Elevation: 4,703m to 5,895m

Distance: 6 km / 4 miles

Hiking Time: 7-8 hours

Habitat: Arctic

The knock came at midnight, jolting me awake in the freezing darkness. My breath was visible in the frigid air as I layered up, headlamp strapped firmly in place, boots laced tightly. This was it—the moment I’d dreamed of for months, maybe years. It was now the time to reunite Dad with Mum whose ashes I had scattered only 16 months previously.

The ascent began with the excited chatter of all the Tanzanians attempting to reach Uhuru Peak on their Independence Day. The chatter was broken by only sounds of the crunch of boots on frozen ground and the occasional gust of icy wind. Hundreds of headlamps illuminated the narrow trail ahead, but beyond that, the world was an infinite black void of shinning vessels in the night sky. Truly beautiful.

Step by step, the altitude pressed harder, a relentless weight on my chest. My hands and feet tingled with the cold, and every breath felt like sipping air through a straw. My guide’s quiet encouragement became my lifeline: “Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly.” Salim and Brucie were so incredible with words of encouragement.

Time dissolved into the rhythm of movement, one step, then another, and another. The night felt eternal, and for a while, it was just us and the mountain, locked in a battle of will.

Then, in the distance, a faint glow appeared on the horizon—a thin line of golden light pushing back the darkness. Sunrise was coming, and with it, a renewed surge of hope. The sky exploded in hues of orange, pink, and gold, casting a warm glow over the icy landscape.

After nearly eight gruelling hours, we reached Stella Point. Tears welled up as I turned to see the shadow of Kilimanjaro stretching across the earth below. It was breathtaking, humbling, and almost too much to take in.

But the journey wasn’t over. One more hour of climbing lay between Stella Point and Uhuru Peak. My legs felt like lead, my lungs burned, but I pushed forward. The snow underfoot crunched loudly, each step bringing me closer to the dream I had carried with me for so long.

And then, there it was.

Uhuru Peak.

The sign came into view, and with it, an indescribable wave of emotion. My heart raced as I took the final steps, the world blurring around me. At 5,895 meters—19,341 feet—I was standing on the roof of Africa. I had made it back to the point that I had reached with Mum’s ashes and, more importantly, I had brought her soulmate with me. Together in eternity.

The air was thin, the cold biting, but I felt invincible. I raised my arms to the sky, a mix of and tears and laughter spilling out as Salim and fellow trekkers cheered. This wasn’t just a summit—it was a triumph over everything I had endured to get here.

I thought about the years of surgeries, the treatments, the uncertainty of living with cancer. I thought about the moments when I doubted I’d ever see this day. But here I was, proving to myself that life, no matter how fragile, is full of moments worth fighting for. I was also here for my Mum and Dad.

The view was unlike anything I had ever seen—vast, unending, and impossibly beautiful. The glaciers shimmered in the morning light, the world stretched out in every direction, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like I was part of something infinite.

I held onto that moment, letting it sink deep into my soul. The summit wasn’t just a destination—it was a symbol of resilience, hope, and the power of the human spirit and of love.

Descending later that morning, I carried the weight of the peak with me—not as a burden, but as a reminder that anything is possible. Kilimanjaro tested me in every way, but it also gave me something priceless: the realization that even in the face of the hardest challenges, there is always a way forward.

This was more than a climb. This was a celebration of life itself.

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