Day 1
Originally posted 2026-02-06
sometimes a whole lot of things need to go wrong for the right things to happen. 2025 was one of the most challenging years of my life. almost every single major life stressor hit me all at once and i felt more hopeless than i had in a long time. on dec. 21, i hit rock bottom and saw a glimmer of hope in my upcoming birthday. what if i could take massive action and turn my life around? i asked chatgpt on a whim about kilimanjaro and to my shock, it told me i could do it. i had always heard it was much tougher than everest base camp and assumed i would need to train for months to even think about it. but chatgpt broke it down for me, recommended trekking companies, and even helped me understand the daily mileage and elevation gain. i then found an upcoming trek that would have me summit on jan. 12, my birthday. surely this had to be a sign. i signed up for the trek and began ordering gear & clothes. and then, two days before my flight, i began vomiting and had the worst abdominal pain of my life. i ended up in the ER and realized there was no way i was going to kilimanjaro. i was depressed once again. but the seed of the idea had been planted. and as soon as i recovered, i asked the company when their next trek was. it was leaving in two weeks. i said bismillah and on jan. 17, i landed in tanzania. jan. 19 was the first day of the trek and we drove to the londrossi gate at 7.4K feet and checked in with the park rangers. i look so happy in this picture, wearing my brand new merino wool shirt, and freshly showered (this would be my last shower for the next 10 days). we then drove to the trailhead at 11.4K feet as the landscape became more and more desolate. we hiked 3 hours to shira 1 camp at 11.8K feet, the only ones on the trail, and an hour into the hike, it started pouring and we put on our rain jackets. that night, i camped in a tent for the first time in my life, my mind racing with all types of thoughts that i would struggle to control throughout the trek. i was on the road to mount kilimanjaro and surely God had a reason for bringing me here and i would try my hardest to figure out what that was over the next 10 days.
Day 2
Originally posted 2026-02-10
i went to kilimanjaro without any training, preparation, or even research. on day 2, as i surveyed the desolate, martian landscape around me, one of my fellow trekkers said, “this looks just as depressing as it does in all the videos.” i was shocked. did everyone know this was how it looked? where were the dreamy alpine vistas? yes, everyone knew. kilimanjaro is a standalone volcano in the middle of nowhere. it’s not part of a mountain range, so there are no sweeping mountain views. “oh great,” i thought, “this is the perfect place for a depressed person to come.”
the northern circuit route i’d chosen was also the most remote option. many days, the only people we saw were the six trekkers in our group, our three guides, and our 45 porters, whom we rarely saw during the day since they were so much faster than us. one of the hardest parts was that for nine nights we camped in tents. they were billed as luxury vip tents, but they were still tents, and because we were on the northern circuit, the campsites were often nearly empty. psychologically, this made the trek far harder than everest base camp, where you sleep in lodges, essentially hotel rooms, in villages every night.
in this kind of rugged isolation, routine became essential for sanity. the schedule went like this. at 6am, yona would gently wake me and offer hot coffee while i stayed in bed, sipping it for half an hour. at 6:30, musa brought a bowl of warm water for washing. breakfast was at 7, and we started hiking at 8. some days we stopped for lunch; other days we pushed straight through to the next camp. we usually arrived between 2 and 4pm, rested briefly, washed again, then had dinner at 6, followed by a nightly briefing and oxygen check. our goal was to be zipped into our sleeping bags, with a nalgene of boiled water for warmth, by sundown, when the cold set in fast. (towards the later days of the trek, the wakeup times moved earlier and earlier, until we were waking up at 3-4am near summit day.)
on day 2, we hiked 6 miles over 6 hours, climbed 2,200 feet, and ended at moir camp at 13,700 feet.
Day 3
Originally posted 2026-02-25
day 3 looked easy on paper: 6.6 miles with 500 feet of net loss. but i hadn’t done any research, so i didn’t realize it would be 8+ hours of relentless ups & downs with 1,500 feet of gain & 2,000 feet of loss. the landscape was alpine desert and extremely depressing. i also struggled to keep up with the rest of my group, which was embarrassing because they were mostly in their 50s & 60s.
my inner dialogue kicked into hyperdrive. one of the primary drivers of depression is downward social comparison, thinking you’re the worst of all people. as i listened to the group talk about their lives and favorite ski resorts, i felt like i didn’t belong. my inner critic attacked: “these people are here to celebrate their lives. you’re here because you hate your life. of course you don’t belong.”
