Travel
The Mountain Lioness project is empowering women to lead treks up Africa’s tallest peak — its success is breaking gender norms
On day five of hiking Kilimanjaro, Lucia Kivoi saved my life.
We were halfway down a ravine, descending a series of switchbacks, when a porter several metres above us fumbled, dropping a barrel of gear. I should have realized that the booming sound I registered as thunder was, in fact, the cracking of plastic bouncing and tumbling straight for me. But the cool temperatures and persistent rain had made for a sleepless night. I was tired and chilled, my reflexes dulled.
Before my brain could register and react to the flash of blue hurtling my way, Kivoi had thrown herself in front of me, blocking the barrel from crashing into my legs. If it had hit me, I would surely have been thrown down the slope.
We were six hours into this day’s trek and, needless to say, my Exodus Adventure Travels group of five hikers and I were exhausted. We had successfully conquered the notorious Barranco Wall (a steep ridge halfway up the south slope of Kilimanjaro) after leaving Barranco Camp (3,900 metres) several hours earlier. That same day, we had also crossed the southwestern flank of Kibo, the volcanic cone that forms the main summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, hiking through vistas of icefields and volcanic scree. We were finally making our way to our next campsite, Karanga (4,000 metres).
It takes four to nine days to reach the summit of Kilimanjaro, depending on your chosen path. I was trekking with two other women and a father-son pair along the Lemosho Route, which takes eight days to complete. We were supported by a team of 26. Kivoi, our lead guide, was accompanied by two assistant guides, a chef, and an extended group of ordinary porters and helping porters (individuals who assisted with daily tasks, such as setting up the mess and toilet tent). Without this team, summiting Kilimanjaro would be impossible.
Our team of guides was typical in size but unique in one important aspect — it was led by a woman.
“I know every corner of Kilimanjaro,” says Kivoi. “The mountain is my office.”
Our group gathered for the first time at the Moivaro Coffee Plantation Lodge just outside the town of Arusha — our home base before and after the trek. We huddle around a map of Kilimanjaro National Park, listening intently as Kivoi outlines our route, which spans five distinct climate zones: cultivation, forest, heath and moorland, alpine desert and Arctic. “Do not focus on summit day,” says Kivoi. “Every day, just focus on that day, or you may get scared.”
Kivoi has summited Kilimanjaro more than 100 times in 10 years. “Too many to count,” she says. She was 26 when she began her career here as a porter, carrying the maximum weight a porter can carry (20 kg), alongside the men.
But she had bigger ambitions for herself. She returned to school and trained as a guide, graduating at 28. “I came from a poor family,” says Kivoi. “According to that life, I always thought I would need a hard job, but I knew nothing about the mountain then.”
Kivoi carefully folds the worn map of Kilimanjaro, tucking it into her backpack and looks at each member of our group in turn. “I know you are probably wondering, how will I be safe with a woman?” (I don’t think any of us ever questioned Kivoi’s ability as a guide, but we already know better than to argue with her.) “I am here to support you,” she says. “We may be different colours, but we are all family now.”
Since tourism on Mount Kilimanjaro began in the early 20th century, porters have been essential to trekking expeditions, carrying heavy loads of gear, food and supplies up the mountain. Today, the maximum load a porter is legally allowed to carry is 20 kilos, but this wasn’t always the case. In the past, there were few regulations and little official oversight, with porters often carrying upwards of 30 kilos on their backs. However, today, scales at each camp ensure that porters don’t exceed the regulated weight limit set by KPAP (Kilimanjaro Porters Assistance Project) in the early 2000s.
The extreme physical demands of the job, combined with cultural norms, have traditionally led to men being predominantly assigned to the roles of guide and porter. In recent years, however, there has been a shift as more women have expressed interest in these careers.
To boost opportunities for women, the Exodus Adventure Travels Foundation launched the Mountain Lioness Scholarship, an initiative that sponsors the training of women who wish to become guides on Kilimanjaro.
Over a three-week period, the women receive intensive training in a range of skills, from basic first aid to emergency care and wilderness rescue, as well as mountain ecology. A career as a Kilimanjaro guide offers a stable income that allows a guide to support her family and her children’s education. “Lioness” is Kivoi’s nickname, and by naming the program after her, Exodus Adventure Travels celebrates both her pioneering spirit and her role as a trailblazer in the guiding field.
On day two of our hike, trekking from Lemosho Forest Camp (2,650 metres) to our campsite at Shira One (3,550 metres), Kivoi and I walk side-by-side, exchanging stories about our upbringings and sharing our love for mountains (and peanut butter). “I think it’s important for women to be guides or chefs,” says Kivoi, as our chef, Dani, walks by. But we don’t have men and women porters; we are the same.”
Kivoi explains that early in her guiding career, men would criticize her, telling her that guiding and being a porter were jobs typically reserved for men. “They would say I was not strong enough, and nobody would believe in me. But I did.”
