A smorgasbord sprawls across my dining room table, leaves inserted to stretch it to its full length just to hold all the food.

Apples… check! Rice cakes… check! Granola bars… check! Hotdogs… check! Tortillas, peanut butter and jelly… check! Carrots… check! But most importantly, instant coffee, creamer & sugar packets with the optional tea bags for those preferring chai to go with the breakfast muffins for the morning. CHECK.

I know they’ll descend upon the pile of food soon so I duck into the restroom before the kitchen opens up for business. I am just finishing up when “AWOOOOOOOO WOOF RUFF AWOOOOOOOO”

Ginger explodes at the front door. Showtime. The first guys spill into the house, mouths popping open into perfect little “o”s and feet standing still at the sight of the table. I hand them the note with a carefully planned menu- food to be dense enough to sustain a two day hike, but light enough to carry on one’s back up, down and up again the side of our local volcano. Quick selections are made. Tortillas are filled one by one, topping choice debates arising as students reach for the same knife. Not three minutes later, and still one minute before the technical 10:00am start time, another five guys waltz up and join in on the food frenzy. By our 12:30pm leave time goal, all but one of the 13 campers and all three adults have packed their meals for the weekend. The table is almost empty when the last straggler shows up at 12:28pm. Lucky for her, one of the leaders is delayed and we aren’t quite ready to alight on our grand weekend adventure.

The last straggler and I walk over to the meeting point together and set our packs in the parking lot. My co-leader D and I take inventory. “Ladies, you’re all sharing one tent, yes? Awesome. N, will your pack hold the rain fly? E, can we put in yours the poles?”

S volunteers to take the tent itself, only to bust out the zipper on her backpack by stuffing it just a little bit too full! K, one of our trip drop-outs, sits on the retaining wall nearby asking if it was too late to re-join. Yes. Yes it is. We don’t have your parents permission, your passport copied, or a spot for you in the car! We add up bodies, we divvy up tents. We come up exactly one spot short on places to sleep.

D runs back up to his house and comes back with a replacement backpack for S, and a hammock for B. Sleeping arrangements sorted! We load up the cars and begin the bumpy drive down into the valley.

A two lane game of frogger begins as the three car caravan weaves around the big, slow-moving trucks that can’t seem to get out of first gear, crawling at ten miles per hour. The oncoming traffic clears just enough for two cars to pass this truck, but I’m third in the convoy… driving someone else’s kids, and car. My colleagues are gone by the time the road is clear enough for me. Surely I’ll find them at the turn-off to the foot of the mountain waiting for me, surely! But alas, I approach the spot that I am 99% sure is the correct turn, and nobody is there. Zip, Zero, Zilch. Nada.

I continue on this path, about 4 kilometers from the destination thinking, I may catch up to them eventually! Nope. Not even at the flooded underpass. Fantastic. Not my car. Shepherds standing nearby watch as I contemplate our fate. “Iko sawa?” “Is it ok?” I ask. I floor it. Six inches. Maybe. The Prado growls through. We carry on, finding the road not as well maintained as I would have expected. I’ve driven here once, taken a taxi once, but walked twice! This road feels familiar. I can press on, or I can call my colleagues in the other car… or can I? My phone is in my backpack- and since I have the most seatbelts in the vehicle I’m driving, I have the smallest amount of space for bags and mine is in the back of one of their cars.

We round the bend and come to a stretch of road littered with puddles. The first does not even give me pause. The second is a little deeper and a little longer, but similarly, not a concern. I get to the third and take a beat. It looks like a river. A student offers to get out and stick a stick into it to test the depth. They stick the stick in, and after about 12 inches can’t reach any further, not because the stick hit the bottom, but because they’ve reached the maximum extension of their arms. I start to back up slowly…
Students shout directions from the back seat.
Acacia thorns threaten scratching.
Fence posts loom on the other side.
In front of us, the student with the stick is sprinting after the car laughing hysterically, because I’ve abandoned them to the swamp.

As we back up to a gap where there seems to be a split to a newer parallel road, a student racing after us from the front, who comes up behind me? The other two vehicles. Apparently, the parallel road looks new because it is. There is a different entrance further down on the frogger game they kept playing while I got stuck behind the truck.

Rejoining to a convoy of three, we make it to the gate and begin the back and forth with the gate agents, 16 passports in hand, work-permits, pupil passes and resident cards backing up each purchase to keep the cost down by a factor of 10.

After locking up the cars and loading up our backs, the first portion of the hike begins: Up. And up, and up some more. Almost an hour of straight up, and we reach the crater rim. Not the summit, that would still be another hour’s hike right, but we aren’t going up, we are going down, and that requires a fifteen-minute hike to the left instead.

