Arrival Untold: Step By Step

I don’t know where I saw it first. Was it the 30 second Instagram reel? Was it a random video being recommended to me from Youtube. Either way once I engaged the rabbit hole began and the algorithms fed me more and more. Where the conviction began to become undeniable.

I needed to climb this volcano.

Not just any volcano, a volcano that erupts with lava, rocks and ash every couple of minutes.

I wanted to do it. I needed to do it. But, could I do it?

The videos I watched were of fit looking white men and women dressed in their hiking clothes with all the gear, taking on the Acatenango hike. The hike itself was only 5 miles. But would take nearly 6 hours to complete with over 10,000 feet of elevation gain.

These fit looking white folks were saying this hike was the hardest most exhausting thing they’ve ever done. And I mean they looked like they actually hike.

So, could I do it?

Often when I am going to a new place, I look up videos that have black women in them who have already been to the place. I use their videos as guidance as an actual source of truth.

I love most travel content and don’t discriminate on who the host is, but I found the ones by white folks to be more for entertainment purposes. Sources of inspiration, aspirational content that intrigue me and cause me to do further research. These videos though, do not inform me of what my experience will be. Some white people tend to go through the world as if the world belongs to them and they are entitled to it. They possess a white privilege that my blackness will never be able to live in. It’s not that I believe because I saw a white person doing it I will never be able to do it.

On a human level if they can do it, I can do it. I believe I can do almost anything. But, when the only representation you see in a particular space are people that will never have the same lived experience as you, a shadow is cast on it. Can I truly do it? How come I am not seeing anyone who looks like me do it?

So, I search and find one single YouTuber who posted about her experience doing the Acatenango hike. She was from the south like me, even lived in the same city as me and around the same age as me. She says how she knows its going to be hard but she wanted to do it, she wants to see the volcano erupt. It was calling her like how it called to me when I first saw the videos. She was a little more out of shape than I was, thicker than my slimmer frame. But she took us step by step of her journey and never gave up even though she was at the very back of her group. She was going to make it up there eventually, and that she did.

I could do it.

After watching her do it, I knew for a fact I could.

Her representation in doing something that most black people would’ve typified as “white people shit” was what I needed. To be honest up until that point of seeing her do it I chalked it up to that as well. But now, the door was unlocked and I was permitted to go through. This was no longer something I aspired to do, I could do it.

After talking about it for almost a year I booked a one week trip to Guatemala. Very first thing on the itinerary, going to see the volcano erupt.

As soon as I land, I take a group taxi from Guatemala City to Antigua. Somehow all four of us in this sedan with no air conditioning with a 2 hour journey ahead of us, happened to be black. The two girls were there for one of their birthdays, the guy there for some sort of UN, diplomat thing. When I told the girls that I was doing the hike, the one whose birthday they were celebrating expressed joyfully that she also wanted to do it but her girlfriend didn’t want to go. She thought it would be too hard. I’m sure if they watched the same video I did they would’ve been on the side of the mountain with me.

I was the last to get dropped off at my hostel. Well he didn’t drop me off at my hostel he pulled over and said, it was right around the corner. I should’ve learned by now, it is never right around the corner. I walk a little ways down the narrow sidewalks and cobble stoned streets. My roller bag’s worst nightmare. But, if its between shoulder pain from backpacking or almost losing a wheel down a street, I will choose the threat of losing a wheel every time.

Once checked in to the hostel I immediately shower and change, it’s hotter than I thought, and there is nothing like getting airplane grime off of you. I have 3 hours or so to kill before orientation. When I said hiking was the first thing on the itinerary, it was not a joke. Early tomorrow morning I will be on my way to see the volcano. But first, exploring. It was a clear day and Antigua is perfectly framed by a volcano, Volcan de Agua. I’ve seen dormant volcanoes before, for example when I lived in Oahu, Hawaii and saw Diamond Head. Volcan de Agua actually looked like a volcano compared to Diamond Head. It looked exactly like a child's diorama of a volcano they submit to a science fair. It was breathtaking. I walk around and find the arch everyone takes a picture in front of, and then find a park bench to sit on, and then find some food to eat. Thinking about how this was probably the most I’ve walked for weeks. Until tomorrow.

I make it to the orientation early and find a seat. Everyone else filters in and finds a seat as well. The room was packed, considering we were all doing this hike during the wet season. An unpopular time to do the hike as there could be thick clouds that end up covering the view. I guess we were all risk takers, we were assured though, that this wet season has been unseasonably dry so we might have lucked out. We go around introducing ourselves, where we are from, and our experience with hiking. This was when I became acutely aware that I was the only black person.

