Translator: Denise RQ Reviewer: Csaba Lóki
"When the cheetah got a glimpse of the gazelles,
it stirred its hunting instinct,
and it slid off the rock covered by bush so silently
that we didn't hear the slightest sound.
Stretching its slim body as far out as possible,
lying low, it sneaked quickly, without any noise towards the gazelles.
Its eyes locked on them, and it used every hollow, small bush,
and larger tussock to remain concealed.
And it succeeded; the gazelles continued to graze on calmly.
It crawled forward like a shadow,
and even with the ruffle of the grass, nothing was suspected.
When it was 30 - 40 steps away from them, it lunged forward like an uncoiled spring.
Into the herd with some quick jumps,
and grabbed one of the females that it had spotted earlier.
But the gazelle escaped, and the whole herd started a mad dash.
The cheetah ran next to the gazelle with beautiful strides,
and after a 200-step pace, it grabbed the gazelle by the throat,
and knocked her down with its paw."
I think this was the moment when I fell in love with Africa forever.
Because my father didn't read traditional bedtime stories to me.
Instead, the stories of hunter authors such as Zsigmond Széchenyi,
Jim Corbett, or Ferenc Donászy whom I've just mentioned.
Thanks to these stories, all of my life,
I have been dreaming about someday getting to Africa
to see the endless savannas, the wildlife, and the snow-covered peak of Kilimanjaro.
Time passed by, and this remained a dream.
Years later, I was working for a TV station,
where I did a series of interviews
in which I talked with people who are interesting and important to me.
This is how one evening, I hosted our legendary alpinist, Zsolt Erőss.
After the interview, we were talking in the corridor and I told him,
"You know, I really envy you for climbing Kilimanjaro."
He smiled at me and said, "Actually, I am going there again now."
"No way! Please take me with you!"
It turned out there was one place left but I had to decide immediately.
"OK, I am coming!" I said quickly.
"But what will happen to your job?” "Hmm... I’ll quit."
So before I realized it, I was on a plane, traveling to Nairobi,
to arrive a few hours later in Tanzania, to the safari capital, Arusha.
So the next day, I could start to conquer the snow-covered summit of Kilimanjaro.
Zsolt warned us,
"Don't underestimate the mountain, because Kilimanjaro is a tricky mountain,
where climbers actually circumvent acclimatization,
and instead of the ideal two weeks, they conquer the summit in a week.
Which is dangerous.
Because above 5, 000 meters, the level of oxygen is less than 50%,
and if somebody isn't careful,
they can get a pulmonary embolism, or cerebral edema, which could be fatal."
Luckily I didn't have any problems,
so I could concentrate all my energies on the natural wonders of Kilimanjaro.
We reached the base camp at 4, 700 meters on the fifth day.
However something happened there.
We had dinner at five o'clock and we discussed the summit attempt,
but I felt so ill by then that I could barely crawl to the tent.
I entered, but collapsed from pain.
Headache and nausea were crippling me.
Although the entire expedition group were there with a lot of advice,
none of it helped, which made me feel worse.
I felt that I was so close to achieving my childhood dream,
but I was simply not able to take the final steps.
I had never ever given up on anything before,
but the pain took me to the brink of giving up;
I couldn't bear it.
Then one of the guides came up to me.
One whom I had I gotten to know early on, and we had become friends.
We shared some kind words every day,
and he asked me, "What’s wrong Steve?"
I explained it to him, and also, that this was my dream!
But I just saw it fading away.
He was the only one who knew the simple right answer;
which was proper food and fluid intake.
As it turned out, this had caused the problem.
I trusted him and believed him.
An hour and a half later my pain was gone.
I had no problem, so I was there, just after one in the morning,
with full gear, a huge smile on my face, waiting for the start.
Though I knew the hardest part still lay ahead;
the steepest part of Kilimanjaro.
All this at night, lit by headlamps, in freezing wind and minus 17 degrees.
But I was feeling strong.
At the best moment, I reached Stella-point at a 5, 680 meter altitude,
to see the African sunrise from the most beautiful view.
When clouds are 3, 500 meters below you, and you look down on the sun,
its colors and its view; they are simply indescribable.
And then I asked our mountain guide, "Masu, how far is it to the summit?"
And he told me, "About 250 meters."
I was relieved by that because by then I felt that I was running out of energy.
He then added quietly, "At least one and a half hours."
