Our Journey to the Top of Mt. Kilimanjaro and $100,000 for OperationOF.org

Nine out of 11 made it up. Last night was hell. Walk from Stella Point to Uhuru was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Had to take two or three steps then stop to take a five min break. Lips were black and blue at top. Way back down was almost as hard. Group is super tired and sore. Are going to Ngrongoro Crater for a safari then a much need rest in Zanzibar.

Overall, I still can’t believe we did it and its finally finished. Now onto the next challenge, the next summit.

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We visited our first hospital today. It was really tough and a couple girls cried. We met two ladies with obstetric fistulas. The staff were really nice and gave us a long tour. Am emotionally, mentally and physically drained already and its only been three days. The combinaton of the heat, the poverty, the jet lag and leading the group is taking its toll and I’m starting to get a cold. Have been taking tons of vitamins and will be ok soon. We’ve moved our climb up to Sunday instead of Tuesday so we can do some more hospital visits and maybe even give blood after the climb as the hospitals blood bank is completely empty. Going to take a nap now before dinner.

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Just visited Arusha Lutheran hospital to have an orientation before we start working tomorrow. It was surprisingly modern having been built two years ago. Now we’re going for the market and then to lunch. The group is excited to be volunteering tomorrow and still can’t believe we are in Africa. Everyone is so nice here.

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Happy and excited to be flying to Dar es Salaam now! Cannot wait to be in Africa and thank you to our donors who have helped us get to $7,720! so far!

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It finally hit me as I lay in bed last night.

I woke up from that half dream mode you’re in right before sleep and sat up in the dark. This was the last night I’ll be sleeping in my bed. The next two nights I will spend on an airplane and then, after two plus days of traveling, we will be in Africa.

It’s taken five months to get to this point and now standing in my way between here and Kilimanjaro is the longest travel itineray I’ve ever had.

Two and a half straight days of traveling, 12 time zones, three flights and one 8 hour bus ride are all it takes to get to Mt. Kilimanjaro.

Spending the last five months talking about the climb, raising over $5,300 to date, sending countless emails, holding dozens of meetings, selling 100’s of brownies and even auctioning off myself and others to raise money has brought us to this point.

Now we finally start the journey and I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for the sunset and the sunrise, the sounds, the smells, the sights, the surprises and the summit.

I will try my best to post pictures and thoughts from our following three weeks in Tanzania, one of which will be spent volunteering, another is devoted to the climb and we will be going on a safari and volunteering some more.

Before I left I wanted to thank all of the people who’ve made it possible. Instead of embarrassing myself and forgetting someone, I will just say, that if you’ve done anything to help – a word of encouragement, a donation a retweet, a ride to NYC, anything- you’ve helped us more than you know.

As I sit here in my parents living room looking out into the next three weeks, the next semester, the next year, the next decade, one thought keeps going through my head:

This is only the beginning. Wish us luck.

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So here we are, less than one week from our flight to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania next Sunday. I’ve spent the last couple days shopping for sleeping bags, moleskin bandages, balaclavas, gloves, headlamps, and all kinds of drugs, soaps and creams to make sure my climb to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

It’s taken a lot of hard work to get to this point and it’s going to take a whole lot more to reach our goal of $100,000 and the Uhuru Peak, but I’m confident that our team has what it takes to get there.

Even if we don’t make it to the top of the mountain we’ve already raised over $3,500 for women living with obstetric fistula thanks to the generous support of our donors. As I sit here in my living room at my parents house in Vancouver, I literally can’t believe that I will be on the other side of the world sitting and writing on the same computer about how things are going in Africa.

It all started with one thought that has turned into an idea, which is now about to become reality. I couldn’t be more proud of our team and more thankful to those who have already expressed their support for the Fistula Free Climb.

Robin Davisson, Dan Dmochowski ,Patricia Fox, Yuna Ha, Hussein Daudali, Kareem Baro Newton Paul, Cindy van Es, Deb Lucchesi, Mary Faber, Patrick Waters, Argelis Alcantara, Melissa McKinstry, Susie Kang, SuBin Yum, Robert Reffkin, Gina Hong, Corean Catholic Community, Sujin Chang, Roman Jacquez, Illika Sahu, Kelly Vasquez, Michelle Felsky, Michelle Ching, Naoko K Suzuki, Matthew Kochman, John Fitzgerald, Suk Kim, Odaly Neophytou, Jason Jagdeo, Vishnu Bezwada, Carolyn Beyes, Steven Rosenthal, Sung Ho Paik, Je Chan Lee, Agnes Kang, Michelle Huang, Edgewater Group, Sacred Heart Divine Mercy, Juan Moreno Rebecca & Gary Yale, Helene Marquis, Kim Polman

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Sunset over False Creek

This morning I went for a run along the False Creek Sea Wall. As I huffed and puffed along the way, one thought kept coming across my mind.

When will it ever be good enough?

I’ve been back home from school for a week now and that seems to be the question of the day. Not having a secure job for next year yet, or at least not having decided what I want to do yet, I get this question at least three times a day it seems.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about not having an “amazing” job or the fact that I’m about to graduate from one of the world’s top universities. In fact, I still wake up every morning and can’t believe how lucky I am; it’s like winning the lottery each time I get out of bed.