i imagined the worst. in the orientation meeting, i asked our head guide, bwenje, if anyone had ever died on one of his treks. he said one person had: a 78 year old he tried to turn around on day 3 because he was struggling to breathe. the man refused and had a heart attack later that day. bwenje said the hardest part of his job was turning someone back. now, on day 3, whenever he talked to me, i braced for him to say i wasn’t cutting it.
but the magical thing about being depressed while trekking is that instead of crying in bed, you’re moving your body. psychomotor retardation has no leg to stand on. your mind can race with negative thoughts, but the roulette wheel keeps spinning — and as you keep moving, sometimes better numbers come up.
tony robbins says the only way to improve a difficult situation is to find an empowering meaning. i finally figured it out during lunch.
okay fine: let’s say i’m a loser and i’m going to be depressed and hate my life whether i climb kilimanjaro or not. isn’t it much better to be depressed and have climbed kilimanjaro, something 99% of people would never even dream of doing, than to be depressed in bed at home? voila, it made so much sense.
so i kept going, one step at a time, one day at a time, knowing that no matter how hopeless i felt, there was always a light at the end of the tunnel, or in my case, on top of a 19,341-foot mountain.
Days 4 and 5
Originally posted 2026-03-29
days 4 & 5 blend into each other as we trek hours each day on the high altitude plateau between 11-13K feet, approaching uhuru peak, and then taking the (very) long way around. the mountain is both a microcosm and a macrocosm of real life. every emotion you feel in your daily life, you feel on the mountain, only amplified many times stronger. you feel exaltation. you feel hopelessness. you feel pride. you feel shame. you feel confident. you feel despair. mostly you feel tired. you hope at the end of this journey your life will be different. but deep down you know it will be the same. and maybe that’s okay too. “and for all its vastness, the earth felt constricted for them, and their own souls felt constricted for them, until they realized there was no fleeing from God except back to Him.” day 4 is also when i have meat for the first time on the trek. after eating vegetarian food for five days, our chef yona discovers that the trekking company has packed halal beef salami for me. he eagerly shows me the certification on the packaging without me even asking. when i ask him if his name yona is from the yona of the bible, he smiles and nods. i become especially fond of the handful of muslim porters - they have beautiful names like musa, nuhu, and zuberi, and trekking with them in the alpine deserts of africa makes me feel like i am living in the scriptures. they tell me i am the first muslim from america they have ever met and they are so proud of me that one of us has made it in the richest country on earth. “are there any others like you?” they ask. when i tell them there are 6 million of us, they are incredulous. then one of them has an aha moment. “i know one other muslim from america, i saw him in the news, he is the mayor of new york, his name is hamdani.” i smile and we keep trekking. over the next 3 days, we will climb 7,500 feet and then we’ll be at the top.
Day 6
Originally posted 2026-04-06
the breakthrough i have long been awaiting finally arrives on day 6. one metaphor for the psychological aspect of climbing a mountain is that of turning the arm of a slot machine hundreds if not thousands of times, and with each turn, you are trying out a new story in your mind, a story about who you are and how you ended up here and where you are going and who you need to become in order to get there, only this is not some philosophical exercise, but one motivated by a ruthless darwinism, because you are literally looking for the story that will keep you moving and keep you alive in one of the roughest environments on earth. thus far, my story has been one of feeling utterly and completely sorry for myself, feeling angry at my past self who decided this would be a good idea, and trying to sabotage this experience as a result. i am always the last to wake up, the last to show up for meal time, and am always at the back of the pack during the trek. i even begin to resent my fellow trekkers as rich white people who are here because they love their lives whereas i am here because i hate my life. this is my state of mind for the first 5 days but on day 6, i realize it is not serving me. what if instead of being last i could be first? what if i too could be here as if i loved being here and i too loved my life? i tell our head guide bwenje i want to be first today and he gladly agrees. it is a struggle and i am constantly conscious of my pace and every time i stop to breathe i feel like i am being judged but something about being first instead of being last is transformative. what if i can set a new standard, what if i can inspire others, what if there was so much potential inside me that i had barely tapped? when we arrive at mawenzi tarn that afternoon at 14,200 feet, the landscape is stunning in its raw beauty. porters climb to the highest point above the campsite where we finally have some cell signal. after a brief rest, we continue climbing for another half hour as an acclimatization hike. two more days to go.
