Mountains can never meet, but people can meet again.
— Swahili proverb
The mountain was just as I remembered it: high and stark, dusky black against the blue sky. Its name was Meru and, like its sister to the east — Kilimanjaro — it was the remnant of an extinct volcano. It had a steep grade on one side, which gave way to foothills and then to the city of Arusha. On the other was a long slope that rolled out into lakes and plains.
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