The few, the proud, the muzungus
(after three spectacularly unsuccessful attempts at adding pictures to this blog, I am posting it sans photos until such time as the internet gods deem my sacrifice worthy)
As I mentioned in my last blog post, I set off this past weekend with my new friends Emily, Andrew, (the veggie-twins) and Amy (the “I wasn’t born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could” Texan) to test my mettle on a mountain. It was one of those moments when the potential for adventure overcame sound reason and good logic in my mind. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrong with this trip, but, obviously since I’m writing this, I ultimately survived…or did I? (DUH duh duh)
The destination of our journey was a giant granite rock in the south of Malawi called Mt. Mulanje. Although the rock climbs high above the clouds at 3100 meters, it is hard to call it a mountain. In technical terms it is actually a massif, which is French for “giant whale”. Just kidding. I don’t know what it means, but it’s basically a huge rock formation that stretches for miles (200 miles squared to be exact), with a series of plateaus and one sharp peak. The lure of climbing such a giant rock is obvious. What’s less obvious is why anyone would want to race up the mountain. But every year in July an event takes place called The Porter’s Race. Porters are those locals who carry all of your gear on their heads and walk with you up the mountain. They demonstrate incredible feats of strength, not the least of which because they are usually climbing with flip flops or no shoes at all (see below).
So I and a couple of other muzungus thought it would be a great idea to attempt to race alongside these abnormally gifted men and women. As I mentioned, there were several things that could go wrong on this trip. For instance:
-I haven’t run more than 6 miles since my marathon over two years ago. The Porter’s Race is 15 miles up and down a mountain.
-The entire race, in fact the entire country is at high altitude, which isn’t great on the lungs.
-Even in my runs through Lilongwe I haven’t climbed a hill more than 100 feet high.
-And perhaps most dangerous of all, Mt. Mulanje is believed by many Malawians to be inhabited by evil spirits. In fact, the highest point of the mountain, Sapitwa, literally means “Don’t go there” in the native Chichewa. There are stories everywhere you go in Malawi about people disappearing on the mountain. Three years ago a Dutch girl tried to climb Sapitwa on her own and disappeared without a trace. Professional search and rescuers from the Netherlands showed up to try to find her. They brought dogs up the mountain to sniff her out. Traditional healers were sent up along with local church leaders. But nary was a trace found. In mountain climbing circles, this is very rare except on the highest of peaks.
One rumor of the mountain is that it is still inhabited by an ancient civilization called the Abatwa, a small, light-skinned race that supposedly settled this region before the Bantu migration brought the current inhabitants. Their legend, however, has grown such that, according to Wikipedia, it is believed that:
“The Abatwa are tiny humans said to be able to hide beneath a blade of grass and to be able to ride ants. They are said to live a nomadic lifestyle and are continually on the hunt for game.
Legend states that if one happens to come across an Abatwa, one will typically be asked a question like, "From where did you first see me?" One must reply by saying one saw them from a mountain, or some far away area. They are said to be extremely sensitive about their size, and if one answers by saying that one only saw them right then for the first time, the Abatwa will try to kill them with poison arrows. Stepping on an Abatwa by accident is also said to be a death sentence.
Due to their shy nature, they will only tolerate being seen by the very young (said to be anyone under the age of 4), by magicians, and by pregnant women. If a pregnant woman in her seventh month of pregnancy sees a male Abatwa, it is said that she will give birth to a boy.”
So, needless to say, there were lots of things to watch out for during this 15 mile trek across Malawi’s highest point.
Before we left for the trip I was walking out of the USAID building down a flight of stairs in my hiking shoes when I completely lost my footing and slid down an entire flight of stairs, only saving myself with a quick grasp of the railing. Not a good sign when you’re about to race up and down a mountain. Then, as we were approaching the mountain in the dark, completely unaware of our surroundings, the dirt road we were traveling on suddenly disappeared about 5 feet in front of the car. It turns out that they were building a bridge that had not been completed yet, but had failed to put up a safety sign. TIA. There were at least 5 more uncompleted bridges we had to try to avoid on the way up to the forest lodge where we were camping for the night.
So on to race day:
5am – Up early to register for the supposed 6:30am start time. The only people there are 3 porters wearing t-shirts and either flip flops or no shoes at all. We hear that the race probably won’t start until 7:00.
