The Mountain Taught Me Again

 20,000 Steps of Gratitude in Abuja.

Some mountains challenge your body. Others quietly heal your soul. This rainy morning hike did both.

It's been a while since I last wrote about one of my adventures. Not because I stopped hiking. I could never. Life simply became well... life. There were days when everything felt overwhelming. Through it all, one thing remained constant: the mercy and grace of the Almighty. For that, I am deeply grateful.

So, grab your coffee, tea, zobo, kunu, or whatever makes your heart smile, and come with me.

It was one of those rainy Abuja mornings.

If you're a hiker, you already know rainy mornings are premium hiking weather. The earth becomes soft beneath your feet, every shade of green suddenly looks greener, and the air smells like heaven pressed the refresh button.

Honestly, nature gives me butterflies.

Sometimes I wonder what Earth would feel like without mountains. Then I quickly stop imagining because that is a sad thought.

Speaking of mountains...

Dear Abuja real estate developers,

Abeg, leave some mountains for us.

I promise I'll come back to this.

The rain had started early that morning, and my bed suddenly became the safest place on earth.

To make matters worse, there was Moori.

My furry king clearly woke up and thought,

"Human, today we sleep."

He curled himself around me like a warm blanket. Honestly, who am I to argue with royalty?

After about an hour, the rain stopped.

I checked our hiking group.

As expected, our Head of Trail Setting, Peruzzi, had already arrived at the meeting point. Somebody should honestly gift that guy a cat. Maybe then he'll understand the beauty of staying indoors once in a while.

Soon everyone started sending messages.

"I'm on my way."

"Coming out now."

"Almost there."

I slid into Hercule's DM.

"Are you coming?"

"Yes."

That single reply boosted my morale.

I got dressed and ate a proper protein and fibre breakfast because Peruzzi had already warned us:

"This one no be child's play."

Translation?

"Prepare to suffer respectfully."

By the time I got to Burma Park and Garden in Katampe Extension, it was already past 9:00 a.m.

Guess what these people were doing?

Eating hot white rice and stew.

Before you judge me.

Yes.

I joined them.

Immediately.

No shame whatsoever.

Then our manager, Mr. JEM, arrived and also joined the feast.

Some people even ate like they were preparing for hibernation.

Then somebody suddenly remembered,

"Ah! I was fasting o!"

Hercule...

How serious can somebody be?

We laughed and moved on.

At exactly 10:00 a.m., we began hiking.

Who starts a serious hike at 10 in the morning?

Only Hike Without Borders Trail Setters.

We move.

About fifteen minutes into the hike, Solex suddenly developed severe chest pain.

Everything stopped.

We checked on him, did the little first aid we could, encouraged him, and of course, the guys supplied premium Nigerian banter.

Apparently, laughter is part of first aid.

Thankfully, he felt much better.

We advised him to head home.

Did he listen?

Baba no gree.

He continued.

Not long after, we met a group of security dogs.

These dogs looked like management had forgotten them during salary review.

They stared at us.

We stared back.

Nobody wanted unnecessary headlines.

We stayed calm because one thing about dogs is this. If you run, congratulations. You've entered Season Two.

Thankfully, they let us pass.

Then the real climb began.

I had only gone hiking once the previous week, but I had practically been living inside the gym.

My legs whispered,

"You'll be fine."

My lungs said,

"Let's negotiate."

My heart simply laughed.

Five minutes later, I was panting like someone chasing the last bus home.

Still, we kept moving.

One step.

Another step.

Then another.

Eventually, we stopped for about five minutes to catch our breath before continuing.

That was when I heard Aisha say,

"This isn't what I expected."

Without missing a beat, someone replied,

"Welcome to trail setting."

No sympathy.

Only vibes.

As we climbed higher, the city slowly disappeared behind us.

The air became cooler.

The conversations became quieter.

Nature took over.

Then we came across what looked like a rice field.

Except it wasn't rice.

It was a waterlogged path standing between us and where we needed to go.

There was only one solution.

Walk through it.

Aisha looked personally offended.

The mud didn't care.

Neither did the mountain.

We crossed anyway.

Somewhere in the middle of that muddy walk, something unexpected happened.

A quiet thought entered my heart.

"Beeba, look at you."

"You're climbing a mountain, walking through mud, smiling through discomfort, yet sometimes you allow life's ordinary challenges to overwhelm you."

I smiled.

Then I cried a little.

The mountain was teaching me again.

It always does.

Every hike becomes therapy.

The mountain has become one of God's classrooms for me.

About an hour into the hike, we came across active construction.

My heart broke.

Please...

Abuja real estate developers.

Land plenty now.

Kuje is there.

Gwagwalada is there.

Bwari is there.

Must every beautiful mountain become luxury apartments?

Mountains are more than beautiful scenery.

They help preserve nature, support biodiversity, and shape the beauty and balance of our environment.

Please leave some for generations after us.

Forty-five minutes later, we were almost at the summit.

And there it was.

Usman Dam stretched beautifully into the distance.

The wind.

The silence.

The peace.

The view.

Everything suddenly became worth it.

Oh, I almost forgot.

Before getting there, we wandered into a Fulani settlement, greeted everyone respectfully, asked for directions, and they kindly pointed us toward the right path.

Another reminder that kindness still exists.

At the summit, everyone found their happy place.

Shoes came off.

Backpacks dropped.

Boyante immediately found a quiet corner to continue reading his book.

Only him can come to a mountain and say,

"Perfect reading environment."

Meanwhile, I was admiring the clouds.

Different priorities.

As we settled in, a loud explosion echoed across the mountains.

Another mountain was being blasted.

Silence.

Dust filled the air.

Nobody said much.

We simply watched.

It hurt.

We rested for about an hour.

I accidentally fell asleep for ten minutes.

My arms were still protesting from the previous day's gym session.

Arm day is a scam.

I begged Aisha to massage them a little.

Instant relief.

Then, because apparently I don't know how to rest properly, I did thirty push-ups.

Yes.

Thirty.

Don't ask me why.

I honestly don't know either.

Eventually, it was time to descend.

Back to the noise.

Back to traffic.

Back to notifications.

Back to responsibilities.

But we returned differently.

With grateful hearts.

Clearer minds.

Happier lungs.

And memories that no phone camera can fully capture.

I am grateful to my Creator, whose mercy surrounds me every single second.

I am grateful for this crazy, adventurous hiking family.

I am grateful for good health.

Not everyone gets to climb mountains, and I never want to take that privilege for granted.

By the end of the hike, my watch showed almost 20,000 steps.

Crazy?

Absolutely.

Worth it?

Every single step.

Back home, I met Mr. Drama himself.

Moori.

The stubborn king had refused to eat because I dared introduce a new brand of food.

Imagine.

Twenty-four hours of protest.

Cat activism is real.

Eventually, I surrendered and served his favourite meal.

Peace treaty signed.

King satisfied.

Human forgiven.

After a hot shower and a good meal, I knew I had to write this before the memories faded.

If you've read this far, thank you.

By the way, there is a FREE hike this Saturday.

Come and experience what your lungs have been missing.

And August?

Let's just say I'm planning something special.

Get ready.

It's going to be epic.

Before you go, I'd love to hear from you.

When was the last time your lungs thanked you?

What lesson has nature taught you recently?

Share your thoughts in the comments. I'd genuinely love to read them.

Until the next trail, stay grateful. Keep moving. Let your lungs thank you.

With gratitude,

QueenBeeba