Hash!

Last Sunday I ventured out to my first outing with the Hash House Harriers, a “world-wide running and drinking club,” which is only slightly less contradictory and enigmatic than that may first sound.

The current embodiment of the Monrovia hash is a relatively mellow sort, and Sunday happened to be the 100^th, so there was a certain amount of extra enthusiasm. About 40-60 participants out for the combined walking-running, doubling-back excursion through an incredibly lush and gorgeous open forest and grassland on Marshall Island, approximately 1 hour beyond the city center.

The hash itself finished at a big house with a dock on the river, so there was some swimming which was quickly made unnecessary by the downpour, and a meal and a relatively lowkey version of some hash rituals involving some joke-telling and a little bit of boisterous singing. It’s a funny mixed group of Liberians and expats from the aid worker/NGO and diplomatic communities. Long-time hashers have goofy nicknames, so you only realize after the fact that a large percentage of the people there are the country directors of major international NGOs or the head of a major diplomatic mission or otherwise a lot more serious during the week then they appear to be while running through the bush in a mob doing a lot of unnecessary yelling.