7am – We show up back at the starting line and a large crowd has gathered. We are surrounded by around 100 other runners, most Malawians with about 7 other muzungus. I am floored by the footwear, as well as the women in wraps that are gearing up for the race. When we walked up everyone was frozen stiff by the brisk morning air. Suddenly, they get the PA system to work and they start blaring some rhythmic African music. Instantly the entire crowd (with the exception of the 10 muzungus) begin to move in unison. This is all the warm-up they will need for the race.
7:20 – Race time is fast approaching. All of us muzungus are filling up our water bottles and packing some high-protein, high-carb snacks for the long run. The Malawians are all buying pieces of bubble gum which is all they can afford and all they will eat during the race.
7:30 – The race starts! 100 of us begin our ascent up the mountain. The lead pack of Malawians are on a dead sprint from the start, probably at around 4:00 mile pace over the only flat terrain of the morning. Within ½ mile we reach the climbing portion of the race.
7:45 – I’ve been climbing for 15 minutes and I’m immediately regretting this decision. My pulse is beating at max heart rate (180 beat/minute maybe?). The steep climb is the same inclination as a flight of stairs. How old do you have to be to have a heart attack?
8:00 – still climbing…I’m working my way up with 4 barefoot Malawian teenage girls who are hardly breathing.
8:15 – The barefoot Malawian girls have long surpassed me when we come to the first water station. It consists of two buckets and four cups. One bucket offers water and the other offers orange soda. All the competitors share the 4 cups. This would be the pattern through all of the water stations. Sanitation is the least of my worries at this point as I feel that battery acid is now pulsing through my legs.
8:30 – still climbing…
8:40 – Finally reach the top of the plateau and another water station. I have just scaled 3 rocky miles in just over an hour and I’ve got 12 more miles to go. Little did I know the plateau would continue to be a gradual climb, peaking at over 2200 meters. That’s a mile and a half straight up.
9:30 – The temperature has dropped and I feel mist on my face. I then realize that I am now running through a cloud. Then it dawns on me that I just ran up to a cloud. My legs hurt.
10:00 – Moisture has enveloped me and I feel the beginnings of a blister on my foot.
10:30 – The terrain is beautiful, like something out of a movie. I feel like William Wallace in Braveheart as he runs through the Scottish highlands. Or maybe more like some hunky prince in Lord of the Rings. Except that I’m running over a path of rocks and the cloud I’m running through cuts my vision to about 30 feet in front of me. I made a wrong turn at one point and soon realized that the path (marked by chalk arrows) is about 100 feet below me. As I try to walk down the bushy hill I slip on the wet rocks a couple of times. This would continue for the rest of the “race”. I haven’t seen another person for the last 45 minutes. Where am I?
10:40 – I reach the last water station before the descent. Finally a Malawian runner has joined me and we start the descent together. Each step it feels as though a hammer is driving itself into my thighs and my feet have nothing to land on but hard rock.
11:00 – The Malawian finally passes me as I have to slow down on the steep, slippery down hills to prevent a major catastrophe. I should have sprained my ankle about 20 times on the way down and torn my ACL at least 5 times. I guess today the spirits are on my side.
11:30 – How much longer? I’ve been running for four hours now. At this moment I am the embodiment of the facial expressions my runners used to give me at the end of long workouts I forced on them as a coach. In fact I start to wonder if somehow they have all conspired to mete out their revenge on me today.
11:45 – I pass by women and children balancing huge bundles of lumber on their heads while I’m struggling just to stay upright. These aren’t runners, this is their normal life. I estimate the biggest bundles at 200 pounds and the smallest at 100. The people carrying them all weigh less than 100 pounds.
12:00 – After four and a half hours I finally finish the race. I do a nose-dive across the finish line just for show. The winner today finished in just over 2 hours. I am cut, scratched, bruised, sore, dehydrated, and famished from the run. At the same time I am riding a runner’s high like no other. Occasionally the clouds broke just long enough to allow me to see the incredible beauty of the massif. I can’t describe to you the feeling of being on top of that rock looking down at the clouds and the tiny buildings way off in the distance.
