SafariLands.org: Safaris: God’s mountain, Oldoinyo Lengai

Ol Doinyo Lengai is a volcano located in the north of Tanzania and is part of the volcanic system of the Great Rift Valley in Eastern Africa. It is located in the eastern Rift Valley, south of both Lake Natron and Kenya. It is unique among active volcanoes in that it produces natrocarbonatite lava, a unique occurrence of volcanic carbonatite, which means its lava is only 510 degrees Celcius (or 950 degrees Fahrenheit).

View from Oldonyo lengai Mountain

"Ol Doinyo Lengai" means "Mountain of God" in the language of the native Maasai people. A major eruption took place in June 1917, which resulted in volcanic ash being deposited about 48 kilometres away.

It reaches an altitude of about 2878m, rising over 1800m above the surrounding valley floor. The name is the Masai vernacular for 'Mountain of God' and the mountain has a special place in that tribe's beliefs and legends. It was, therefore, a very special event for my two Masai friends, Saita and Steti, for they are from the deep south of Tanzania, and had never before laid eyes upon this sacred mountain. As we travelled by 4WD vehicle across the wilderness of the Rift Valley floor, the ever-growing shape of Oldoinyo Lengai constantly drew our gaze and comment.

We passed through many Masai villages en route, stopping to talk the warriors and elders in Engaruka about the mountain and our purpose for going there. Saita and Steti were treated with great respect and curiosity. Their dress and beaded jewellery, and their plaited hair was so different in style and colouring to these Masai of the north. My son Zak and I were also the subject of curiosity and amazement - not too many white people pass this way - and I caused a pleasant stir when I made greetings and small-talk with the Masai in their own language!

Onward we travelled, through the dusty wilderness, passing the occasional warrior or herder and many examples of the wildlife that lives in harmony with the Masai - antelope and gazelle, ostrich, zebra and giraffe. There were predators too, but mainly nocturnal and unseen by us. Eventually, in the mid-afternoon, after passing through some breathtaking scenery, we arrived at Engare Sero; a small campsite situated on the banks of a fast-flowing river.

Here we met our guide, who was a Ndorobo from a local Masai village. Although we had brought dry goods and vegetables with us from Arusha, we arranged for the purchase of a goat from the village, to provide some fresh meat to go with our staples.

Zak and I set up camp, while Saita and Steti slaughtered and skinned the animal with dextrous skill. After a good meal of roast goat, rice and potatoes, we all hit the sack for a couple 6f hours. We were due to start our ascent at midnight.
We woke at about 10.30pm. After a cup of tea and some thick stew, consumed in the light of a hurricane lamp, we set off in the vehicle for the point where the ascent starts. We were on our way.

If anyone had bothered to ask me on that day, the question "Why do people climb mountains?" the famous and fatuous answer "Because they are there" could never have been more aptly applied. There seemed no other possible, logical or earthly reason for submitting ourselves to such torment. The whole six-hour ascent was a hard, stumbling, cold struggle up a steep, undefined route across broken boulders and unstable scree. The route was almost straight up - no switchbacks or doglegs - and for nearly the entire ascent the angle was steeper than 45 degrees, often requiring the use of hands and knees to continue. In many places the climb fitted die cliche "three paces up, two down".

I was constantly falling down unseen ankle-wrenching holes or gullies, tripping over boulders or sliding backwards on loose gravel, and I became very agitated and annoyed with the mountain and myself

The arrival on the freezing summit six hours later should have been met with elation and a sense of achievement, which, in turn, should have alleviated the pain and made the whole thing worthwhile. However, I was so knackered and freezing cold, all I could do was lie down among the huddled heap of collapsed bodies and blankets and fall asleep. After an hour or so of this cold repose, escaping the persistent chill wind in the shelter of a wall of solidified lava, I struggled to my feet and looked around in the growing light of imminent sunrise.

I gazed upon the weirdest and most surreal landscape I have ever laid eyes upon. All around, cones and plugs raised their twisted and convoluted shapes out of a lava plain of white and grey sediment, which was surrounded, partially, by the broken perimeter wall of the caldera.

Solidified ripples, ribs and runnels snaked out before me like the fossilised remains of mud squeezed from between the toes of a giant. Livid vapours roiled up out of hidden. fissures and clouds of sulphurous gas hissed from dark cracks. In a Stygian cauldron, molten rock boiled and bubbled, while steam escaped from under pressure-cooker rocks in ear-splitting whines and whistles. The rising sun back-lit the curtains of vapour, changing their hues to pinks and reds, while the sulphur vomited like yellow bile and green scum from a broken sewer.

I forced my frozen legs to move, nudged Zak's mummified form with my boot, and stepped out onto the solidified lava. After walking several paces, I paused to unravel my camera from the devastated contents of my backpack. Now stationary, I could feel heat rising through the soles of my boots. I immediately laid down flat on the ash-coloured residue. The warmth seeping into my old, cold bones was marvellous. I wanted to stay here forever - never to be so cold or tired or aching again. Once my core and skin temperature had balanced out, however, I realised that this was no mere hot-water bottle I was reposing on, but a high temperature boiler. The sight of my backpack's nylon strap beginning to shrink and shrivel with the heat soon had me on my feet once more!

