The day finally came. It was the 31st of December, 2022—a remarkable day in our lives. After months of preparation and training, the moment to write our names in the annals of history had arrived.

Two days earlier, we had hiked to Tungo Hills, descended to Pokwangli, walked to Willi, and then headed back home to Kalorgu. By the end of that journey, my legs were already hurting, and I began to fear that I might not be able to make it to the Peak of Pan Kilang. Still, I was determined to try.

On the 30th, Moses and I designed an advert for the hike and shared it on social media to invite more participants. The plan was to converge by 5:00 a.m. at Kalarin Primary School, where a pickup truck would convey us to Popandi, from where we would begin the actual hike.

That night, I spent most of my time with my Uncle Dennis. He told me stories of how they climbed the mountain back in 1992, giving me hints about what to expect. Later, I went home to prepare my bag—dates, water bottle, and other essentials—and even dressed up before sleeping so I wouldn’t have to bother in the morning.

By 5:00 a.m., Moses and I were awake and getting ready. We called Lamayi and Gad. My cousin Bibi also got ready, but she was told she couldn’t go because she had to attend Billiri market that morning.

Uncle Dan met us and explained that he wasn’t motivated anymore because most of his friends who had planned to join had declined at the last minute. However, he gave us the phone number of a tour guide and told us about a driver he had arranged, even though he didn’t have the driver’s number.

I walked over to Harry’s house, and we shared the dates among the six of us while waiting for others to join. Gad managed to reach Godwin, who promised to meet us at Kalarin. We started walking there around 6:00 a.m., and Uncle J, who was coming from Billiri, met us on the way.

I withdrew some cash at Boler Joint near the market, and we bought water before proceeding to the primary school, where we began another wait for the driver. The tour guide started to lose patience, calling me several times to confirm our arrival at Popandi.

While waiting, I applied some balm to the back of my lower thigh, which was still hurting from the hike two days earlier. Later, Godwin came speeding toward us. We all climbed into the back of the truck and headed for Popandi.

Jeoffery who we thought was our tour guide—was waiting for us at the ECWA church. I called him when we arrived, and he hopped into the truck and directed us further ahead. At a certain point, he asked us to stop, and another man joined us. Apparently, the new guy was the actual tour guide.

He directed Godwin off the main road onto a narrow dirt path leading toward the mountain. The ride was rough—sand, stones, and a dry stream that we thought would be the end of the road. Surprisingly, Gideon drove through and continued until we reached another dried stream that was completely impassable.

We all got down, paid him ₦2,000, and the nine of us began our walk toward the mountain. We passed Fulani herders’ temporary settlements with hundreds of cattle and sheep. We exchanged hand waves as they stared at us with curiosity, probably wondering what our mission was.

We took pictures, recorded videos, cracked jokes, and moved steadily toward the foot of the mountain. As we began the climb, excitement filled the air, music blaring from the Bluetooth speaker in Harry’s hand, with the tour guide and Chicago leading.

It didn’t take long before we were shocked by how exhausted we became from the first ascent. My thighs burned, far too early for comfort. The sun rose higher, my body temperature climbed, and I had to remove my jacket and hoodie, leaving only my long-sleeve T-shirt.

By the time we reached the first level, everyone was panting. We took a break and noticed signs of farming—tree stumps and cleared patches. Then we proceeded to the second level, where the terrain became so steep that we had to climb on all fours.

Soon, we began to spot baboons staring down at us from above as we struggled between rocks and dry grass, fighting to keep our balance and watching carefully for reptiles beneath our feet.

At the third climb, it became obvious that our tour guide had never reached the peak before. He stopped and said it wasn’t necessary for him to go further. Legs were shaking. Fear crept in. Worse still, it was clear we had taken the wrong route.

We stood at a dangerous crossroads where every option seemed deadly—even going back down. For a moment, I wondered if a helicopter rescue would be our only way out.

Then Jeoffrey summoned the courage to cross a terrifying section that had frozen all of us in place. Once he made it across, Harry followed, then Lamayi, Gad, and I. The rest of the group stayed behind.

With a leap of faith, the five of us pushed on and finally reached the magnificent Peak of Pan Kilang.

The bellowing wind felt strong enough to blow one away. A giant bird soared above us. The view dwarfed every surrounding mountain, and we could see distant lands stretching endlessly in all directions.

In that moment, everything—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty—felt worth it.

Even though we knew the journey back down would be just as terrifying.