Like I said, this was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done…and I enjoyed every minute of it…well, almost every minute of it.
As I mentioned in my last blog post, I set off this past weekend with my new friends Emily, Andrew, (the veggie-twins) and Amy (the “I wasn’t born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could” Texan) to test my mettle on a mountain. It was one of those moments when the potential for adventure overcame sound reason and good logic in my mind. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrong with this trip, but, obviously since I’m writing this, I ultimately survived…or did I? (DUH duh duh)
The destination of our journey was a giant granite rock in the south of Malawi called Mt. Mulanje. Although the rock climbs high above the clouds at 3100 meters, it is hard to call it a mountain. In technical terms it is actually a massif, which is French for “giant whale”. Just kidding. I don’t know what it means, but it’s basically a huge rock formation that stretches for miles (200 miles squared to be exact), with a series of plateaus and one sharp peak. The lure of climbing such a giant rock is obvious. What’s less obvious is why anyone would want to race up the mountain. But every year in July an event takes place called The Porter’s Race. Porters are those locals who carry all of your gear on their heads and walk with you up the mountain. They demonstrate incredible feats of strength, not the least of which because they are usually climbing with flip flops or no shoes at all (see below).
So I and a couple of other muzungus thought it would be a great idea to attempt to race alongside these abnormally gifted men and women. As I mentioned, there were several things that could go wrong on this trip. For instance:
-I haven’t run more than 6 miles since my marathon over two years ago. The Porter’s Race is 15 miles up and down a mountain.
-The entire race, in fact the entire country is at high altitude, which isn’t great on the lungs.
-Even in my runs through Lilongwe I haven’t climbed a hill more than 100 feet high.
-And perhaps most dangerous of all, Mt. Mulanje is believed by many Malawians to be inhabited by evil spirits. In fact, the highest point of the mountain, Sapitwa, literally means “Don’t go there” in the native Chichewa. There are stories everywhere you go in Malawi about people disappearing on the mountain. Three years ago a Dutch girl tried to climb Sapitwa on her own and disappeared without a trace. Professional search and rescuers from the Netherlands showed up to try to find her. They brought dogs up the mountain to sniff her out. Traditional healers were sent up along with local church leaders. But nary was a trace found. In mountain climbing circles, this is very rare except on the highest of peaks.
One rumor of the mountain is that it is still inhabited by an ancient civilization called the Abatwa, a small, light-skinned race that supposedly settled this region before the Bantu migration brought the current inhabitants. Their legend, however, has grown such that, according to Wikipedia, it is believed that:
“The Abatwa are tiny humans said to be able to hide beneath a blade of grass and to be able to ride ants. They are said to live a nomadic lifestyle and are continually on the hunt for game.
Legend states that if one happens to come across an Abatwa, one will typically be asked a question like, "From where did you first see me?" One must reply by saying one saw them from a mountain, or some far away area. They are said to be extremely sensitive about their size, and if one answers by saying that one only saw them right then for the first time, the Abatwa will try to kill them with poison arrows. Stepping on an Abatwa by accident is also said to be a death sentence.
Due to their shy nature, they will only tolerate being seen by the very young (said to be anyone under the age of 4), by magicians, and by pregnant women. If a pregnant woman in her seventh month of pregnancy sees a male Abatwa, it is said that she will give birth to a boy.”
So, needless to say, there were lots of things to watch out for during this 15 mile trek across Malawi’s highest point.
Before we left for the trip I was walking out of the USAID building down a flight of stairs in my hiking shoes when I completely lost my footing and slid down an entire flight of stairs, only saving myself with a quick grasp of the railing. Not a good sign when you’re about to race up and down a mountain. Then, as we were approaching the mountain in the dark, completely unaware of our surroundings, the dirt road we were traveling on suddenly disappeared about 5 feet in front of the car. It turns out that they were building a bridge that had not been completed yet, but had failed to put up a safety sign. TIA. There were at least 5 more uncompleted bridges we had to try to avoid on the way up to the forest lodge where we were camping for the night.
So on to race day:
5am – Up early to register for the supposed 6:30am start time. The only people there are 3 porters wearing t-shirts and either flip flops or no shoes at all. We hear that the race probably won’t start until 7:00.