I rubbed some life into my knees, then staggered across the vast expanse of grey to a huge break in the caldera. Standing on the outer edge of the crater where the main lava flow had cascaded down during the last eruption, I was stunned by the vista spread out below me. A tapestry of green and brown undulations - folded and fanned, sundered and riven - stretched away to misty horizons on all points. To the southwest I could see other volcanic peaks: Empakai, Olmoti, the famed Ngorongoro Crater and Oldeani, and beyond these and to the West, nebulous yet known, the first verdant hues of the Serengeti Plains.

Behind me, the other members of my group were coming back to life, and making their own, tentative and individual explorations. Moving across the lava plain, I came to another high exposed point on the rim. From here, looking North, I could see the amorphous blue smudge of Lake Natron. All around volcanic hills and massifs loomed up out of the Valley of Volcanoes -Kitumbeni, Gelai, and Longido, and, in the far distance, Mount Meru.

As the sun rose higher, the colours changed. The grey rock faces of the crater became washed with pinks and scarlets, and the steams metamorphosed through the spectrum, even as I watched.

A small movement caught my eye and I turned to glance up at a towering cliff. There, on the precipice, was a Klipspringer - that tippy-toed gazelle who inhabits rocks and crags. It was a surprise to see any form of life up here, yet, as I looked more closely, in the glow of the new sun, I could see sparse vegetation scattered around, and birds and butterflies flitting from place to place.

I eventually bumped into Zak, who, like the others, had been wandering around in a stunned silence -unwanting of conversation or company. Together we made our way to God's Kitchen - a deep, cavernous adit, wherein high-temperature molten minerals simmered and belched noisily. Scalding hot splashes of this thick brown gravy sporadically leapt out of the hole and splattered onto the edge we stood, where it dried and solidified within minutes, taking on the colour and texture of chocolate-stained aluminium foil. This was just a small part of the process that has continually formed, destroyed and reformed the shape of the crater for millions of years. We waited for Saita and Steti to join us, and with undisguised amazement they looked into the kitchen of their god, Ngai.

Eventually, with all our explorations and photographs completed, and strained and incomplete explanations of geology further bewildering the awe¬struck minds of our two Masai companions, we prepared ourselves for the return journey.

The descent, by the same route, was a torture on the toes and knees, and the pain and subsequent weakness and trepidation made it easy to lose one's balance on the treacherous surface. The sun now reached its zenith, and the heat beat down relentlessly on the exposed and treeless Lengai - and the tiny figures staggering down her rugged slopes. My water, and that of my companions, was finished long before we came to the deeply folded feet of the mountain, and my mouth was as dry and dusty as the inside of my Gore-Tex gaiters. Loose gravel and scree betrayed my carefully placed feet, causing me to slide or stumble and slip over - an action that became almost constant on the final half of the six-hour descent. There were stretches of tens of metres where I just slid along on my bum - grabbing at bits of passing vegetation to brake my momentum.

On my raggy-arsed arrival at the waiting vehicle - a tiny white carrot that had dangled on a long stick for several hours of the descent -I was in a state of virtual collapse: a mere vegetable with legs of spaghetti and a brain of organic soup. The journey back to camp was a mystery tour of which I had absolutely no interest. I was hot, dehydrated, sunburnt, aching and tired beyond belief - and the driver hadn't thought to bring any bottles of water with him from our supplies! As soon as we got to the camp, Zak and I immediately threw ourselves into the shallow river - fully clothed -and lay on our backs like crucified martyrs, as the six-inch-deep fast-flowing, cold, fresh water ran over us. In a mirror image of my experience on the warmth of the lava field, I wanted to stay here forever - never to be so hot or tired or aching again.

Once my core and skin temperature had balanced out, however, I realised that this was no mere cooling swimming pool I was reposing in, but an ice-cold mountain stream, which was dropping my temperature by the minute. The sight of my fingers beginning to shrink and shrivel with the cold soon had me on my feet once more! It is quite a mind-blowing situation to experience such extreme sensations at both ends of the scale on the same day!

Saita and Steti had gone further upstream, and had bathed in a pool at the foot of the waterfall. When we were reunited, it was beers all round and another good meal of roast goat - Masai style!

It was only the next day - following a well-needed and well-deserved sleep - that the sense of achievement really sank in. Retracing our route across the Rift Valley, we looked up at the summit of Oldoinyo Lengai with a new perspective - and new respect. We had not conquered God's Mountain - Ngai had allowed us to visit and escape to tell the tale. And believe me, in bars in Dar es Salaam and pubs in England - and especially in a small Masai village in southern Tanzania - the tale definitely got told!