Others say things like “I’ve done some hiking but I am not a hiker” or “I’m not much of a hiker and haven’t done anything like this before.” I was like oh maybe they are like me and not super physically prepared for this challenge but ready for it nonetheless. It was my turn I say “My name is Imani, I am from Atlanta in the United States, and I don’t really walk at all.” A dry delivery, a joke, people chuckle. I initially thought it went over well. It’s like I forgot the lazy black people stereotypes. It’s like I forgot that as the only black person in the room, I now represent the whole black American community and to the real racists, black people around the world. It’s like I forgot I can’t just exist, my being is politicized, stereotyped, othered, and tokenized. I didn’t realize what I had done.

The guides go through the itinerary of the hike and tell us what supplies to get and where to buy it from. We all depart to prepare for the next day.

The next morning, there were more people than who were initially at the orientation. There was another black girl. She was lighter skinned than me, shorter than me, thicker than me, and had brown braids down her back. I had short braids with beads in my hair. We didn’t look anything alike in my mind. I suppose you know that if I have to sit here and make a distinction between us what happened next. But, I was happy to see a friendly face and introduced myself.

She was from the west coast, California I think, had been traveling throughout Central America for a couple of months seeing the sights and learning spanish. She was an avid hiker, a backpacker, knew exactly what to bring, I mean she even had and used her own backpack to hike to the volcano. I had to get a very stinky used one from the tour agency. She was cool and very nice.

As we pull up to the beginning of the hike after a 2 hour windy and bumpy minibus ride from Antigua we were offered porters to carry our bags and hiking sticks. I knew before I got on the flight to Guatemala that the only way I would be able to make it up this mountain is if I had a porter. Just like the black girl I saw in the video. I also got a hiking stick, figuring if they are offering it to us, it is for a reason. But, I was ready. I had my hiking boots on, my hiking pants on, my base and mid layer with the rain jacket in the backpack. I’m here now its time to do it. I give my bag to the porter pulling out my camera and my phone for pictures and we set off up the steepest sandiest hill I had ever encountered. Every step sunk 2 inches deep and 2 inches back.

What the fuck. This was only the beginning, I wasn’t even carrying my fucking bag and I could hear my heart beat in my ears. Was I the last one? Is everyone waiting on me? Can I even do this?

I made it to the first check point at the top of the steep, sandy hill. I was not the last one, there were 6 people behind me and two of them had already quit. This was literally only the start.

As the last people made their way we start to move again further up the mountain. I immediately took up the rear, people passing me, the group marching forward at a pretty fast pace. All these bitches downplayed their hiking experience. They were literally racing to the top, competitively walking each other down. Why did I have to get stuck with this group? They didn’t even stop to enjoy what they were doing and be in awe of their surroundings. Didn’t even snap a picture.

The other black girl, we’ll call her Tara, saw me struggling offered to carry my water bottle I had in my hand not wanting it to run off with the porter. She also offered me some candy. Kind gestures that I was very grateful for. Tara was with the pack, at the back of the pack but still keeping up with them. I was about 5 minutes behind the main group and about 8 minutes in front of the people behind me. For most of the hike I was in my own world, listening to my heart beat in my ear, with the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, and every step feeling like a weight on me. The last text I was able to send to my family was “I feel like I’m dying” and was unfortunately unable to text them that I in fact did not die, until over 8 hours later. They did not get good sleep that night.

At the lunch checkpoint Tara tells me she had to confront one of the guys.

Apparently he had approached her saying “didn’t you say that you don’t walk” her confused literally not knowing what he was talking about said “no I never said that.” Him and others go on to complain about how if people choose to have porters they shouldn’t be in the back and goes on to imply that maybe people like that shouldn’t even be doing the hike. She decided to dead the tension by introducing herself saying they must’ve gotten off on the wrong foot somehow. He was unfazed by her overly kind gesture when the mistake was on him for not being able to tell the difference between two black women. This must’ve cleared up the confusion for everyone else as well though when they saw Tara and I interacting. “Oh theres’s two of them,” they must’ve been thinking.

I apologize to Tara saying it obviously wasn’t my intention to have my words said in jest affect her. Neither one of us should’ve apologized, not her to him for getting off on the wrong foot and not me to her for saying intended to only be about myself. We were both victims of their dumb ass ideologies. Tara now tokenized as one of the exceptions and me fulfilling their stereotypes. We trek onward.

I was too busy focused on surviving to think too hard about it deeper. I was barely drinking water, I couldn’t eat during lunch time, and I hadn’t used the restroom in 6 hours. My body was in fight or flight mode. It’s only focus was to get me through this situation. The only feelings I did think about was pride and joy. I was proud of myself for not quitting (too far up to quit now) and I was happy to be there. Thinking about my hypothetical grandkids, and the stories I would get to tell them of my travels.

