The Dark Night of the Soul at 4,985 Meters
“Good morning!”
Wamururu, our guide’s voice sliced through the frozen silence of Shipton’s Camp at 2:30 AM. It was a polite irony; there was nothing ‘good’ about a morning that began in a sub-zero tent with a skull-splitting migraine. Despite sleeping fully dressed in winter jackets, gloves, and sleeping bags, the biting cold had seeped into our bones. The painkillers I had taken earlier were useless—a raindrop in an ocean of physical protest.
When I asked Wamururu for altitude sickness medication, he looked at me with the calm eyes of a man who has seen a thousand egos break. He declined. “I can’t risk the side effects during the final ascent,” he said softly.
In that moment, the voice of the “Valley Self”—the one that seeks comfort and avoids friction—began its cunning manipulation. ‘You are sick,’ my mind argued. ‘No one expects a sick man to climb a mountain. Just go back to the tent. They will all understand.’ But as I looked at my team, I realized that my surrender would be their permission to fail. I tapped into a reserve of energy I didn’t know I possessed: I wasn’t there to be comfortable; I was there to see who I was when the comfort was gone.
The Mercy of the Dark
We began the final push in total darkness. I later realized that starting at 2:30 AM is a psychological mercy; if we could see the sheer verticality of what we were about to undertake, we would have been too dejected to start. We moved in a world that only existed in the three-foot radius of our headlamps.

My youngest brother, David, was completely overwhelmed. The altitude was a thief, stealing his breath and his resolve. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn’t make it. The guides considered leaving him to descend, but the whole team rallied behind him. We became a single pulse—pushing him, encouraging him, refusing to let the mountain claim his spirit. We weren’t just a group of “untrained dreamers” anymore; we were a tribe.
Nature’s Twisted Humor
One foot forward we pushed, each step a tiny victory. I lifted my pounding head to look up at the barely visible summit, which was but a few hundred metres away, covered by thick clouds and the orange-red rays of the breaking dawn, and I knew that all that counted was to just put one foot forward. We finally stood at the summit of Point Lenana, nature greeted us with a twisted sense of humor. We expected a magnificent view of the Sunrise in the horizon and to celebrate at the summit the conquest of what seemed impossible and crazy. There was no serene sunrise or a golden glow. Instead, we were met with gushing winds, freezing snow, and a chill that threatened to turn our blood to ice. We couldn’t soak in the marvels or even take the “perfect” photos. The mountain allowed us a few fleeting minutes of triumph before demanding our immediate descent.

It was in those freezing, breathless moments that the true epiphanies of my quest for happiness finally crystallized:
Epiphanies from the Peak: What the Mountain Taught Me
- The Sanctity of Friction: Most people spend their lives walking away from pain. I spent three days walking directly into it. Meaning is the byproduct of friction; the suffering is what “sanctified” the experience.
- The Death of the Valley Mask: Exhaustion is the ultimate truth-teller. At 4,000 meters, I had to abandon my “city ego.” The mountain doesn’t care about your prayers or your status; it only responds to your pulse and determination.
- Kirinyaga is a History Book, Not a Tourist Trap: We have viewed our landmarks through a colonial lens for too long. Standing on the throne of my ancestors with burning lungs felt like a pilgrimage of decolonizing my own body.
- The Philosophy of the Next Step: When the summit feels like a death sentence, you focus on the next step. Endurance isn’t about strength; it’s about the refusal to stop moving.


I descended Kirinyaga a different man than the one who sat miserably on a couch in Austria. The “failed” businesses and the burnout hadn’t disappeared, but they had shrunk in the shadow of the mountain. I realized that true happiness isn’t the absence of struggle, but the presence of a struggle that matters.
I set out to raise funds for Sifuyo Primary School, thinking I was doing it to help the children. In reality, the mission was what carried me to the top. We are building those classrooms not just with bricks, but with the same “stubborn biology” that got us to the peak.
I am not done yet. This was the first of many challenges I will undertake for this cause. If you are currently sitting in the “comfort” of your own valley, I ask you: What is the mountain you are avoiding?
Join the Climb: Turning Pain into Progress
I reached the summit to ensure that the children in my rural village don’t have to “climb mountains” just to get a basic education. Every desk we buy and every classroom we renovate is another “six inches” toward their future.
We have conquered the peak; now, let’s build the foundation. Join me in adventures that will not only fortify your mind but also support development projects for the needy.
Let’s prove that when we climb together, no summit is out of reach.









