African Genesis?

Tanzania

Scott Sturman

I have been to Africa four times, less than three months, but it’s more than enough time to come to the conclusion that Africans are dissimilar racially, ethnically, and religiously, and Blacks in the United States are not culturally African.  Not surprisingly, real Africans do not use first names fraught with rhyming, alliterative syllables and plentiful apostrophes, as do American Blacks.  Muslim Africans use traditional Islamic first names such as Muhammed, Qasim, and Fatima. Christians opt for names like John, Joseph, and Mary.  The truly African names often begin with unusual letter combinations like “Mb,” “Nk,” or “Nd.”

From Morocco to South Africa and Egypt to Tanzania, Africans are a diverse lot.  The Muslim north historically has treated their black neighbors to the south poorly.  Tribal loyalties often take precedence over national boundaries established by the Europeans.  The similarity of sub Saharan tribes penetrates no deeper than skin level.  The term African American is imprecise at best and stereotypical.  A Coptic Christian from Cairo, a Muslim from Mogadishu, an Afrikaner from the Transvaal, and a Bantu from Kinshasa living in the United States all could be tagged with the appellation “African American.” 

Karnak

Some years ago I had the good fortune of having Samia Asindamu as a guide on Mount Kilimanjaro.  His expertise was not confined to guiding, for he proved to be an able manager, physiologist, and psychologist, which are essential skills to lead 97% of his often inexperienced clients to the top of the 19,340 foot mountain.  Wilderness Travel, his contractor, recognized his abilities and sponsored him to visit the United States to promote the company’s treks on Kilimanjaro.  He enjoyed the experience and remarked about the hospitality and generosity of most Americans with one notable exception - inner city urban Blacks, who treated him in a confrontational manner and were not indisposed to employ physical intimidation.  The irony perplexed this thoroughly African gentleman, who could not understand why those were closest to him phenotypically were the source of his greatest angst.

In Tanzania elderly males are respected and provide stability within their communities.  Mr. Asindamu offered this example:  If two young Tanzanian males get in a fight and are ordered to stop by an elder, they are compelled to do so.  To defy an elder in these circumstances is a grave mistake that would have lasting repercussions on the young men’s standing in the community.  Order is maintained and violence avoided.  This African custom is consigned as a bygone memory in American inner cities.

Volubilus, Morocco

For all the fanfare and talk of African roots, Black inner city culture is not African.  It is a dependent, matriarchal, urban lifestyle, which has morphed from its African roots.  It is an  unsustainable life style without the infusion of enormous resources over long periods of time from government and charitable agencies.  The stabilizing influence of elders, the functioning family unit, and the traditions of hospitality were abandoned decades ago and thousands of miles away.

Political correctness emphasizes differences, keeping old wounds open and providing careers for those who make their living in the dirty business of racial politics.  The Left and the talking heads of the media bear as much to blame as Black leaders whose influence wanes when Blacks think independently.  My friends and colleagues whose ancestors came from Africa have little more in common with the continent that I do.  We have similar goals, among them raising children, working hard, maintaining a solid professional reputation, and getting through life with as few bumps as possible.  We tend to perceive ourselves as individuals rather than by racial identity.

Oddly, tribal behavior at the ballot box is one of the few African traditions which has survived in America.  By blindly supporting their chieftains and the Democratic Party at voting percentages well in excess of 90%, even Comrade Stalin would be proud.  American Blacks would do well discard this self destructive behavior and adapt the uniquely American custom of placing individual interests above those of their self serving leaders.   

Tanzania

Up to Kilimanjaro

Samia Asindamu, Kilimanjaro Guide - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Scott Sturman
fliesinyoureyes.com

The two most popular reasons for visiting Tanzania are the spectacular safaris in the Serengeti, in Ngorongoro Crater, and at Lake Manyara on the Great Rift Valley, and, of course climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. The country is roughly twice the size of California, impoverished, and has one of the world’s highest death rates from HIV/AIDS. Yet despite these problems, the country, which is comprised of nearly equal proportions of Christians, Muslims, and traditional believers, has escaped much of the internecine violence of other African countries in the region.

When hikers travel half way around the world and spent a lot of money doing so, they expect to summit Kilimanjaro; so as soon as Samia Asindamu met his clients at the airport in Arusha, Tanzania, he began thinking what it would take to not disappoint them. He had climbed Africa’s highest mountain over 120 times and now worked for an American company, Wilderness Travel with a track record of putting 96% of its customers at the top. Samia would later tell me the 4% who do not make it either had asthma or did not follow the guides’ instructions.

