle in and get ready for the first game drive of our stay. 



We are here for the launch of a beautiful book by renowned
wildlife photographers Gerald Hinde and Will Taylor – both men with a deep love
for animals and African landscapes. We pile onto four game-viewing vehicles to
find and photograph the heroes and heroines of their book – The Big Seven:
Adventures in Search of Africa’s Iconic Species.



The roads are rough and rudimentary as we head into the bush, cameras with long lenses at hand. We drive along a river bed. As the sun moves slowly down towards the western horizon, its rays glint in the waves of green and yellow grass. The wheels skid in the white sand. We drive past a large bush and suddenly an elephant appears, tugging and tearing at the foliage. He looks at us and flaps his ears lazily. 



READ MORE | <a rel="noreferrer noopener" aria-label="In Search Of Africa’s Last Eden (opens in a new tab)" href="https://www.forbesafrica.com/travel/2019/03/25/in-search-of-africas-last-eden/" target="_blank">In Search Of Africa’s Last Eden</a>



A bit further on, after literally bashing through the bush,
off-road, we see her. Slinky and quiet, her pelt shines in the setting sun. The
lone female leopard looks at us with the disdain of a cat disturbed by
bothersome humans. She slinks through the bush as we follow her. Then she sits
perfectly still, slowly turning her head from side to side. 



As darkness settles, the vehicle lights come on and we head
back to the lodge. In an outdoor boma, tables are set up in the round, and a
five-star dinner is served under the expanse of the night sky. We are treated
like royalty by all of the staff of MalaMala. Most of them come from the
community that now owns the reserve, after the conclusion of a successful land
claim deal in 2014.&nbsp; 



The next day dawns. Overcast, with a soft, insistent rain.
The temperature has dropped 14 degrees. Donning rain ponchos, the group of
adventurers set forth on the morning game drive. The mission is to encounter
every one of the Big Seven. The traditional Big Five tourists flock to game
reserves to see are: elephant, lion, rhino, leopard and buffalo. Two more have
been added, both on the endangered list – the wild dog and cheetah. 



<figure class="wp-block-image"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="928" height="610" src="https://www.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stia2.png.png" alt="" class="wp-image-40701" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stia2.png.png 928w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stia2.png-300x197.png 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stia2.png-600x394.png 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/stia2.png-768x505.png 768w" sizes="(max-width: 928px) 100vw, 928px" /><figcaption> Elephant at Sabi Sands Game Reserve. Picture: Jill de Villiers </figcaption></figure>



Just as humans are shy of rain, so are animals. They lie low
in the grass or huddle under trees where they can’t be seen. An hour or so into
the drive, the drizzle lifts and we see movement in the grass. 



A lioness lifts her head and looks at us. Slowly, slowly, one
lion after another stands up to look at the vehicles. There are, at least,
eight of them. They lose interest in us again, and stretch out on the ground. 



The time to leave comes far too soon. The quiet and beauty
of the bush have soaked into my soul and I feel completely at peace and one
with the sky and the grass and the trees and the animals and the river and the
world.&nbsp;

STIA

The Tableaux Of The Wild

As soon as I heard of my aunt’s death, I knew straight away that I had to make a plan to fill my petrol tank and attend the funeral. I hadn’t seen her in months and felt bad about not getting her the mobile phone I had promised her months earlier. Guilt was flowing through my body with the blood pumped by my hurting heart.
Back to the tank issue – I was broke and could barely afford to get enough petrol to drive 175kms to Ledig, in the North West province. After fetching my uncle in Midrand, north of Johannesburg, and with just a 1.5-liter bottle of Valpre water in the car, we began our journey.
Fifty kilometers into our trip, we drove through Hartbeespoort, a scenic holiday spot in the North West known for its dam. We were stunned to see the narrow bridge in the area; it was like being in a different country for the first time, looking at everything with a new eye. It looked like one of those bridges from the movies depicting ancient Europe. It was beautiful.
We didn’t have time to stop and take pictures; it was 6:15PM and we didn’t want to drive in the rain, especially as it was getting dark.
After driving past the Sun City resort, we knew we had arrived. Far from home, our Tswana dialect wouldn’t go unnoticed by locals; they would know we were from Johannesburg.
At Ledig, we were greeted by three men who were expecting us. I was interested in learning more about the guy wearing the white Marikana mine overall with an X marked at the back. He was loud and funny, but also useful. He helped carry the chairs and tables from the van to the house.
The only thing I found out about the guy is his age, his jokes and that he is known in the area for his pantsula (a culture originating from black townships during apartheid) dress sense. He also wants to go to Johannesburg; a common desire among many youths in the area.
On Saturday, the day of the funeral, I couldn’t hear a word at the service. What was strange was seeing people waiting at the graveyard for the burial. Even stranger, men were not allowed into the graveyard if they weren’t wearing a jacket; to be fair my parents had warned me about that.
<a href="http://www.forbesafrica.com/focus/2017/07/10/pain-business-death/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">READ MORE: The Pain Of The Business Of Death</a>
At most black funerals, there is a culture that has evolved over the last couple of years where music is played and alcohol is consumed after the burial. It is called ‘after tears’ and is done as a celebration of life for the deceased.
This ‘after tears’ ceremony in the rural area of Ledig was no different from the one we have in the townships, where I live.
<a href="http://www.forbesafrica.com/woman/2018/03/09/slice-africa-durban/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">READ MORE: A Slice Of Africa In Durban</a>
It is now Sunday morning and I have just enough petrol to get us back home to Soweto. It wasn’t the most pleasant drive back to Johannesburg because we had nothing to nibble on, nor drink. Just a dry mouth, a hangover, and a dirty car.
Finally, we get home. I freshen up while my uncle heads to bed. I was tired but felt it was important to go to church with a friend after what was a sad weekend.
I never heard the sermon – I was too tired. Instead I took my shoes and socks off, rested in the car and passed out. I was woken by a knock on the window; my friend told me I embarrassed her because people saw me sleeping in the car outside church.
I didn’t care – I had rested and was officially back in Johannesburg.

Tag: Sometime in Africa

FORBES AFRICA SOCIAL MEDIA

Conquering The Peak: Solace On Africa’s Tallest Mountain

The Greatest Show On Earth Few Saw

The Tableaux Of The Wild

The Sad Road Trip On An Empty Wallet