Star Trekking with Peter White

Disability Now columnist and radio personality Peter White was asked by Comic Relief to team up with eight other celebrities to trek across Kenya’s Kaisut Desert to raise money for and awareness of sight-saving operations in Africa. His diary for us tells how he battled the heat, blisters, rough terrain, the annoying attentions of some of his companions and his own doubts about the value of such an exercise

DAY ONE: NAIROBI

Assembling nine so-called celebs used to getting their own way in small things as well as big, and trying to make them tow the line, can produce its own comic relief. Before we took off, puzzled Kenyans were treated to the sight of us all being asked to scatter our most intimate possessions on the tarmac, so that an SAS man could decide if we’d packed too much, with unnecessary frivolity. Kara Tointon, the charming star of EastEnders and winner of Strictly Come Dancing, was parted from her seven carefully colour-coordinated tops—one for each day of the week; “you only need two,” said Jed; there were no arguments; just a few colour-coordinated tears.

Does this kind of trip work, I wonder! Clearly, many people will see the work to treat conditions such as trachoma and cataracts who would otherwise have been unaware of it; but logic tells you that however huge the sums of money raised seem, they won’t touch these problems, and that we are watching stage-managed awareness-raising! So: is there anything wrong with that? Well only, I guess, if it lets governments off the hook!

Will I lecture everyone all week; probably not; I intend to go with the flow.

DAY TWO: THE KAISUT DESERT

I’m beginning to get an inkling of what I may have let myself in for, and it’s rather frightening. I don’t mean the walk; I can handle that; it’s the fact that i’ve put myself in a situation where I have to walk arm in arm with a succession of people for hours on end, who are going to ask me endless questions about blindness.

“How long have you been blind”; “is it worse to be born blind or to have lost your sight”; “what’s your concept of colour? what! none at all; how can you stand it”.

The fact that as someone comfortable with blindness I treat these questions with genuine indifference is not acceptable.

I’m not entitled to my indifference; I’m putting on an act or, worse still, I’m being brave. I hope this doesn’t sound sexist, but the boys are easier than the girls. Craig David turns out to be a genuine Southampton fan; we have clearly been at many of the same games, and map where we must have been in the ground in relationship to each other. Dermot (O’Leary) is keen on cricket, and is up for discussing the political implications of what we’re doing here; Olly (Murs) is happy to yomp along to Stevie Wonder songs.

By contrast, the girls are emotionally relentless: I must tell all! They say blokes hide behind things like sport or cars to conceal their emotions. Thank heavens for it!

DAY THREE:

Without a shadow of a doubt, this was the toughest physical day of my life so far. The walk started in earnest, and I was stretched to my limit. The problem is not the distances, or the heat; indeed, by desert standards it was relatively cool today: a mere 32 degrees celsius. The problem is the sheer unpredictability of the terrain. There’s absolutely no chance to hit a rhythm, or establish a stride. It is bumpy even when it’s sandy; when it’s rocky, it’s far worse. The rocks are rough and impossible to balance on. Sometimes they just roll away from under your foot. Then some are placed so close together that you virtually have to wriggle between them. And then, as we approached the top of a climb, there was a kind of mini-landslide; rocks and stones rolled down and blocked the way, and even the donkeys which are carrying some of our stuff couldn’t get up. They had to be unloaded and led up by their owners. The last bit of this day constituted this steep climb up, and then an even steeper descent. Dermot turned out to be an absolute star; he’s strong and fit; it turns out he’s done documentaries with the paras; the one part of this exercise which could be said to be enjoyable was working out strategies for us to walk together. We ended with me hanging on to the rigid back of his rucksack, so that I could achieve some support and security without dragging him down. Bizarrely, he seemed to enjoy it.

DAY FOUR:

It’s so easy amidst all the self-absorption with your own aches and pains, sanitary embarrassments – I have already nearly pitched backwards down the latrine pit – to forget what we’re actually supposed to be doing here. Of course you can keep it absolutely simple: its a money-raising effort, the more we raise, the more good we do; QED.

Not so easy to take that line, though, when all your life you’ve been aware of the tension between depending on charitable money for the things you need as a disabled person, and the effect of that constant asking for money on how you are perceived by the public. You have to be very sure that the interaction between the privileged celebs jetting in from a cossetted western life, and the nomadic villagers they’ve notionally come to “help”, is handled subtly.

