"Kemal's Last Laugh"

Three faces stare down on an old, yellowed map. Their eyes stop at Africa. They imagine the scene:

Icy......... cold Africa. The sun is busily playing basketball, bouncing passes off the snow-covered mountains. The rebounds rebound ... and rebound.......... and rebound. This is 17,000-foot Africa - fluffy white – seen by few from this close an angle; the 3 men are closely observing sleeping Mt. Kenya. In Africa, only the mighty Kilimanjaro is higher.

"That's it! The second tallest mountain this side of darkest Africa!" Americus Barton, the blond American speaks. The three white men, all tall, muscular, and good looking, are seated around a table intently reviewing a map tracing a climbing route of Mt. Kenya.

"Right there, the Nelion Peak," Americus rants on, "located in Central Kenya, East Africa. Approximately 70 miles north-northeast of Nairobi. Smack-dab in the middle of 300 square-mile national park. It has twin summits, called Bation and the famous Nelion. Nanyuki of the northwest side is the chief base for ascents and is connected to Nairobi by railway!" Americus points hard, slams his fast heavily on the table, stands up, and walks around the expensively furnished den with its walls covered with dead stuffed game heads, souvenirs, etc. "That's the one I want. I want to conquer Africa!" he says as he lifts his brandy snifter and engages in a haughty sip.

"He's always wanted Africa, this one has," laughs a gap-toothed Ellery Gent, the Englishman of the group. "Ee's done his blimey homework, too. We've climbed some of the best; the Matter horn, and Pikes Peak...... but this bloody bastard has always wanted Africa."

"I vo. ... vo. ... vote Africa too," says the younger, bearded stutterer Pye Spencer - known as Young Pye. "Wh..... wh..... why not."

"Then it is!" shouts a joyous Americus, "the triumvirate will conquer Africa and we will stand tall on the Dark Continent. A toast is in order, what say Ellery?"

"Jolly good man – we will tackle Africa. What say Pye," says Ellery.

"Africa – he. ... he. ... here we come!" says Young Pye.

The three men gleefully stand over the map, click their glasses, and in unison down the remaining brandy.

Americus is the first to de-plane as the Air Africa aircraft finally lands. The men are quickly picked up by a taxi and are soon in their hotel room with enough luggage for 10 people. There are hooded parkas in one corner, boots with shining crampons in another. The entire room is strewn with packs, sacks, socks, clocks, belts, pelts, dried food and drink, cameras and even a small sink. Ice-pick axes, nylon rope, and other expensive climbing equipment have been unpacked to be checked one last time. A half empty bottle of Remy Martin sits on the coffee table.

"Tight..... ugh......... pull the bitch tight!" grunts Americus as the three sit in a straight single file line, preparing the rope. Ellery checks Americus, Young Pye checks Ellery, and Americus re-checks Pye and Ellery, etc..etc.

"When do we meet this guide you've hired," a sweating Ellery says through clenched teeth.

"Tomorrow – he will meet us at the base of the mountain," Americus answers.

"Any go....... good?" Pye asks, as he untangles some rope and ties a knot faster than Jack Robinson.

"The best in Africa. He was recommended by the park ranger, an Englishman by the way, who was a good friend of my father's," says Americus.

"Better be bloody good, that's all I can say," says Ellery as the three continue the ritual of checking rope, relaying knots down the line.......... down the line....... down the line.

Next day.

The group arrives at the base of the mountain and meets their guide – Kemal- for the first time.

"I am Kemal, your guide," the jet-black African opens his mouth wide and smiles his pearly teeth, his reflection gleaming in Americus' mirrored sunglasses. In the background, behind the base of the mountain, one can glimpse picture perfect white capped mountains.

Kemal is wearing a tribal, traditional dashiki wrapped around his skinny upper torso; a tribal necklace around his bony neck. He is holding a spear-like walking stick in his right hand; and..... most curiously...... he is not wearing any shoes?

Americus, Ellery, and Young Pye walk around Kemal, carefully sizing him up as if prey.

"You ready?" says an unsmiling and serious Americus...... "no shoes or jacket in this cold weather...... won't you freeze to death?"

"I'm ready anytime you say, sir...... and I need no shoes or jacket – my ancestors were guides. My tribe is used to the cold, sir," Kemal's English is pretty good, with an African accent, as his words rise in a puff as they meet-n-greet the chilly cold air.

"Well – if you say so. Let's get on with it," Americus says.

The four men begin their journey, walking up the trail, the mounds of expensive gear hanging from their backs piggy style. They walk past a differing terrain every few miles, or so it seems - snow-spotted woods and trees for one mile; barren rock and dirt another. At days end they have traveled close to some 8,000 feet, and decide to set up camp on a snowless covered clearing. Soon, a crackling fire and the smell of frying steaks whiff the air. The three men are seated around a campfire, warming their bodies through brandy; Kemal off to the side, out of hearing distance, staring into the starring sky.

"Did I tell you men about the first man to climb this magnificent mountain?" says a swaggering Americus.

"Another one of ee's stories to brighten the evening, what say guvnor," says a chucking Ellery to Young Pye.

"I ... en. ... en ... joy his stories," stammers Pye. "besides, who..... who. ... else are we going to listen to way. ... way up here." The three men laugh.

"Sir Harold Mackinder, a countryman of yours Ellery, was the first man to claim the Nelion peak back in 1899. And, you can bet old man Mackinder didn't have the luxuries of a good piton or the new strength of a steel carabiner then, but it was his will power and daring that got him to the top of this damn mountain." Americus rises and begins to walk around the campfire ... becoming enthralled with his own story. "And you want to talk obstacles...... shit! He not only had to fight night and day the crevices and the cracks, but he was constantly being harassed by the savage, hostile tribes that lived in this region of the woods during that particular time. I'm talking real headhunters and cannibals."

"Come off it man," says Ellery, "I'm sure it wasn't that big a thing with the tribes."

"The hell it wasn't!" Americus jaunts/jumps over the fire and puts his big head between the two men. "You think those tribes understood the white man's thirst for adventure – or the God given right to explore the unknown and make it known? We're talking about people who saw the white man and only visualized light thigh sandwiches and white meat stew."

The...