Our group of eleven climbers ranged from age 35 to 72 with most in their 50s and early 60s. Physical conditioning varied considerably but most were veteran hikers. The route up the mountain crossed the Shira Plateau to the Western Breach where Kilimanjaro’s highest point can be attained on Kibo Peak; this itinerary allowed an extra day for acclimatization and a short hike to the top on summit day.

Samia was a master guide, and although he lacked formal medical training, doubled as a physician, pharmacist, and psychologist. At 14,000 feet he checked the arterial oxygen saturation of all the climbers with a pulse oximeter; a reading in the low 80% range or below heightened concern. Many climbers, who live at low altitudes, suffer altitude sickness of varying degree while climbing to 19,340 feet. The art of getting them to the top involves treatment of dehydration, diarrhea, headaches, insomnia, shortness of breath, and fatigue while determining whether they are an annoyance or a dangerous symptom of a more serious medical problem. In his backpack besides the usual first aid equipment, Samia carried a stash of Diamox, Decadron, Procaridia, Cipro, and NSAIDs which were given to him by former clients. He had the uncanny ability of knowing which drug to administer at the proper time to move the climbers up the mountain. Pulmonary edema meant a quick descent to base camp, but every other malady including mild cerebral edema was compatible with achieving the summit.

Kilimanjaro stands alone near the equator on the East African plain, and every afternoon the clouds from the Indian Ocean fill the lowlands east of the mountain. On those late afternoons after we pitched camp, the clients and guides congregated in the mess tent for tea, snacks, and conversation. As we got to know each, the interchanges became less guarded as our new friends shared their perceptions with us. Contrary to the mantra found in the media, Tanzanians hold America in high esteem primarily due to our efforts in helping them combat malaria and HIV. They harbored more negative feelings toward Europeans, who they regarded as haughty and unable to discard the mantle of perceived superiority.

At 14,800 feet we camped at Sheffield Camp by a lava dome which resembled Pride Rock from The Lion King. Samia gathered the group together to talk about climbing the Western Breach which gave access to the Furtwrangler Glacier at 18,500 feet - 840 vertical feet below the summit. It was important to ascend the steep 2500 foot high cleft on Kibo before the sun shown upon it and melted the ice which kept the rocks solidly in place. It was in this area that a few years prior two climbers from New York died when rocks were dislodged above them. They were part of the 4% who didn’t listen to their guides and had it their way throughout the adventure. They refused to crawl out of their sleeping bags a couple of hours before dawn to get an early start on the boulder filled trail. A leisurely breakfast followed, and by the time they set out, most of the other group members were near the top where the trail meets the crater floor and the glacier field. Falling rock from nearly 2000 feet above created a cascade effect and crushed the stragglers. So much for doing things your way, when you don’t have a clue about what you are doing!

Two days hence when the morning arrived, no one rolled over in their sleeping bag for a few more minutes of sleep. At 0930 that morning everyone was off the Breach and having tea with the glacier field in sight. After walking a short distance, we found ourselves between the glaciers whose white vertical walls contrasted with the black volcanic pumice where they rested. By lunch we arrived at Crater Camp below the Kibo Peak where we would spend the night and then walk to Uhuru Point the next morning.

After a night of Cheyne-Stokes breathing the group made short work of the walk to the summit. Despite one mild case of cerebral edema and another of fatigue and dehydration, the crew was in good spirits and enjoyed summit day. After less than an hour of celebrating and taking pictures, we transversed the relatively flat summit area and reached a 2000 foot 45 degree sloped section covered with fine scree. What a blast! One can literally run down Kibo Peak with the fine stones cushioning every step. It takes four hours to walk up, but 15 minutes to run down. We marched 10,000 feet down that day to our camp in the woods. Samia arranged for his workers to carry bottles of ice cold Kilimanjaro and Safari beer to the camp for our arrival. He was a terrific guide in so many ways, and this was frosting on the cake.

The last day all but one of us trudged to base camp where a truck waited for us. Everyone had made it to the top, but after collapsing on the summit, one hiker was carried all the way top to bottom by two very strong African men. Yet there was no one happier or more grateful. A life’s dream had been fulfilled. As Alexandre Dumas noted, “Nothing succeeds like success.”