I was close and the mountain gradually became less steep. My porter trying to motivate me by saying this was the flat part and that we were almost there. Both lies, it was still an incline and almost there had the same vibe as the right around the corner my taxi driver mentioned yesterday. But we were close, I could actually hear the volcano erupting.

I turned the corner and there it was. I walked up to the observation deck and immediately sat down watching the smoke clear from the previous eruption. Volcan de Fuego was finally right in front of my eyes. It erupted again. I was smiling, happy to have finally made it. Then everything hit me all at once. I was hungry immediately inhaling the lunch I had no appetite for earlier, I was thirsty guzzling my gatorade, making up for the calories burned and electrolytes lost. My body needed fuel. Then I had to go to the bathroom, locating an outhouse to relieve myself in. Coming back to the volcano to take it all in again, this time snapping pictures and videos of the eruptions.

I sat back at the observation deck next to the woman who was killing it up the mountain. No walking stick and backpack the same size as her. I told her she was amazing. She asked me why I decided to do the hike and asking if I just bought the boots for this hike. A seemingly innocent question, except I live in a white world. I’ve been to classes and entire schools where I was the only black person and I was currently working in an environment where I was the only black person and one thing white people gonna do is be passive aggressive. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was already bleeding. Dying from a slow death of a thousand cuts.

Confused by the question I answer kindly. I was there to see the volcano, of course, as we all were there to see. Whence why we paid for the tour. No, I didn’t buy these boots just for the hike I bought them when I went to Peru to see Machu Picchu. Sure, I may not be physically fit but I am using this challenge to inspire me to hike more and maybe do a 5k. Either way I made it up step by step.

She smiles and leaves one of her friends catching her eye I guess.

I shake it off, I mean there is a volcano erupting right in front of me that is way more important right now. Until later someone else makes similar remarks to me, asking me what I’m doing here, commenting on my shoes, my outfit asking if I rented my backpack. When I replied with yes them then responding with “yeah you probably brought a roller bag, right?”. Now, I stopped and thought, was I not supposed to be on this trip? Was there a fine print somewhere that said people like me are not allowed? What is with all this hostility? I know we as black people joke that things like this are “white people shit” but surely these white people don’t actually think hiking, being outdoorsy and wearing hiking clothes is their shit. Surely they do not actually feel entitled to being outside.

I tried to reason with myself maybe it wasn’t the color of my skin maybe they were saying those things because they didn’t think I was physically fit enough to be there, but then that wouldn’t be any better because that would be ableist. Shit, maybe it was both ableist and racist. Either way it was made clear that I didn’t belong there and anyone who couldn’t keep up with the group didn’t belong there either. They were 4 more people behind me and I heard them talking about those people as well. But, for some reason I was the only one who got my existence questioned to my face.

Normally I try to be outgoing when traveling, I opted to keep to myself for the remainder of the trip, even once I was off the mountain. While going down the mountain I was still being cut. I opted to have a porter carry the bag down as well.

My hip was killing me and I wanted to go at a decent speed and I was zooming, pretty much at the top of the pack for over half of the way down. People did not like this. I could hear them behind me saying that they have to pass me and then proceeded to run past me kicking up plumes of black volcanic dust hitting me right in the face as they make their way down. One of they guys that was talking shit yesterday wasn’t feeling well, Tara comes up to me saying it’s probably karma from what he said. It made me laugh a little but an arrogant guy like that won’t even know that his words affected people. I’m sure his karmic punishment was lost on him.

Despite mostly self isolating for the remainder of the trip, I did not let my experiences on the hike prevent me from having a good time. I did things I loved, I tried things I’ve never done before and I came to many realizations about my next steps in life. I had fun. I mean had to collect these stories to tell the grandkids I had to have fun.

None of my Acatenango hike experience hit me until I got back to the states and even then it was mainly confusion and disbelief that able bodied white folks believe they own the outdoors. It wasn’t until beginning to write this with tears streaming down my face where I realized how deeply I was hurt. My innocence being stripped, I just saw a cool video and wanted to experience it for myself. I thought the only hurdle I would encounter would be my own grit and determination to actually make it up. That’s not the reality I live in.

In the meantime, I will continue looking up videos of black women doing things and going places where I saw a previous video of a white person doing the same thing. And I myself will continue to take up space in doing these things and going to these places, recording my own videos to show to the next black women that they can do it too.

See more from the Pilot Issue of Arrival Mag below:

Arrival: Untold (Physical)

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