John Morris, Rebecca, Loveness and Bob Morris at the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Photos courtesy of Bob Morris.
By: Bob Morris, U-GO Wild West Board Member
We were cold, exhausted and struggling to breathe.
My brother John and I had awakened just before midnight and climbed in darkness for nearly seven hours, following the slow rhythm taught by our Tanzanian guides.
“Pole, pole.”
Slowly, slowly.
A few inches at a time. Don't look too far ahead. Just keep moving.
Climbing with us were Tanzanians Rebecca and Loveness—graduates of SEGA Girls' Secondary School and U-GO scholars. They were struggling too. Over six days, both had battled altitude sickness but kept putting one foot in front of the other.
Finally, we reached Stella Point at 18,885 feet.
We were close—but Uhuru Peak, the summit of Kilimanjaro, was still nearly 500 vertical feet higher. Rebecca needed supplemental oxygen. We rested and hoped she would recover. Eventually, our guides decided the rest of us should continue.
Loveness, John and I started toward Uhuru Peak, with Rebecca leading the way. We didn't know whether Loveness would be able to follow.
Nearly an hour later, we approached the famous wooden sign marking the highest point in Africa. We looked back. To our surprise, walking toward us was Loveness.
She had made it. Pole, pole.
A few minutes later, the four of us stood together at 19,341 feet. We hugged. We cried. Then I asked Rebecca and Loveness if they wanted to record a video. Suddenly, their exhaustion seemed to disappear. Rebecca stepped in front of the Kilimanjaro summit sign. I held my phone with hands shaking from the cold.
“Do you need a minute to think about what you want to say?”
“I know what I want to say,” Rebecca replied.
She looked into the camera.
“Girls can do anything! Invest in girls, and you will see.”
It Started by Raising a Hand
Rebecca and Loveness had been friends since primary school. Both earned scholarships to attend SEGA Girls' Secondary School in Tanzania. This fall, they each enter university on a U-GO scholarship.
Neither had ever climbed a mountain. Before that week, neither had ever worn hiking boots.
When guide company Tusker Trail offered two SEGA graduates the opportunity to climb Kilimanjaro, SEGA asked for volunteers. Two hands went up. One was Rebecca's. The other was Loveness's. Neither knew the other had volunteered.
That image of those two young women volunteering has stayed with me. So much of life begins with the simple act of raising your hand. It means: I'll try. Give me the opportunity. I don't know exactly what is ahead, but I'm willing to take the first step. For Rebecca and Loveness, that first step led to the highest point in Africa.
The Girls Become the Celebrities
Over seven days on Kilimanjaro, John and I got to know them. Most mornings, we woke to Rebecca and Loveness singing in their tent—sometimes Tanzanian songs, sometimes K-pop. They even tried to teach two older American men the lyrics to The Lion King, without much success.
As we walked, we talked about their childhoods, families, education and dreams. Rebecca wants to become a doctor. Loveness wants to become an attorney.
What struck me was that neither talked about education simply in terms of what it could do for her. They talked about what they could someday do for their families and communities.
We also watched how proud our Tanzanian guides and porters became of these two young women. Other climbing teams noticed them, too, offering encouragement to their Tanzanian dada—their sisters Rebecca and Loveness became the celebrities of our expedition. Everyone wanted them to succeed.
Another Kind of Summit
Before climbing Kilimanjaro, John and I spent several days at SEGA. John has a PhD in electrical engineering, and SEGA invited him to teach a mathematics class on series and sequences. I sat in the back and watched. At one point, a student in the front row raised her hand.
“Dr. Morris, you forgot the negative sign.”
John looked at the board. She was right. “Proving that even teachers can make mistakes,” he said. Everyone laughed.
Later, we learned that one of the girls told a SEGA staff member that John's class had inspired her to study mathematics more seriously. That small moment stayed with me. We go through life rarely knowing when an interaction, teacher, scholarship or opportunity will alter someone's direction.
That is what makes the work of U-GO and its partners so powerful. A scholarship does more than pay tuition. It tells a young woman:
“We see something in you. Your dreams matter. Here is an opportunity. What will you do with it?”
The Next Mountain
I keep thinking about Rebecca at Stella Point. She had already climbed higher than anyone she knew. She was exhausted and needed oxygen. She could have stopped there and still accomplished something extraordinary. We continued without her.
Then, nearly an hour later, we looked back.
There she was. Still climbing.
There will always be another mountain. For a U-GO scholar, it might be getting into university or becoming the first doctor, lawyer, engineer, teacher or entrepreneur in her family. Some mountains will be financial. Others cultural. Some will involve expectations about what girls can or cannot do.
Our job—as U-GO, partner organizations and supporters—is not to climb those mountains for them. It is to help them reach the trailhead. Provide the education. Create the opportunity. Believe in their potential. Then let them climb.
Rebecca and Loveness raised their hands. And they climbed.
“Girls can do anything. Invest in girls, and you will see.”
I don't need any more convincing. I've seen it.
Just Say Yes
There is one more lesson I brought home from Kilimanjaro. My own journey began more than a year earlier at a U-GO gathering in Bali. My wife, Jodi, and I have long supported U-GO and SEGA. When we heard about ‘Summit for SEGA’, Jodi—who had climbed Kilimanjaro herself 25 years earlier—encouraged me to go.
So I said yes.
I set a fundraising goal of $19,341—the height of Kilimanjaro—and, with the generosity of friends, family and U-GO's matching support, surpassed it.
I originally had plenty of potential climbing partners. One by one, they dropped out. Eventually, I called my brother John, who had already told me once that he had no interest in climbing Kilimanjaro.
This time, he said yes.
Months later, he was teaching mathematics at SEGA, climbing Kilimanjaro and sharing an experience neither of us will ever forget.
Rebecca and Loveness said yes, too.
That's how meaningful things often begin.
A partner identifies one more promising young woman. A donor funds another scholarship. Someone organizes a fundraiser. A volunteer offers her time. A young woman is given an opportunity—and raises her hand.
We don't always know where saying yes will lead.
Sometimes it leads to a classroom.
Sometimes it changes the direction of a young woman's life.
And sometimes it takes you all the way to 19,341 feet.
So when the opportunity comes to participate, contribute, fundraise or simply step outside your comfort zone, my advice is simple:
Just say yes.
You may be surprised where it takes you.
