Ngong Hills: The Pain, The Pleasure, and Everything In-Between

I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. You don’t just decide to summit seven mountains, including Mt. Kenya and Kilimanjaro, without some serious preparation—or so I’d been told. Ngong Hills was the first challenge, my kickoff for Heights Unseen. The idea is to show that disability isn’t what most people think it is. We’re not limited; we’re just playing with different cards. And, of course, we’re raising money for a great cause: 4,000 white canes for the visually impaired. So, there I was, strapping on my boots, bracing myself, and ready to face the first hill.
​Preparation was tough, though. Muscles were aching in places I didn’t even know I had. I nonchalantly thought to myself, Hey, I’ve done Ngong before—in jeans, no less. So how hard could it be, right? Well, this time was different. Coming down those hills was going to be a whole new experience. I’d be feeling every single step.
Starting the climb, I could feel the weight of the journey settle on me, both physically and mentally. The funny thing is, no matter how ready I thought I was, Ngong had other plans. Every steep incline, every tricky patch reminded me that the road ahead was going to be long, unpredictable, and maybe more painful. But then there’s a strange thrill in that too. What’s life without a little madness?
Halfway through, the pain set in. My muscles were screaming, my mind had a few choice words of its own, and every part of me was demanding to know why I’d chosen to put myself through this. Something kept pushing me onward. This wasn’t just for me; it was for every person who’s ever been told they can’t, won’t or shouldn’t because of their disability. Pain or no pain, I had to make it to the top.
And then there’s that bittersweet thing about pain—it comes with its counterpart: satisfaction. From the ache and exhaustion came a kind of pleasure that’s hard to explain. It’s like looking back at a rough road and realizing you left it behind. Each grueling step was worth it for that moment when I finally reached the summit. Standing there, I felt more alive than I had in ages. We’re really doing this, I thought. We’ve taken the first step, and there’s no going back now.
What I hadn’t expected was the sheer joy of meeting people along the way. Fans, strangers, whoever they were, they stopped to chat, wished me luck, and shared their admiration. It was like fuel for the soul, a reminder of what this journey is really about. I mean, sure, the personal challenge is satisfying, but it’s these moments—the connection with others, the support from people I hadn’t even met before—that make it all the more meaningful.
Ngong Hills was the first of many, and if it taught me anything, it’s this: endurance isn’t about ignoring the pain; it’s about acknowledging it and pushing through anyway. So here we go, one mountain down, six more to go. Every summit we reach, every struggle we face, it all adds up to something bigger than any one of us. Heights Unseen isn’t just an expedition—it’s a movement, a statement, and a testament to resilience.
Ngong may have knocked me around a bit, but I’m ready. Bring on the next mountain.

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