My Journey to the Top of the World

Title: My Journey to the Top of the World
Author: Saray Khumalo 
Publisher: Penguin Random House  
Reviewer: Nancy Richards
There was a point at which I could relate to Saray Khumalo’s story. It’s when, on an early climbing expedition, she wonders why she is doing this. Half way up a precipitous slope on day one of my first ever hike, I wondered the same thing. I also understood what she meant when she said she regretted packing a solid fruit cake for a friend’s birthday when they reached the top. 

On my trip, a fellow hiker carried not only a pot of proving dough to cook later on the fire, but a wooden bread board on which to slice the finished loaf. (If you’ve never hiked with a backpack, the folly of this will be lost on you, but just think weight.)  For Saray, on her Journey to The Top of the World, there was no opportunity for doubts, regrets or to turn back, but the learning curve for both her, and this reader, was steep, sheer and breath taking, literally.  
At the end of her book she lists some of the lessons she learnt ‘along the way’. How clear is the view from hindsight! But I learned something on pretty much every page, starting with the Prologue. A serious head injury, a broken limb, plastic surgery and a coma filled with hallucinations following a biking accident need not deter you from running a marathon within three months. Nor from cancelling any plans for climbing Everest. Sorry if this is a spoiler – but it is on page 1.
In the first few chapters she whistles through childhood in Zambia and Zaire, a strong start on a career path, through marriage and motherhood. The nub of the book however, is not about climbing corporate ladders, but mountains. ‘When I returned from Kilimanjaro, I knew that this was just the start of my mountaineering journey’. Her sights were set on the Seven Summits, the highest mountains in each of the seven continents. A straightforward goal – but like litter on Everest, the path was strewn with obstacles. Amongst the big ones, coma apart, were avalanche, earthquake and frost bite. But I’ll leave you to read the nightmare details of those for yourself.
Among the more minutely shared lessons I learned were that: ‘Sherpa’ is not a job but a Tibetan tribe and that members are traditionally named after the day of the week on which they’re born. That they are not necessarily all docile beings who accompany down-padded and dogged, high-profile, high-income internationals uncomplainingly up dizzy and dangerous heights. They have rights, feelings and foibles too and should not be underestimated, nor undermined. That there is such a profession as an ice-doctor, and that climbers should heed their wisdom closely.  That egos, and raw personality traits, tend to ‘come out to play’ on mountains and that the vitality of even the most super-fit, machine of a climber is vulnerable to what an unpredictable mountain might mete out. That ‘lama’ simply means monk and their blessings are to be valued. That the blue, white, yellow, red and green colours of Tibetan prayer flags represent sky, air, earth, fire and water – and that the elements, like climate and temperature, are also to be respected.
That if you wear a K-Way jacket on a mountain, you mark yourself as South African. That sponsors are not just altruists, they expect much of you – and if you are as committed as Saray is, you expect much of yourself – and what you are able to achieve for others as well as your own goals.  
Although I learned a great deal more about the precarious world of ascents and descents, peaks and pitfalls, let me just say finally I discovered that third time is not always lucky and that as the first black woman to summit Everest, the hurdles Saray faced were way many more than the obvious. Very finally an invaluable lesson, I think, for anyone on a journey worth undertaking is the imperative to write down your thoughts and feelings as you go, like Saray must have done, because as with childbirth you will surely otherwise forget.   
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