KH3--Hashing Kampala Style

That stands for Kampala Hash House Harriers. After I attended a Hash in DC in August with my old college roommate and runner extraordinare, Alli, she tracked down and sent me the link to the Kampala chapter of Hash House Harriers International, the self-proclaimed “drinking club with a running problem.” I’ve been meaning to check it out since I got here, but something always came up, so I was determined to make it to the practice this week—which happens every Monday at different locations all over town depending on the week. This week, it happened to be just up the street from my house in Bugulobi.

I had the school driver drop me off at the office building where the Hash sign-in was being hosted. Yes, I not have a driver!!!! So amazingly exciting. It makes my life SO much easier getting to and from work, and not having to wake up every morning in fear of my pending boda ride! So, I arrived at the Hash, changed into my running clothes, signed in and paid the 6000 Ush fee ($3-4) and took off after the group down Lithuli Ave. I stopped to walk (yes, okay, I’m out of shape!) with a girl named Rachel, a student at Makere University here in Kampala, and ran with her for much of the time. We ran out into the swamp and slum area—over 120 runners, hashers (joggers in Hash speak), and walkers. I managed to stick my left foot into what appeared to be a ditch filled with black tar water, but apparently was more likely to be fermented sheep feces. Awesome.

Mud-flecked (it had poured earlier), sweaty, and exhausted we wound back into the neighborhood and to the office complex. And I must say the set up was quite impressive (and I’m told every week is like this if not even better). There were two big tents set up and water, bananas, watermelon and pineapple upon arrival. After some stretching, the “ceremony” began. For those of you who have never hashed, it’s a bit hard to explain, but basically it’s a grownup running fraternity. On the trails, the hares are the people who make the course and try to trick all the runners by misleading them with marks until they find their way finally—like a treasure hunt for beer.

At the ceremony, they usually get berated by the disgruntled runners and forced to drink copious amounts of beer, along with those who are accused of other violations of sorts—talking too much, walking when they shouldn’t, general misbehaving. Oh, and everyone has inappropriate official nicknames (I will leave these to the imagination) if they are repeat runners, so it really is like a frat! Also at the ceremony, newcomers get introduced—including me of course! So I had to stand up on a crate, say my name, where I’m from, what I do in Uganda, if I’m single, and what my cell number is (um, I did NOT answer that one). Then I said who had made me come to the run—that would be Tim, a friend of Amy’s who she put me in touch with about the hash. Together, each newcomer and our sponsers chugged a beer as they chanted some song that was probably inappropriate song though I couldn’t quite make out the words.

Then we were treated to a small catered dinner of kebabs, roasted potatoes, veggies, as well as liquor, beer, and coke—I stuck to the nonalcoholic beverages post chugging of beer. I sat with some Ugandans for a while who were very nice and said I’d see them next week, and promised to be back next week. At this point it was now pouring and it was time to figure out a way home—ah, the perennial dilemma. Boda time! So I walked to the gas station (yes, sadly the landmark of my neighborhood is the Shell station—everyone in town knows where Shell Bugulobi is), and bargained for a ride down the avenue for 1500 Ush. Perched on the back, bracing my legs and bag, clutching my bag, and with my small black umbrella raised in one hand we skidded down the wet road in what felt like torrential downpour as we were driving directly into the rain with speed. I arrived back at my house grateful to be alive (this emotion seems to happen quite a bit here!) and after a gloriously hot and much needed shower, I was asleep before my head it the pillow I’m quite sure.