Dar es Salaam Diary

I know a young woman here in Dar who is pursuing a Ph.D. in Geography, conducting research on the way different groups of people relate to the city. She calls herself an “urban geographer.” Lately I’ve been feeling a bit like an amateur urban geographer, interacting with and observing different subcultures and activities as I seek to expand my social network. This past weekend my research subject was the Hash House Harriers, an eclectic group with a shared fondness for drinking beer, running, singing raunchy songs, and verbally abusing each other.

Hashing is a global phenomenon, started by a British military guy in Malaysia, according to hash lore. Basically, a hash is kind of like a scavenger hunt for runners, except nothing is being “scavenged” and as far as I can tell it’s basically an excuse to drink a lot of beer… The person leading the hash (the “hare”) goes ahead and marks the course, using small piles of flour or shredded paper, occasionally leading the hashers down dead ends (which are marked with X’s). The hashers then go out and attempt to run the marked course to the finish without getting lost. They are rewarded for their efforts with (lots of) beer, which they drink while singing the aforementioned raunchy songs and performing rituals such as pouring beer on their heads and on each other. All hashers have “hash names,” most of which refer to sex, drinking, or, well, that’s about it. (I feel a bit remiss that I did not learn the real name of a new Kenyan friend who said I could stay with her if I ever visit Nairobi. I fear I’ll be a bit too embarassed to ask around for “Global Dick Teaser,” or “Teaser” as she was more affectionately known…)

Anyway, I was afforded the opportunity of observing the hashers in their native habitat by receiving an invitation to participate in the annual Dar-to-Bagamoyo Hash Relay. Actually it was Rachel who got the invitation, since she sometimes joins the more serious Dar running group (many of whom are hashers too) for their weekly Thursday evening run. The 72 km from Dar to the beach-resort town of Bagamoyo were split into 17 legs of running, walking, and biking, which were shared among the 12 or so people on each team. We were accompanied by two motorcyclists, a beer truck, an ambulance, and the “Blunderbuss,” a van that served to transport the athletes to the start of each leg. The driver of the Blunderbuss, like many of the other participants, started drinking at the beginning of the day (7 AM!) Despite his increasingly belligerent state, he was not relieved of either his driving duties or his megaphone, but somehow we all survived… I waited until the relatively late hour of 10:30 AM to pop open my first Kilimanjaro of the day, and it was actually the only one I consumed during the run.

I somehow managed to run/walk nearly 14 km total (something of a feat considering that I’ve hardly been running lately) and I’m proud to report that my team (Hare and Tortoise) came in second out of a field of six.

My fellow hashers were, as noted above, an eclectic bunch. The majority of the participants were wazungu, but there were some Tanzanians, as well as a visiting team of Kenyans. Americans were the distinct minority; many more Brits, and South Africans, with a few Irish and Aussies thrown into the mix. Basically a lot of reasonably sunburned and pudgy folk (beer drinking in copious amounts does not exactly contribute to the most athletic of physiques). A bit vulgar at times, but quite nice. My evening concluded with a British fellow slurredly telling me that while he hated American politics, the “rednecks” he had encountered in the States were “some of the most salt-of-the-earth people” he had ever met.

So, while I did meet some nice people, I’m not sure if I’ll be a regular on the Dar hash circuit. As Rachel put it, the whole scene has a somewhat cultish feel, and while I do enjoy drinking beer, singing silly songs, and verbally abusing my friends (who doesn’t?!) I fear not in quite the quantity that the hash requires…