The late afternoon sun is painting the world around us in vibrant shades of green. You wouldn’t know where our feet end and the path begins as volcanic ash-like dust finds its way into even the aglets on the shoelaces of our hiking boots- or, in the case of C, under his toenails through the holes in his crocs. We stop and I realize it isn’t to wait for the girls taking selfies behind us. It is because we’ve made it, the path of descent. C takes a knee as he swaps his crocs into “sport mode” while our guide demonstrates proper butt-sliding technique and warns us of loose rocks that may feel like marbles underfoot if we aren’t careful of where to place our feet. He also cautions of the blades of lemongrass that look like sturdy tufts for handholds, but are a paper-cut waiting to happen from the sharp edges. He gestures to the charred mountainside explaining a recent forest-fire that makes the low hanging branches a concussion waiting to happen if you grab it, pulling it loose from where the blackened roots have lost their hold.

“Woah. I did NOT know what we were actually getting into.” More than one student remarks as we carefully position the adults between the most concerned students.

“HEY! WATCH IT!” Shouts come from below. A clump of dirt the size of a softball has been dislodged by deceptive eyes that had thought they were finding sure footing.

“OH NO! E! Your sleeping bag!” Her sleeping bag is gone. Well, not gone. Technically still attached, but what began as a neatly rolled sleeping bag tied beneath her backpack is now a dirt-filled train, dragging six feet behind- er- above her, snagging on anything the ground has to offer as texture.

“Sitting position please!!” Over and over we hear the guide remind us that squatting steadies.

Shaky legs and nervous laughter trickle down from the girls above me while whoops and hollers of joy emanate from the boys below.

The ground has leveled out beneath my feet only steps before when my eyes finally adjust to the dim dense jungle and I realize we arrived at the campsite.

“It’s called the Nyati campsite…” our guide shares, pointing to the “Nyati” (buffalo) skull seated at the base of the sheer rockface just to the right. “The buffalo fell down… this is all that remains.” Staring in awe, I take in my surroundings. This is what my co-leader had meant when he said it felt like a Jurassic World down in the crater.

It is almost silent- very little wildlife is willing to live on the volcanic floor. Green- moss is everywhere, growing from the moisture running down the sides of the volcano when it rains. It is misty. No wind blows away the clouds once they settle down into the cool center. We are thrust into shadow by the equatorial sun dipping beyond the earth walls looming around us. The flat spaces are quickly claimed by tent pegs, and the sturdy trees by hammock straps. Laughter, joy, and the general sounds of exploration fill our little camp as students unroll sleeping bags, make fun of each other’s shoe, water, or food choices, and toss bundles of something back and forth through trees, over or under legs, around set up hammocks, or around the tentpoles wobbling through with the air with the last set up being done by students playing a variation of catch.

Eventually, logistics have to be handled: which direction do the girls pee, which direction is for the boys? Can anyone find dry wood? We need to make our fire for the hot-dog dinner! Darkness quickly descends. By 6:30, it is pitch black except for our slowly growing fire, made of more steam than smoke due to the full saturation of every stick we tried to burn. Eventually enough heat is generated for hot dogs to begin roasting.

While it has been clearly explained, some teens are not great at following instructions, especially when it comes to food. You ate your breakfast, lunch, AND dinner food for dinner tonight? Welp. That was a choice. Good thing Y carried nothing but an entire kilo of carrots, I bet he’ll share with you when you need breakfast tomorrow.

Only one third of a liter of water made it in your bottle? And you left the other one at the dorm? Well, E’s dad made her bring six. I know you can handle not drinking, actually what we’re asking is if you’ll carry some of E’s weight. It’s heavy, she needs help. Sure you can drink it too.

How on earth did you get 6 wraps?! And all wraps with cheese?! And now…. you’re melting it over the fire? Ok. Your choice. Add the hotdog? Sure. Ahhh. Your wrap with nutella, sure, that sounds nice warmed over the fire! Just don’t drop it in the ash. That would be a bummer.

D, you brought an entire bag of marshmallows to share? And the kind from America? And the students opened the plastic-adjacent Kenyan ones?! What are they thinking! Yes please, I’ll open this other bag, then laugh as they ponder how mine grew so big and roasted to such a nice golden brown.

We are having a lovely time, laughing, eating, and enjoying the general organized hubbub that comes with a deep woods camping trip. Until the sky opens up.

CLEAN UP FOLKS. INTO TENTS STAT. I brought a rain fly for my hammock- not all the students thought that far ahead. Bummer. With the pitch black of the night, it seems so reasonable to go to bed, until I check my phone and realize it isn’t even close to 8pm. I snuggle into my double-stuffed down sleeping bag, wriggling until the fly is over my entire self, unfortunately barely touching my nose, dripping cold wet rain, but only onto my face when it happens to make contact with the condensation gathering above. Eventually I fall into a fitful sleep while listening to the sound of girls giggling, boys whispering and every type of bodily function available, snoring, coughing, sneezing, tooting, you name it, someone was accused of it the next morning!

The rains have not helped the dry-fire-wood situation, and the fire is slow in being coaxed back to life, as if it hasn’t had its morning coffee yet, ironically, the reason we even care about re-stoking the flames! We’d packed out an aluminum kettle, attaching it via carabiner clip to my pack for this very purpose. We will not be dissuaded! Each student desiring a hot morning beverage pours one glass full of water into the kettle- you want coffee, you contribute water-and we wait for it to boil. A knife is procured and the tops to the instant coffee packets are cut off then poured along with powdered creamer and sugar packets into the waiting cups.