Interlude: Writing the Rest
Originally posted 2026-05-27
it took me 10 days to summit mount kilimanjaro. it’s taken me four months to finish writing about it. i process my life by writing about it, by telling stories, i transform the raw clay of life into a beginning, middle, and end. i find the lessons and keep going. this writer’s block has been so severe i’ve almost forgotten i did it. it feels like it happened so long ago, and i feel like a fraud writing posts about triumph and the boundless capacity of man, when after kilimanjaro, i fell into one of the deepest valleys of despair i’ve ever been in, and i’m only just figuring out how to climb out of it. i feel like my post-kilimanjaro failure to adjust to normal life has invalidated my summit. gone are my fantasies that this time, this mountain, unlike all the others, will finally be the magic formula that fixes my life, that brings peace to my heart, that removes the suffocating shadows that overwhelm me, that allows me to become my best self. i keep waiting for my life to go somewhere. but life doesn’t go anywhere! life is the medium and we are the ones who can go somewhere, or stay still, the choice is ours. so this is the story of day 7.
Day 7
Originally posted 2026-05-28
i spent years of my life feeling sorry for myself. so surprise surprise, i spent most of my trek to kilimanjaro feeling sorry for myself. i felt like i was the weakest in our group, the most out of shape, and even though i had climbed more mountains than my trekmates, most of whom were in their 50s and 60s, i still needed to feel sorry for myself, so i told myself i was the weakest. and then on day 7, there was a brief window - you can’t change the operating system of your life in one moment, but life gives you small moments, and you can squeeze infinity out of them if you act in time. day 7 is a 6 mile long trek through an alpine desert at 14,000 feet, and most of it is a seemingly never ending straightaway in a saddle between mount mawenzi and mount kilimanjaro. but before the straightaway is a steep climb out of mawenzi tarn. we had just approached the climb during a hydration break. i felt a restless sense of energy and for once, i felt strong today. so when one of my trekmates said he needed to use the restroom, i looked at the climb and looked at our head guide bwenje. “can i get started?” i asked him. he agreed and i was off. being by myself on the climb was such a massive unlock!! without trying, the ancestors track started playing in my mind. “your ancestors are watching, your descendants are watching, everyone is cheering you on, you got this.” i felt a rush of adrenaline as i climbed one boulder, and then another. then our porters started passing me. they greeted me and i used up all of the swahili i had learned. “jumbo jumbo,” hello hello. “habari asubuhi,” good morning. “cousin zuri,” good job. “asante sana,” thank you very much. they grinned and told me i was doing a great job. and then i had reached the top and the straightaway was in front of me, stretching as far as i could see into the horizon. my group was still where i had left them!! i waved to bwenje and kept walking. he was trying to get my attention but i couldn’t lose the momentum. he sent tumaini to run after me and bring me water. when tumaini caught up to me, i showed no signs of stopping. i was at 15,000 feet and i felt like david goggins.
Day 7: Kibo Hut
Originally posted 2026-10-09
after a brief tea break, i see the rest of my group approaching in the distance, and the competitive spark lights up within me and i am off again. soon, we are almost fully enveloped in clouds, the landscape stark & desolate, as we spot kibo hut at 15,400 feet, at first just a dot in the distance which then comes into focus as we arrive. i collapse in my tent upon arriving but of course i am too excited to sleep. when our group arrives an hour later, i walk out to greet our head guide bwenje and he embraces me exclaiming “God is good.” that night, we have a rich meal of spaghetti with garlic bread as we listen to our briefing for summit day, which is finally here. كل ما هو آت قريب. bwenje announces breakfast at 5am and a 6am start. he tells us some groups take 5 hours to summit and some groups take as long as 12 hours. we will have all day so there is no rush. this was one of the main attractions of the northern circuit route, since it involved a morning summit bid, and spending the next night at crater camp at 18,800 feet. (most other routes started summit day at midnight and descended 4,000 feet after summiting making it an excruciatingly rigorous day.) as the briefing concludes, i ask tentatively: is there any way i can go with tumaini and start earlier like i did today, so i can have a head start? this is extremely important to me but i am playing it cool. i know the next day will be extremely difficult and i want to be able to do it at my own pace without feeling the pressure to keep up with my group. to my relief, he immediately says yes. my breakfast will be at 4am and i will start hiking at 5am. he will send an extra porter with me with a defibrillator in case of emergencies. after dinner, the sky glows a radiant blue in the twilight as i close my eyes and await the big day.