Kivoi’s determination to break gender norms on Kilimanjaro has inspired many more women to realize that they, too, can achieve in this field. She is truly a “Lioness.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I tell Happyness Kipingu, our assistant guide, four hours into our summit push. “It’s okay,” she says. “Just lean off to the side and puke if you need to.” It’s about 2 a.m., and I have absolutely no idea where we are and how far away the summit is. The scene is pitch black, cold, and wet, and I haven’t been able to sleep in more than 28 hours because of anxiety. Besides the sounds of boots crunching in the snow and the occasional “pole pole,” everything is quiet. Kipingu touches my arm and says, “You will be fine. You are strong.” I ask her how many times she has summited. “This will be 108 for me.”
Like Kivoi, Kipingu struggled at the beginning of her career. The male guides were far from supportive. “They were not accepting of us,” she tells me one afternoon at camp. “They looked down on us. But others, in offices like Exodus, said they wanted to support females. After men saw us doing it, they began to believe in us.”
She swats away a pesky mosquito and looks up at the sky for a moment. “How can I put this? We are not competing with men, but you know how you are white and I am black? They saw us differently like that.”
Kipingu’s father was a safari guide who frequently brought people from other countries to her home. “I always loved meeting people from around the world, so being a guide was what I knew I wanted to do.”
In 2010, Kipingu started college, graduating six years later. In 2017, she attended Mweka College to obtain her guiding license. Now the mother of three boys, she works as a Kilimanjaro guide during the climbing months and a safari guide during the off-season. “I didn’t want to just sit at home and do nothing,” she says.
At 4 a.m., we reach Stella Point (5,735 metres), signifying that our final stop, Uhuru Peak (5,895 metres), is not too far away. But despite being less than 200 metres from the summit, it takes us another hour of “pole pole” walking to get there.
Moving through a moderate snowfall, we trudge along piles of fresh powder and into the wind. Poor weather conditions mean we don’t get much of a sunrise, but about a half hour from the summit, I can finally turn my headlamp off, just before dry-heaving into the snow. “Drink more water,” Kipingu instructs me.
I ask her about acute mountain sickness, but she assures me I am just dehydrated. If this were AMS, my symptoms would have presented themselves earlier, she explains. Knowing her experience and knowledge of the mountain, I trust her and keep moving. Moments later, the Kilimanjaro sign emerges from the clouds.
I let out a sigh of relief, grateful to see only about a dozen other trekkers celebrating at the sign. Physically, I am surprised by how okay I feel, but my nagging headache is getting worse, and I am more than ready to get out of the cold. Our group has split in half, with Kivoi and a porter helping two group members lower down and Kipingu and our other lead guide, Penaeli Sanare, walking with me and the father-son duo.
We celebrate our achievement together, hugging at the top, cheering and, of course, taking photos. But as soon as the pictures are captured, we must turn around to head back down.
“See,” Kipingu says to me quietly. “You did it.”
As one of the first groups to have summited for the day, we pass other trekkers still on their way up, cheering them on and reassuring them they are “almost there!” Within the span of an hour after departing Uhuru Peak, the clouds part, revealing clear blue skies and pristine, white, mountain snow.
Kipingu tells me that the summit push takes place at night because most trekkers would be too intimidated by the mountain if they could see how far away the summit really is. I look behind us and then back down at how much farther we have to go, I agree.
Moving down the slopes, we peel off layers of clothing as the sun comes out. Kipingu and I laugh as we tumble down the deep snow, taking turns falling backwards and slipping along the trail. I watch for other women guides as we descend, but don’t spot any. Kipingu tells me that only about five per cent of the guides are women. “There are many more men than women. But females, they don’t care,” she says. “Women say that if they can do it, they will.”
Back at base camp, the rest of the staff greet us with fruit juice and congratulatory applause. Joyce, Grace, Shakira, and other female staff members wave enthusiastically as we hobble to our tents.
My conversations with Kipingu and Kivoi are not the first time I have encountered “mountain women” who have been questioned about their expertise in this type of terrain. “The higher up you go, the fewer women you see,” is a statement Alberta-based ice core scientist and alpine climber Alison Criscitiello made during a conversation about her work on Mount Logan, Canada’s highest peak. Criscitiello noted a situation where she was also judged for being a woman when she guided on Aconcagua, situated in Argentina and the highest mountain in the Americas.
But like Criscitiello explains that, just as Kivoi and Kipingu have found, once men observe women’s strength and grit, most will change their opinions. Stereotypes can be broken.
“People like me and Lucia [Kivoi] would go to the top [of the mountain] and come back. Then, men would see that we can do it too,” says Kipingu. The two of us are sheltering from the rain beneath a tree at our final campsite, listening to the sound of popcorn popping in the mess tent. “For clients coming here, I don’t want them to question us as women guides. What men can do, women can do, also.” She smiles at me and I smile back, agreeing wholeheartedly.
“That’s what we are trying to show society,” she says. “Even females can do the job, even if it’s hard. We know what we are doing, and people need to have faith.”
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