Evelyn Mabie is a graduate of the University of Missouri with a BS in Communication. She was a member of the Honors College and participated in the seminar Liminality and the Sciences. Headline photo by Ian Findlay.

Photo by Ian Findlay

When I was 17 years old, I had the most exciting year of my life. It didn’t come from a typical teenage life thing like learning to drive or being accepted to the university of my choosing. Instead, the excitement came from a mountain, Mount Kilimanjaro to be exact.

One day, after a regular family movie night, my dad asked our family a question that would push us across a liminal threshold. He asked, “Would you climb a mountain?” Eight months later, my dad, my younger sister, and I embarked on a liminal pilgrimage in the form of a nine day trek with the goal to reach the top of Africa at 19,341 feet in elevation.

Photo by Ian Findlay

On paper, the trip was simple. We would hike up the mountain for an average of 5 ½ hours each day for 6 days, use one day to reach the summit, and then hike back down the mountain. In reality, each day carried unique characteristics that were highly connected and representative of liminality.

The first days of the trek were filled with discovery of new landscape, a new culture, a new experience, and new people. Each day would begin, and end, with our group of eleven sharing a meal together, allowing us to recount the day and build on the discovery we were experiencing. The discovery happening each day removed us from our original “normals” and helped us realize what the new norms would be for the rest of the trek, most of which revolved around the language and daily expectations (but also some about privacy and hygiene… haha). We learned to say “Jumbo” to the other hikers and guides. We learned to drink more water than seems humanly possible, and that ‘Pole, Pole’ means “slow the F down.” Having the opportunity to discuss the new norms and daily discoveries over the daily ritual of sharing a meal built a sense of community within our group, hikers and guides alike, in only a short amount of time.

Photo by Ian Findlay

This sense of community became essential as we entered the more difficult days of the trek. Specifically, on day five, our daily trek was about two hours longer than average, and it included scrambling. For those unfamiliar, to scramble is “to make one’s way awkwardly up a steep slope by using one’s hands and feet”. Up until that point, I had not struggled on the trek. I wasn’t aware that I needed it, but the consistent encouragement from my dad, my little sister, other members of my group, and our incredible guides was absolutely essential. I needed the group to help me get over the hill before the mountain and show me what I could do. At the top of the Barranco Wall, nearly 13,000 feet from sea level, I cried for the first time on our trip. It was an achievement but I cried because it took so much effort and encouragement to overcome.

Knowing that to reach the top of Mount Kilimanjaro meant gaining 6,000 more vertical feet, the thought of the remaining trek seemed unachievable.

Two days later, we began our attempt at the summit. I remember leaving base camp before the sun had even made its way up the mountain. The day was filled with anticipation, being so close but still so far from exiting this liminal passage, whether that would be through reaching the top or failing. We hiked slowly, hoping to acclimate and give ourselves the best chance at reaching the top, with a consistent “Pole, Pole” from every guide.

After hours of trekking, our entire group touched the top of Africa. As soon as the sign was in view, I crossed the other side of the liminal threshold; and immediately cried. These tears were different tears than before. This time, they were tears of pride. I was proud of my little sister, my dad, and I was especially proud of our entire group for being able to push our bodies and minds to achieve the feat of climbing a mountain.

The most important thing that happened at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, though, was that I found the pride I could have for myself. I can challenge myself and I can overcome those challenges. I climbed a mountain, for goodness sake! I carry this achievement with me everyday, and still use it for encouragement when things feel too tough. To enable my newfound self-pride, I left behind so much self doubt at the top of that mountain. Prior to embarking on my liminal pilgrimage, I carried a doubt that I didn’t even realize I had. Maybe the real takeaway of climbing a mountain is ironically what you can leave behind.

The following days were highly ritualistic, preparing us to re-enter the worlds we left just one week before, but as different people. There were specific ways we celebrated, with lots of singing, dancing, and Snickers bars. We shared a meal for the last time and we said goodbyes to all our guides and porters with a ceremony. When we reached our end point, we made sure the legal ritual was completed as well, by signing a certificate signifying that we had touched the top of Africa.

I completed this trip before I had ever even heard the word liminality, let alone know what it meant. While I may not have been able to accurately identify the characteristics of the concept while on my liminal journey to the top of a mountain, I certainly experienced every one. Seeing this experience through the liminal lens allowed me to relive and reprocess my passage in an incredible way. Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro made my 17th year one of my most exciting but liminality showed me that it was life changing.