Addis Hash House Harriers

The Highest Hash in Africa!

  • An Image Slideshow
  • An Image Slideshow
  • An Image Slideshow
  • An Image Slideshow

Hash Details!

Welcome to AAHHH, the highest Hash in Africa and one of the highest in the world, at 2400m above sea level. Some call Hash ‘The drinking club with a running problem.’ Perhaps this is true! Come and decide for yourself. We meet every Saturday afternoon, rain or shine, at 2pm / 14h00 (simint sa’at bityopia) in the Hilton Hotel car park, to run (or walk) somewhere nice outside Addis Ababa. Transportation is provided for those without.

We are a Family Hash: we welcome locals and expatriates, young and old, female and male, runners and walkers. We follow a paper trail laid in the morning by 'hares'. The group from about 40-60 runners and walkers, from a pool numbering over 400. The run (and a shorter trail for walkers) takes about 60-75 minutes. It is followed by a circle to welcome newcomers and returnees, usually returning to Addis Ababa by 6.30pm (asra-hulet takul). The cost is 30 birr, while newcomers pay a first-time fee of 70 birr. We use this money to subsidise drinks and special events. Further info: +251-911-206908.

Run No 1389 - The Incontinent Run PDF Email

Run No 1389 - The Incontinent Run

As usual, we all assembled at the Hilton car park at 14.30 hours, your correspondent a little faint from the effort of having to change a tyre at short notice and heft all the bloody beer out of the car and then put it all back in again, not to mention parting with hundreds of Birr for the Hash Bash next week. After milling around for some time wondering idly if we were ever going to get the run under way, in stepped a whistle touting member of the Mismanagement Committee to call in the Hares for directions. It appeared that we were off to Ararat – not the docking site of Noah’s Ark but the hotel on the Old Asmara Road. 

On arrival at the site, we were a little dismayed to find that it still had the paper from the last time it was used. Back then there was so much rain you might be forgiven for thinking it was the real Ararat itself. Instead your scribe’s vehicle developed its second flat tyre of the day but fortunately, knowing when to give up he promptly abandoned the whole problem to the driver and headed for the circle. 

There, low and behold, was to be found our dearly missed Grand Mattress who, by some miracle, had divined the location of the run quite independently of all other Honourable Members of the Hash. I suspect she phones up to find out where the run is to save time and effort. Just think of the wear and tear we would save the Hilton car park if we all did the same, not to mention the hard pressed hotel security at the gate.

The Hares were briskly called into the Circle to admit that they hadn’t a clue as to the Run Number but that we were all to rest reassured that it was going to be the “Mother of all Runs”. Use of superlatives can be pretty effective propaganda but does tend to raise expectations a little too high, as Saddam found out not so long ago. 

According to my sources on the run, there was a slightly fussy start, with the first check about fifty meters from the circle. Presumably this was to give our less athletic members time to consider a change of heart and join the walk. Cleverly, the route of the walk then followed that of the Run for about a kilometre to provide additional temptation to slack runners. As far as I know none of the runners took advantage of the offer, electing to charge around the woods avoiding “land mines”. As luck would have it these mines are usually clearly marked by little heaps of paper and agonised calls of “On Shit” by the FRBs. Still it does bear out the observation about the obvious – Do bears shit in woods? And with no number the title of the Incontinent Run. 

To my mind the number of checks seemed much higher than normal although it emerged later that some of these circles were meant to be large blobs of paper, presumably to assist the visually challenged and sow confusion among the runners. Seemed to work though with some ten runners arriving back at the Circle a good half an hour late and well after the usual ceremonies were under way. (Minus three points out of ten for shit trail and another three for loss of blind hashers) 

The walk was a good bit of haring with magnificent views over looking Addis and was set at a good pace. This was quite astonishing considering Whiffy Fishy is usually to be found well towards the back of the walk among the “philanderers and back scratchers” crowd. The only way to keep this crowd up with the walkers is to provide frequent Hash Halts and second hare to act as sweeper. An alternative method was demonstrated on this walk when the hares had to back-track after losing the trail. This method is not recommended by experienced hashers and has been known to result in tears of beer. To their credit, however, the hares succeeded in confusing most of the walkers as to the way home which was a pleasant change from the usual fare. (Minus 3 points out of ten for no sweeping hare and another three for losing the trail on the walk but plus three points for the pleasant change)

The circle was blessed with the usual gun toting displays of the “Mother of all Water Pistols” to enforce discipline within the circle. This uniquely indigenous approach to sensitive crowd control was followed by the RA unintentionally naming a really meek and mild hasher as “Shut the Fuck Up” when what he meant was could the private parties in the Circle please keep quiet for a while. But he did well in awarding Hash Shit to Counter Fucker for playing around with someone else’s tits in full view of the assembled crowd. After that it was off to Che’s and home to bed, carefully avoiding any more punctures on the way. 

Pip! Pip!


Shameless Run! PDF Email

The Shameless Run

Why Shameless? 

Well for a start he set it - but it had a number of other things shamelessly out of kilter like – er - no number. So apart from the date it is kind of difficult to ID.  It also managed to break a long and gorgeous spell of dry, sunny weather, designer made for the hash lizards that require sun to get their hearts started in the mornings. Instead it pissed with rain for the first half, and this despite loud assertions by the weathermen amongst us that nothing of the kind would happen. You could actually see the stuff coming in off the hills. It took until Tuesday to get the bloody mud off my shoes. 

This inauspicious start was followed by worse to come. In keeping with true A2H3 tradition the single Walking Hare lost the walkers, largely because he was having to do his recce on the hoof about 50 metres in front of the walkers. Meanwhile the single Running Hare was unable to prevent the pack from going backwards – running forwards of course but the wrong way round the trail. A sort of !!NO No rather than an On ON!! The highlight of this enormous false trial was the carcass of a very, very dead sheep that according to my sources, smelled even worse that the bogs at Che’s. 

This uniquely local adaptation to hashing tradition (not enough recce, bags of optimism and not enough hares) was followed by the GM shamelessly appearing for the first time in months, only to discover that hefting a disciplinary water cannon around the circle was no substitute for a total lack of knowledge of what had happened while she was away. 

Then it was on to Che’s for drinks, at which “Wee Willie” got pissed again drinking his Daddy’s beer, missed dinner and then demanded middle of the night milkies. About time I got a Satellite TV installed. Any one know how to make crumpets?

Pip Pip!


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