Our comedy show arrives just on time as one student lifts out of his backpack, as if the golden calf itself, an AeroPress. Not sure what that is? Me either. But then he pulls out JavaHouse espresso roast coffee grounds. I DO know what that is: the fancy stuff. He also brought zero water.

After the pot has boiled and each contributing member has their share for their own cups, there is just enough left for Z and his bougie coffee-maker. We watch as he pours the water.

Into the wrong end…
He stops. Reconsiders his life choices. Dumps it in the other end.
Realizes the cup isn’t underneath.
Coffee dribbles into the dirt.
Valiantly he grabs a cup.
Disaster salvaged.
Triumph!
Contraption set down.

As if in slow motion, the entire thing topples over spilling with it any hope Z had for bougie camping coffee. A classic example of “he needed the coffee to turn on his brain to make the coffee…” His gatorade filled bottles are not going to produce MORE free water to boil and attempt the fiasco again… but, a compassionate friend who witnessed the fiasco volunteered another one of his bottles.

After the dramatic breakfast scene cleared and camp was broken, we begin our onward hike. The route we took to get down is not the same route we’ll be taking to go back up. We line up single-file while our guide, brandishing a machete, begins hacking a path for us.

“Wait! It’s Sunday! We need to listen to worship music.” An announcement is made as a speaker is procured. When this speaker dies, or the student made it all the way through their downloaded playlist, the next student turns into radio DJ, passing on the responsibility until all JBL batteries have been drained of life.

Progress is slow, we take a step, hack a vine, take a step, level some underbrush, take a step, clear the tree branch. Fun conversations pop up all around me as we admire the ever-shifting views, glimpses of the opposite crater wall peeking out when brush clears, and hovering clouds cast dancing shadow patterns on the flora floor below us as we edge our way towards our escape route up.

A few hours in, our vantage point begins to shift and we move up the wall of the crater, ever so slowly. We’ll be stopping to visit the wreckage of a plane crash from the ’50s on our way out. Where it seems nobody has traversed before our guide randomly stops and points out previously hacked branches, then, names of his friends who also guide hikes in the crater on trunks nearby. We pause to see some metal bits, eat some lunch, and carry on. Our ascent increases sharply and we risk stepping into a hidden steam vent here or rolling an ankle on volcanic rocks there, sometimes requiring we scramble on all fours up a near vertical wall.

Imagine my shock when we reach the first true vertical. Nobody mentioned technical free climbing with full packs. This vertical is about ten feet up.

We start with the girls.
One student climbs. Then another. Packs are shoved up, grinding against the dirt. Boots scrape rock. Loose dirt rains in people’s faces. A second climb begins as soon as the first ends. Six feet this time. An hour passes. All thirteen students and four adults are at the top of this double climb. We walk as a group once more until only ten minutes later, our third and final rock-climbing endeavor stands before us. A solid twenty feet up. “Oh I did not wear the right clothing for this…” a student next to me bemoans. She was right. She scales the wall easily in her hiking boots and I follow carefully next. The remaining thirty minutes of the hike up the crater wall is slow, but steady. One foot, one arm in front of another as I grab patches of lemongrass to help hoist myself up the only-slightly-less-vertical-than-rock-climbing. One foot. One handhold. One breath. At one point, I can’t make the three foot step up. A student behind me shoves his foot into the ashy volcanic dirt. “You’ve got this Miss Galloway, use my foot for a step.” I hear whooping ahead, just when I don’t think I could go any further. The rim! I am almost to the top! Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Then suddenly:

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Sky.

My head emerges above the edge of the rim and the most stunning view I’ve ever seen explodes before me, not because of the scenery alone, but because we made it. I whoop alongside my students, and shout encouragements to those behind me still working their way up.

For the last bit of the hike, all down, we split up. Some students run with victory on ahead, truly bounding down to the cars, some in the middle, trudge forward too tired to do anything else than trudge, others linger behind for a mini photo shoot as stunning views present themselves, or tired legs drag.

By the time I reach the parking lot, my legs feel like borrowed equipment. Dust coats everything. My hair smells like campfire smoke and sunbeaten sweat. Somewhere in the chaos, half the students have already collapsed onto the grass while the other half are digging coins out of their pockets to buy a nice cold soda from the gate agents.

The cars that felt impossibly full on the drive down now swallow backpacks without ceremony. Boots are kicked off. Snacks appear from nowhere. Someone starts another speaker.

And just like that, the crater already begins turning into story instead of reality.

Tomorrow there will be sore muscles, homework, missing water bottles, and probably at least three students discovering volcanic ash in places volcanic ash should never be.

But this evening?

They are still glowing.

Not from the campfire.
Not from the summit.

From the rare kind of exhaustion earned only by doing something genuinely difficult together.

And somewhere beneath all the laughter and complaints and rehashed near-death retellings, I can already tell:

This will become one of the stories they carry for years.

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