For years, I had imagined standing on top of Kilimanjaro with my children. Ever since they were very young, I wanted to one day climb it together.
The Dream
In June 2025, that idea became a reality. When we finally reached the summit, I was so proud. But I was also overwhelmed by a question I had not expected to feel so strongly: what had I put my kids through?
Kilimanjaro has always been a special mountain to me. I was born in Nairobi, in neighbouring Kenya, and so this part of the world still feels connected to my own beginnings. My wife and I climbed it during our honeymoon in 2008. Returning with my children would add another chapter to that connection.
There is also something about Kilimanjaro itself that invites big dreams. The highest freestanding mountain in the world and the roof of Africa, it rises to 5,895 metres above sea level. The stories surrounding it, its snow near the equator, and its presence above the surrounding plains all add to its magic.
Making Plans
Eventually, I decided that “one day” needed to become an actual plan. I asked the kids. They agreed. Suddenly, we had a mountain to climb.
There was plenty to arrange. I planned our full trip, and chose Soreka Tours to support us. We tried to improve our fitness, though we didn’t do nearly enough. As departure approached, excitement came with a certain amount of tension. What would it be like?
We chose a short itinerary, aiming to reach the summit after four days of climbing. That meant relatively little time to acclimatize. We thought we’d be okay..
Slowly, Slowly
The first days on the mountain were an exercise in restraint. You want to walk at your normal pace. You feel reasonably strong, the path is manageable, and the slow progress can feel unnecessary.
“Pole pole,” the guides remind you. Slowly, slowly.
The effort builds gradually. Each day adds more walking, more altitude, and a little more tiredness. Things that felt straightforward lower down begin to demand attention. Eating became one of them. The food was good, and we started with healthy appetites, but as we climbed higher, meals became harder to finish. We knew we needed the energy but had no interest in what was on our plates.
Our afternoons were meant for rest and adjustment to the altitude. We filled them with card games, chess, music, books, and even some TV on the iPad. These quieter hours became part of the experience: sitting together on the side of a mountain, finding ways to pass the time before another meal, another night, another day of walking.
During the day, the sun often beat down on us. Once it disappeared, the temperature dropped sharply. Higher up, the nights were ice-cold. Even with all our clothes on, it was difficult to sleep. We knew we needed the rest, but it never felt like enough.
The Longest Night
By the time we reached the final ascent, we had several days of walking and broken sleep behind us. At around eleven in the evening on the fourth night of our trek, we had to get up and prepare for the summit.
Climbing in the middle of the night is a peculiar business. You are tired before you begin. It is cold, everything takes effort, and somewhere above you is a summit you cannot see. We put on our layers, gathered what we needed, and started walking.
For my twelve-year-old son, there was an additional challenge. He had never stayed awake through an entire night before. His first experience of doing so would involve climbing towards Africa’s highest point in the freezing cold.
The next ten hours were gruelling.
In the darkness, the climb became a sequence of small tasks. Take another step. Keep moving. Have a drink. Try a snack. Listen to the guides. Stay close.
“Pole pole.”
Our guides sang to keep us going, bringing energy into hours when we had very little of our own. Their encouragement, the reminders to drink and eat, and the simple presence of someone helping us through each stretch mattered enormously.
The climb was tough for me too, but I hardly thought about my own effort. My kids needed me. My attention was on how they were coping, whether they were eating and drinking, and what I could do to help them keep going. I had wanted this for years, but seeing what it demanded of them made that desire much more complicated.
There came a point when we had to decide whether to continue.
We were exhausted. The summit still required more from us. The excitement was gone**. All that mattered was whether we could keep going, and whether we should.** Was it worth it?
We continued.
That is one of the things I remember most proudly. I had brought the dream, but they were making the effort themselves. I could encourage them, but I could not take their steps.
On the Roof of Africa
And then, finally, we reached the top.
I cried. After all those years of imagining this moment, my strongest feeling was an overwhelming awareness of what I had asked of my children. What had I put them through to fulfil a dream that had started as mine? I had seen how hard they had struggled, and standing at the summit brought the full weight of that home to me.
Alongside that feeling came enormous pride. They had done it. Through the cold, the exhaustion, and the moments when stopping would have been so much easier, they had persevered. We were standing together on the roof of Africa.
I hope that the experience will stay with them as something they can draw on. When another challenge feels daunting, they will have those hours on Kilimanjaro to remember: how tired they were, how distant the summit seemed, and how they kept going anyway. I know I will.
For other parents, I would recommend finding a challenge to take on with your children. It need not involve a mountain, or even travelling far from home. Find something that requires preparation, effort, and helping each other through difficult moments. There is a particular closeness that comes from working towards a demanding goal together. And afterwards, alongside the shared memories, your children may carry something just as valuable: greater confidence in what they can do.
