Climbing Mount Kenya - the Hidden Bits

Twelve year old FirstBorn and her year eight class have just finished their major exams, Common Entrance, which have overshadowed the year. And next comes the other rite of passage for kids at Kenyan expat schools, trekking up Mount Kenya.  A five day expedition to 5000 metres or 16,300 feet, with possible night temperatures of minus 16. Waking at 3am on the day they aim to summit. No mean feat by anyone's standards.  And compulsory for the classmates, no escape.

Her Dad climbed Mount Kenya in his salad days, but doesn't remember much about the concrete details now.
'Well, I remember our calor gas froze and wouldn't come out of the nozzle, that was a pain. It did feel like a real achievement when we got back.'
So we're mainly reliant on the information from the experienced trek leader and parents of former initiates.

'Even if you've got a good three or four seasons sleeping bag, you'll want a fleecy insert liner to go with it.'
'Don't take those special water bottles with external tubes, they freeze and we'll have to share our water with you.'
'Put absolutely everything in additional plastic bags.  You know how it can rain up there.'
'It's about keeping going. You can all do it.  It's 90% in the mind.'

I fear it's a tad like blithely embarking on childbirth, believing the upbeat 'no pain relief birthplan' messages of our NCT tutor. Trusting that our homeopathic birthing kit might alone be enough.
'Like facing out nuclear war under an umbrella' I remember muttering afterwards.  I remember the relieved but ravaged faces of last year's returnees. And some wiser souls - younger siblings? - amongst FirstBorn's peers betrayed an inkling of this too.
'What would the symptoms be to get someone helicoptered off the mountain?' asked one wily forwardplanner at the information session.

As parents you do your best to prepare them.  I remember some of last year's Kenyan parents taking their children to a Naivasha horticulture farm, and leaving them in the coldstore meant to preserve the fairtrade blooms for ten minutes. 
'I wanted them to understand what it can feel like to be really cold.' 
We've spent the year sourcing ski salopettes and gloves, woolly hats and scarves, thermal underwear and good boots, and bringing them out with packmule visitors.

630 am final kitcheck

We've learned about the near 100% likelihood of headaches at the upper altitudes. Of likelihood of vomiting. Of possibility of altitude sickness. But yesterday a whole hidden dimension, as the kindly young woman science teacher accompanying the trip called the girls together for an additional session.
'How many of you have started your periods?' she asked.
'Well the likelihood is, at this altitude, that all those of you who have already started, will have an additional period up there, whether its your time of the month or not. And that those of you who haven't yet started, its highly likely you'll have your first period up there. These periods they come because of the difference in pressure. They may be quite different from your usual ones. So come prepared.'

There had been a whole subculture discussion before between the Mums of the girls. 
'So which teacher would you ask to help you dispose of the sanitary towels while you're up there?  They'd probably need to be burnt. To whom could you pass your unpleasant packages?'
'To emotionally mature, well respected but (young, good-looking male) teacher? He'd help if asked.' 
'Oh Mum, get real, there's no way I'm asking him.'

'I'm guessing what goes in, you carry out. But not a very pleasant bag to carry out in your daysack for five days.'
WorldlyWise suggested that at these temperatures the sanitary towels would freeze too. So at least they wouldn't smell if you had to keep them in nappybags.' But ugh.

But in the eleventh hour information session it became clearer. There will be dustbins up there. And muffled in your saloppettes, puffa jacket, anonymous in with your woolly hat and scarf no one will be able to see what you've got hidden in a bag up your jumper.  But it adds to the stress, and frankly, it would have helped to know this far, far earlier. Outward bound Rites of Passage are quite enough on their own, thank you very much.

They leave at 630 tomorrow, back, all being well in five days.  Fingers crossed for a safe trip.