Mt. Mulanje, "The Island in the Sky"

Editor's note: Sydney, a Columbia Star Cub Reporter and a junior at A.C. Flora High School, spent two weeks in Malawi, Africa, last summer with her father, mother, and sister. They were on a personal mission with the Ministry of Hope. This is her story.

After our three-day stay on the islands of Lake Malawi, we drove south to the final challenge of our trip, Mt. Mulanje, nicknamed "The Island in the Sky."

Mt. Mulanje's 3,000- meter peak makes it the highest mountain in Malawi. It rises from the flat landscape like a threatening giant, looming over the tea fields and villages that sit at its base. From our campsite at the bottom, we scanned the mountain's side for any evidence of trails or roads that would lead us up the mountain where we planned to spend the night in a 100-year-old cabin built by the African Presbyterian Church.

On the day of our climb, we drove to the base of the mountain where we hired a guide, Rhettson, and three porters to lead us on the hike. These men were the heroes of the hike. Their stamina put even the athletic ones among us to shame. While we huffed and puffed up the mountain, they silently climbed the steep bank with backpacks and duffel bags balanced on their heads...for the pay of five dollars a day. We hiked in tennis shoes; they hiked in flimsy flip-flops. While we took a break every 45 minutes or so and ate sandwiches for energy, they snacked on sugar cane and a few crackers.

Our guide, Rhettson, had been climbing the mountain since he was seventeen. Rhettson told us that each year, the porters raced to see who could climb and descend the mountain the fastest. What took us five and a half hours to climb and three hours to go down took last year's winning porter a little over two hours to complete round-trip.

The hike itself was a mixture of pain and beauty. Our throbbing legs led us through a variety of landscapes. At the bottom, we passed through heavily treed forests and a raging river. Yet as we hiked higher, the setting became more peaceful and serene. We traded the raging river for a bubbling stream, its water so clean and untainted we could drink from it. The forest gave way to grassy banks from which we could look down on the tiny specks of villages. The only inhabitants we saw along the hike were birds, wildflowers, and a monkey.

The cabin where we spent the night on top of Mount Mulanje After five and a half hours of relentless hiking, we finally reached the cabin. It sat among a few cedar trees in the middle of a grassy field. There we met the caretaker, a kind old man who lived on the mountain with his grandson. We were grateful for the crackling fire he had prepared for us before we came. It's warmth fought off the misty cold that surrounded the cabin. The caretaker also brought us a case of Coca-Colas in glass bottles. They seemed strangely out of place in the 100-year old cabin.

We spent the evening feasting on Ramen noodles and shivering next to the fireplace. Outside the cabin, the only noise was the lively chatter and laughter of Rhettson and the porters. A stroll outside revealed spectacular stars; the night was so clear that we could actually see the Milky Way stretched in a white band across the sky.

In the morning, we made our slow descent despite the protests of our sore muscles. At the bottom, I was amazed one last time by the stamina of the guide and porters and the desperateness of their living situations.

When we finally reached the end of our hike, someone asked them if, given the opportunity, would they turn around at that instant and lead another group up the mountain. Rhettson thought a minute, and shook his head. He would have to eat lunch first, he said, and then he would go.

(Next week: Conclusion)