Gorobi mountains

The Gorobi mountain range is one of the most breathtaking landscapes I have ever encountered. During the drive down to Gorobi from Zing, the beauty of my ancestral homeland spoke to me for the first time. Perhaps it was because this time I wasn't visiting as a city dweller compelled by a sense of duty. I wasn't visiting a backwater village with no electricity, no pipe bourne water and no telecommunications networks. It was a visit to the place my ancestors called home. For the first time, I was seeing Gorobi as it truly is. A fortress, a refuge and the testament of the strength of my ancestors.

We decided to climb the Goromori mountain, which is the largest in the mountain range. It gets its name from the mori grass which grows wildly around the mountain. Mori grass is used to make brooms, to thatch the roofs of huts and  to make fences.

A few days before the climb, a string of unfortunate events trailed me closely, like flies to a cow. Two days before the climb, I went running and rock climbing to prepare myself for the task ahead. In my unbridled enthusiasm, I jumped off a rock and sprained my knee. When I got home, I fainted from exhaustion, falling flat on my face. When I hit the ground, the cowrie in my hair broke and injured my eyelid. A night before the day scheduled for mountain climbing, I got stung by a scorpion. It was as if I had steped on hot coals with my naked foot. Like there was a fire burning up my right leg.

By the next morning, the pain of the sting was gone.
Nothing was going to deter me from making the climb, even  though I thought it was a sign from the ancestors to stay away from the mountain.

We were eight that made the climb. I along with two of my co researchers, four fearless young men, and the chief priest. After we had climbed a little way up, we encountered a rock with a hollowed side. The chief priest stopped to knock on it with a snall rock in order to let the ancestors know we were coming.

Halfway up the mountain, we came across a dark cave that was a haven for bats and porcupines. The chief priest told us it was used in the past as a shelter for women, children and the old during war, but now it belonged to the chief priests and their descendants. A little way ahead, we encountered two other caves  which the chief priest said served as the offices of his assistant priests.

As we climbed the sides of the mountains, we saw tendrils of yams growing in the wild. The chief priest told us it had been his family's farm for years until 2015. My guess is that centuries ago, while evading slave raiders, jihadists and other warring tribes, the Yandang people learned to survive by farming the sides of the mountain. That way, they could easily escape back to their mountain tops whenever enemies were approaching.

We also encountered a natural spring that pooled all year round. It served as a source of water for the Goromori inhabitants.

Close to the top of the mountain, we were shown the bee hive. I n the past the bees were powerful biological weapons used against the enemies of Yandang people. A few oral sources stress that the Dhaka(Chamba), were the previous inhabitants of the Gorobi mountains before the Yandang used the bees to drive them out and  take over their mountain refuge.

After hours of tireless climbing, we finally reached the top of the mountain. It was bigger than the size of a standard football field, big enough to house several closely packed huts with inhabitants of between a hundred to two hundred.

I felt a profound connection to my roots when I reached the top, especially after the chief priest and my male companions named me Kpansu Goro,(Queen of the mountain).

I have completed my Pilgrimage as a Yandang person. I encourage all Yandang sons and daughters to make the climb at least once in their lifetime.