“Hashing is a state of mind - a friendship of kindred spirits joined together for the sole purpose of reliving their childhood or fraternity days, releasing the tensions of everyday life, and generally, acting a fool amongst others who will not judge you or measure you by anything more than your sense of humor.”
That was the only description I got when I met up with a group of people at the ENGEN Petrol Station in Nyabugogo (translation: shady gas station across from creepy bus depot). Once the crew of ex-pats and Rwandese arrived we piled into cars and were driven to a beautiful spot up in the Rwandan hills and explained the rules of the game:
Walk or run. Follow the hash marks (shredded US Embassy documents that the leaders dropped along the way). Have fun. When you return, drink beer.
We took off - I wisely chose to stay with the walkers - and were immediately surrounded by local Rwandese children as our hike took us through small villages built into the side of the mountain.
“Good morning!” they shouted. It was 4 pm. “Mizungu! Give me money!”
Once we got past the typical niceties, the children followed behind us with huge smiles for the rest of our two-hour, mostly uphill journey, delighted when we stopped to take pictures of them.
When we arrived back at the starting point, we were exhausted but managed to throw back a Primus or two. As the sun set, the “virgins” - those who had never participated in Hash - were initiated through a ceremony that involved some rather intimate questions and chugging of beers. A bit cultish? Check. But all in all, not a bad way to end the day.
Photos of cute Rwandese kids and the gorgeous scenery here.