That being said, this feeling of not being good enough has been following me for a while now.

When I first moved to Canada at age five, I wasn’t good enough because I didn’t have the brand name clothing and know all big words like my classmates did. And so I worked harder on my English.

As I grew older and began swimming competitively, I was not good enough because I didn’t have the provincial time standards that some of my peers already had in multiple events. And so I worked harder in practice.

In high school, I was not good enough because I didn’t have the straight A’s, or mostly A’s, that many of my friends did. So I worked harder in class.

And then, when by some miraculous event, I got into Cornell and started swimming there, I was again not good enough because I didn’t have the Wall Street internship or the prep school background that many of my peers did. And so again, I worked harder and am now about to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro to raise money for women with obstetric fistula.

And finally, here I am with one semester left, and again, I am not good enough. My mom and grandma think I’ll be good enough when I get that New York City job with a big firm and start cleaning my room on an hourly basis. Strangely, I don’t see either of those things happening anytime soon.

And that’s what it is. That’s what drives me to work harder, to push the limits of what I used to think was possible. The constant struggle to balance satisfaction and unfinished business. The balance between having the confidence to go out there and work your butt of versus the fear of failing over and over again. It’s the climb up that next mountain once we’ve reached the summit we never thought was possible in the first place.

I’m not saying that I’m any different than anyone else. In fact, I’m saying that this is what pushes most of us to strive to new heights, be it in school, sports or business. Not being good enough coupled with the knowledge that we can do something about it is the cold, hard, uncomfortable medicine we human’s need to get us out of bed in the morning and get things done.

The Fistula Free Climbers are eleven people who are about to do just that in order to make sure that women around the world can achieve that balance and no longer live in a world where they are not good enough.

Help support these women today.

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On December 2nd, 2009 six random Cornel students were asked one simple question: What do you think of when you hear the words “obstetric fistula”?

Here are their answers:

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Your parents get a divorce when you’re five.

You have to go live with your Aunt. You are not allowed to go to school. You become the house servant.

You decide to run off with your sister to work as maids for room and board.

A neighbor tells you he can find better work for you out of town. Instead he sells you for $10 and keeps the money.

The buyer rapes you. And beats you. And your sister.

You are thirteen. He is sixty.

He bought you to be his second wife. He is forty seven years older than you.

His first wife whips you because she is jealous of you. You don’t know where your sister is anymore.

They don’t let you out of the house because you might run away. You are a slave.

You become pregnant.

Seven months in, you run away to your local village.

However, your family is gone. No one wants to help you.

You try and drown yourself in the river, but your uncle finds you and takes you back.

You can’t afford a midwife. You try to have the baby yourself.

Your pelvis is too small and the baby’s head can’t breach.

You are fourteen years old.

You are in obstructed labor. The baby is stuck inside you.

For seven days.

You’re unconscious and someone is summoned to help.

By this time the baby has been wedged against your pelvis for so long that the tissue between the baby’s head and our pelvis has lost circulation and rotted away.

You wake up to find your baby dead. You have no control over your bowels.

You have an obstetric fistula.

You can’t walk or stand. The nerve damage is too great.

The word pain is not a sufficient description.

People say you are cursed. They say you should leave. You can’t stay here.

Your uncle wants to help, but his wife fears it would sacrilegious to help someone cursed by God.

She urges him to take you outside the village and leave you to be eaten by wild animals.

He gives you food and water.

Then he takes you to a hut at the edge of the village.

They take the door off. They want the hyenas to eat you alive.

After dark, they come.

You can’t move your legs. There is a dead baby inside of you.

You wave a stick frantically at the hyenas to fend them off. You shout all night long as they circle you.

You are fourteen years old and as alone in the world as can be.

Morning comes. You must leave your village.

You are determined to live.

You heard of a missionary in a nearby village. You drag your legs out of the hut. You crawl in that direction, pulling your body forward inch by inch with just your arms.

You are nearly dead when you arrive at the village over a day later.

The missionary rushes you inside and saves your life.

He later takes you to the to the capital city. He brings you to the Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital.

You find scores of other girls and women also suffering from obstetric fistula.

You are examined, bathed, given new clothes and shows how to wash yourself and your uncontrollable waste.

The acid from the urine on your legs no longer eats away at your skin.

The floors are mopped several times an hour to avoid puddle build up.

The local gynecologist, Catherine Hamlin, is a saint. She takes you under her wing.

Catherine Hamlin & You.

You cannot be fully repaired. Thankfully, therapy helps you walk again. You settle for colostomy.

Catherine puts you to work in the hospital. You change linens, help patients wash, but are curious about what the doctors are doing.

The doctors realize you are a smart girl and give you more and more responsibility.

Over the years you work hard and help countless women overcome the same challenges you once faced.

You are illiterate, yet you are promoted to senior nurse’s aid.

Your name is Mahabouba Muhammad. You are a hero.

We are climbing Kilimanjaro so there will never be another you.

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