7am – We show up back at the starting line and a large crowd has gathered. We are surrounded by around 100 other runners, most Malawians with about 7 other muzungus. I am floored by the footwear, as well as the women in wraps that are gearing up for the race. When we walked up everyone was frozen stiff by the brisk morning air. Suddenly, they get the PA system to work and they start blaring some rhythmic African music. Instantly the entire crowd (with the exception of the 10 muzungus) begin to move in unison. This is all the warm-up they will need for the race.
7:20 – Race time is fast approaching. All of us muzungus are filling up our water bottles and packing some high-protein, high-carb snacks for the long run. The Malawians are all buying pieces of bubble gum which is all they can afford and all they will eat during the race.
7:30 – The race starts! 100 of us begin our ascent up the mountain. The lead pack of Malawians are on a dead sprint from the start, probably at around 4:00 mile pace over the only flat terrain of the morning. Within ½ mile we reach the climbing portion of the race.
7:45 – I’ve been climbing for 15 minutes and I’m immediately regretting this decision. My pulse is beating at max heart rate (180 beat/minute maybe?). The steep climb is the same inclination as a flight of stairs. How old do you have to be to have a heart attack?
8:00 – still climbing…I’m working my way up with 4 barefoot Malawian teenage girls who are hardly breathing.
8:15 – The barefoot Malawian girls have long surpassed me when we come to the first water station. It consists of two buckets and four cups. One bucket offers water and the other offers orange soda. All the competitors share the 4 cups. This would be the pattern through all of the water stations. Sanitation is the least of my worries at this point as I feel that battery acid is now pulsing through my legs.
8:30 – still climbing…
8:40 – Finally reach the top of the plateau and another water station. I have just scaled 3 rocky miles in just over an hour and I’ve got 12 more miles to go. Little did I know the plateau would continue to be a gradual climb, peaking at over 2200 meters. That’s a mile and a half straight up.
9:30 – The temperature has dropped and I feel mist on my face. I then realize that I am now running through a cloud. Then it dawns on me that I just ran up to a cloud. My legs hurt.
10:00 – Moisture has enveloped me and I feel the beginnings of a blister on my foot.
10:30 – The terrain is beautiful, like something out of a movie. I feel like William Wallace in Braveheart as he runs through the Scottish highlands. Or maybe more like some hunky prince in Lord of the Rings. Except that I’m running over a path of rocks and the cloud I’m running through cuts my vision to about 30 feet in front of me. I made a wrong turn at one point and soon realized that the path (marked by chalk arrows) is about 100 feet below me. As I try to walk down the bushy hill I slip on the wet rocks a couple of times. This would continue for the rest of the “race”. I haven’t seen another person for the last 45 minutes. Where am I?
10:40 – I reach the last water station before the descent. Finally a Malawian runner has joined me and we start the descent together. Each step it feels as though a hammer is driving itself into my thighs and my feet have nothing to land on but hard rock.
11:00 – The Malawian finally passes me as I have to slow down on the steep, slippery down hills to prevent a major catastrophe. I should have sprained my ankle about 20 times on the way down and torn my ACL at least 5 times. I guess today the spirits are on my side.
11:30 – How much longer? I’ve been running for four hours now. At this moment I am the embodiment of the facial expressions my runners used to give me at the end of long workouts I forced on them as a coach. In fact I start to wonder if somehow they have all conspired to mete out their revenge on me today.
11:45 – I pass by women and children balancing huge bundles of lumber on their heads while I’m struggling just to stay upright. These aren’t runners, this is their normal life. I estimate the biggest bundles at 200 pounds and the smallest at 100. The people carrying them all weigh less than 100 pounds.
12:00 – After four and a half hours I finally finish the race. I do a nose-dive across the finish line just for show. The winner today finished in just over 2 hours. I am cut, scratched, bruised, sore, dehydrated, and famished from the run. At the same time I am riding a runner’s high like no other. Occasionally the clouds broke just long enough to allow me to see the incredible beauty of the massif. I can’t describe to you the feeling of being on top of that rock looking down at the clouds and the tiny buildings way off in the distance.
Like I said, this was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done…and I enjoyed every minute of it…well, almost every minute of it.
posted by Michael, aka Tex, aka Jett | 11:34 AM
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