"One and a half hours?" I said. "At least? For just 250 meters?
Are you kidding me? I can run that in a minute!"
Sure. But not here. Every single step was a new challenge.
Every single step is a new goal, for which I had to fight for.
But by the end, I was standing on the highest point of Africa,
on the 5, 895 meter-high point of Kilimanjaro, the Uhuru-summit.
I am not ashamed to admit that I broke down in tears,
because I made one of my very first dreams come true.
The story should end here actually, here at this summit.
But that wasn't the case.
Because there he was; the young boy, to whom I had to be thankful for all this.
In the next two days, we came down from the mountain together.
We laughed a lot, talked, taught each other songs and words.
As we reached the foot of the mountain, I got to know Ombeni.
His name was Ombeni, which means "praying man."
I got to know his dreams, and I knew what I was going to do.
It was my turn now, I owed him one.
But I realized, it was not that simple.
It was much harder than you would think.
First, we organized an impromptu collection for him.
but when he came to our hotel, he said,
"Steve would you bring the package out to the street?
Because I will get caught and accused of stealing it."
I did what he asked me of course. In fact, I accompanied him home.
And then I saw that Ombeni was living in a slum,
with mud-plastered walls and rammed-earth flooring.
We can call it "a woodshed."
I wanted to take photos of inside, but I didn't want to offend him.
Later on I overcame that fear and I was right to do so.
I learned that in Tanzania, when they turn 18 years old,
every young person is let out of the family to live on their own.
He was proud of saving 45 dollars to get his own home.
In fact, if he saved 65 dollars, he could even have electricity in it.
Because don't be fooled by the light!
That is the light of my camera's flash, not of the oil lamp you see there.
I promised him I would send hiking clothes,
because I was double his size.
So once I returned home,
the next day, I went shopping with my mother to get everything,
and packed it into a large package.
I realized then that I didn't have anywhere to send it to.
Slums don’t have street names and house numbers.
It was hard, but he got a PO box number,
but then they told me at the post office,
that packages can't be sent to PO box addresses.
Meanwhile days and weeks were passing by, and I felt worse and worse,
because I knew that he trusted me;
I knew he believed that whatever I say, it would just be that way.
So when I got home,
I sat back in my car and went back to the post office and said,
"I'd like to send this package to that PO Box."
"You can't," they said. "I don't care!" I said.
"He might not get it!" they said. "I don't care!" I said.
"It will cost a lot," they said. "I don't care!" I said.
Finally, I managed to send it, and he did get it,
though he had to pay for it as well.
Meanwhile, I started looking for a scholarship for him,
because I knew that he had to stop his hotel management studies.
It was then when I realized that while in the European Union
it is not a problem to get a scholarship for a young person,
for a person from one of the poorest countries in the world -
for someone who really needs it - I really have no chance.
Then I remembered a friend of mine, who is a hotel-owner.
I called him and I said,
"Look, I’ll pay his airfare, he can stay at my place.
Just let him work and study with you!"
Then I remembered "The Little Prince."
I remembered, what the Fox said to him:
"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."
How could I invite him here?
To let him see how nice a restroom is here compared to how his home looks?
Everything kept pointing me in one direction: I had to give him money.
But this was the hardest.
I was not sure if I could trust him,
that he would spend the money on what I gave it him for.
I wrote a letter to him, asking him to chat on Skype, and I told him:
"Look, Ombeni; I promised that I would help you.
But I will only do this if you spend this money
on making your dream come true.
And he promised.
But I will admit, I was not 100% sure that this would happen.
But I didn't let him know.
I wanted to trust him.
I wanted him to see that I believed that he could make his dream come true.
But do not think that it is easier to send money to a slum, than a package.
After all, this was only happening because of my expedition.
Sometimes Ombeni sat on the street for two days in front of our hotel
so he didn't miss the alpinists.
Meanwhile weeks and months passed
and I got an email with a message in it, about him getting his driver’s licence.
Again, weeks and months later, another email came with a message
that he had returned to school and finished his hotel management studies.
After, not weeks, but months and years,
he called me once on Skype and sent me a file.
In it, I found the certificate
which proved that on 11th April 2014, he made his childhood dream come true.
The one he had told me about as we descended from the Kilimanjaro.
He wanted his own mountain climbing and safari agency.
And he did it.
It is called: Trust Tours and Safaris Company.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)