At the end of yesterday’s walk we went to a local village to film with what have inevitably been carefully-chosen case studies, and I know that quite a lot of the celebs were uncomfortable with it. Their role is unclear; no one’s going to believe that they are quasi-social workers, bearing news of miracle cures; so what is their role? It would be good if they could exhibit the genuine warmth and desire for knowledge that most of them have about the lives of the people they met, but with all the paraphernalia of cameras, directors, translators, local officials, that just isn’t going to happen. They’re very conscious that they can look artificial, and false. Much of the filming is staged, and I think what the celebs would be much more comfortable with is fly-on-the-wall, which would enable them to mingle more naturally. It’s not happening!

DAY FIVE:

Today my blisters have made it to the Daily Mail! And I thought I was doing so well! After that first really tough day, I was so pleased with myself.

So it came as a very nasty shock that within an hour of starting walking on day two I realised that in addition to developing blisters I had a very sore shoulder, chafing in some very intimate places, and the heat was really beginning to get to me! By lunchtime today the decision was taken that I needed to go down to the medical centre at base camp to have it all looked at! Despite being the oldest on the trip by quite a way, I felt very miffed, being bundled into the support van and spirited away as if I was a rather nasty secret. It’s not like that, of course.

Needless to say, The Mail is reporting that i’m going to have to leave the walk; no chance!

There are consolations down at base camp; Doctor Emily is beautiful and charming, with a way with feet; and there were rumours of a cache of cold beers (Doctor Emily blotted her copybook by saying that I couldn’t have one because of possible dehydration). But they tell me, comfortingly, that many squaddies would have given up with the feet i’ve got, and buoyed up by this flattery, I decide to carry on! I am greeted back at base camp like a wounded hero!

DAY SIX:

Penultimate day; the toughest so far. Also, Cheryl (my Radio 4 producer) and I are really having to fight to get our stuff on the air. We’re sharing satellite equipment, and it’s become clear we’re at the bottom of the pile. Because I won’t ask my audience directly for money (only steer them to the website), and because of the nature of the Radio 4 audience, we’re not seen as a good cash cow! Spurred on by my many injuries, I’m getting stroppy. So far we’ve won every round.

Two light notes today: Craig (David) is writing a song for our final You and Yours broadcast (it’s always a laugh to get pop music on You and Yours), and round the old camp fire tonight we discover that Olly (Murs), runner up of last year’s X Factor, is a really good all-round entertainer. His impression of James Blunt is really very funny, and Dermot and I are persuading him hard to put these impressions in his act.

DAY SEVEN:

We’re there! I could weep! At about 2.30 in the afternoon local time, Kara (she of the multi-coloured tops) and I stumble over the line, accompanied by African children singing. A bit of a cliché, to which I have contributed by picking out Kara as the glamour; still somehow beautiful and fragrant, after seven days without a proper shower. I’ve become very fond of her (she’s a trooper, and a quiet one at that, an increasingly important attribute for my walking companions).

By this time, I have to say, you’ve pretty much forgotten why you’re there! You just desperately want to stop walking! I spent the rest of the day in a haze!

Then: foot inspection, a half-decent shower; and then, the best moment of the lot, that first cold beer! Ecstasy! I don’t think i’ve ever been so tired in my life. There was a point during tonight’s celebration when I was trying to talk to a young Kenyan who worked at the medical centre. His English was poor, and I suddenly realised I had no energy left to translate! Time for bed. I’m asleep in three seconds flat.

DAY EIGHT: NAIROBI

We’re back at the hotel, re-united with the gear Jed confiscated from us on our first day. And we start our farewells.

We’ve raised almost a million while we’ve been away, and that’s before the big push of the documentary and Red Nose Day. What have we found out about ourselves and each other! I knew I was stubborn, so that’s no discovery! As far as the group of us is concerned, I have a lot of affection and admiration for them: Without exception, i’d say this group was tough, funny, uncomplaining, and mutually supportive! I might even have made a couple of long-term friendships: and I didn’t expect to be able to say that at the start of this escapade! None the less, I’ve told anyone who will listen: if I ever show any signs of doing something like this again; shoot me! And i’m not Steve Redgrave! I mean it!