Day 8: Gilman’s Point
Originally posted 2026-07-12
i barely sleep that night, and for the first time, i am more excited than scared. i wake at 4am, eat porridge, dress in every layer i have, and meet tumaini at the trailhead, where our porter zuberi joins us. we hike with headlamps in pitch black, and i feel the incline in my legs. it is almost a blessing that i can only look down at my feet since i can’t see the trail ahead. tumaini calls zuberi “zubi” and i have an uncle named zubi, so oddly i feel a sense of belonging at 16,000 feet. after an hour, the horizon begins to glow red, and mount mawenzi eclipses a glowing sky full of stars. after three hours, we reach a plateau just as the sun rises behind us, and i am stunned to see i have reception for the first time in days. i video call my mom on whatsapp, show her the landscape, and ask her to pray for me. she speaks to tumaini, telling him to take good care of me, and her inner mob boss awakens: “if you take care of hamdan, hamdan will take care of you. hamdan, make sure to take care of him.” this was the high point of the morning because the next four hours were some of the most brutal of my life. we zigzagged up endless switchbacks on slippery, narrow trails with steep dropoffs, climbing boulders, higher and higher. at the worst portions, zubi would stand behind me in case i fell. and it hit me: i had come here to do the hardest thing in my life all by myself, i had signed up for all this suffering alone, and then i found out i wasn’t alone. God had sent all these people to make my path easy. i looked up at the rim, where tiny hikers were visible. tumaini told me “if you look at the top, you will get discouraged by the long distance remaining. but if you look at the bottom, you will be inspired by seeing how far you have come.” he pulled glucose powder from his pocket and i heaped handfuls into my mouth. i looked down to see my group not far behind, and the competitive spark lit up again. with tumaini and zubi’s help, i climbed the final boulders to arrive at gilman’s peak at 18,652 feet. i collapsed and wanted to start sobbing. after 7 hours, the summit was finally within reach.
Day 8: The Summit
Originally posted 2026-10-04
the final two hours to the summit of mount kilimanjaro are a blur. i honestly have no idea how i make it. when we arrive at gilman’s point at 18,652 feet, our head guide bwenje tells us that we have technically summited and are eligible to get the official certificate. as i sit there collapsed on the boulders, out of breath and having lost any semblance of an appetite, i won’t lie and tell you i don’t consider calling it there. we sit for a good hour before finally getting up and taking a picture with the sign. bwenje looks at me and says, “jambo jambo?” i get up, take my position at the front of the group, and we start the final 700-foot ascent. i only last at the front for a few minutes before falling to the back again. soon we see an indian hiker descending, his guide all but carrying his weight on his shoulders. he seems completely rocked but has this weird sense of ecstasy about him. i nervously ask, “oopar tak pohanch gaye?” he nods. “haan, summit kar liya.” i hope this won’t be my condition on the way back down. the final ascent consists of three false summits. you see a long ramp ahead of you and think that must be it, and when you get to the end there’s another one, and then another one. by the end, we are literally walking through the clouds. i reach the sign at 2:30pm after 10 hours of hiking. i am standing at 19,341 feet, on the roof of africa, alhamdulillah 😌 now i just have to get back down 🙃
Crater Camp and the Descent
Originally posted 2026-10-18
after summiting, we descend to crater camp at 18,700 feet. bwenje warns us that we leave at dawn the next morning. bro, we just summited KILIMANJARO, can’t we sleep in for just one day? trust me, he says, you’ll want to get out of here as fast as possible. that night, i lie like a mummy, wearing three layers of thermals and three jackets, with two bottles of boiled water beside me. i am still freezing. the outside of my sleeping bag is soaked in condensation. i spend the night moaning deliriously. the entire camp can hear me. bwenje comes to check on me at 2am. my throat is parched and i can hardly breathe. he says we can send you down right now if you like. are you kidding me, you want me to descend in pitch black? i tell him i’ll wait until dawn. i keep looking at my watch. it is the longest night of my life. the next morning, we climb back to the rim and see mawenzi enveloped in clouds, the sun rising gloriously before our eyes. tumaini locks arms with me and we start sliding down the steep scree slope. i’m terrified of falling with every step. i slowly learn to dig in my heels and slide. by the time we reach barafu camp, two trekkers in our group can no longer walk. a helicopter flies in to evacuate them to arusha. we keep descending until the loose rock gives way to lush green forest. we reach mweka camp at 6pm, having descended nearly 9,000 feet. at the farewell ceremony, i let loose all the swahili i’ve learned during the trek and the porters go wild. yes, i may be a privileged american tourist, but i am also a pakistani muslim, a proud son of the developing world. tumaini, musa, nuhu, zuberi and bwenje have treated me better than family. it’s as if god is telling me, yes i know you wanted to do something insanely difficult, all by yourself, to regain your self esteem. you’re not alone. i’m sending fifty people to take care of you every step of the way. the next day, we continue through the rainforest toward mweka gate. an hour before the finish line, a jeep passes us offering a ride and i burst out laughing. after everything, i’m going to finish on my own two feet. we take a picture at the gate and just like that we are back in civilization.
