Under African skies

Paul Simon, your words ring so true. I just have to borrow them. Thanks.

"Under African Skies"

Joseph's face was black as night

The pale yellow moon shone in his eyes

His path was marked

By the stars in the southern hemisphere

And he walked his days

Under African skies

This is the story of how we begin to remember

This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein

After the dream of falling and calling your name out

These are the roots of rhythm

And the roots of rhythm remain.

As many of you know, I'm an avid Hash House Harrier. The Dar es Salaam HHH has been particularly good to me during my time here. It's a breath of familiarity in a sea of uncertainty and chaos. Since I discovered that expats hash, I've missed only one Monday evening gathering of the hashers.

In short, hashing combines my five favorite activities: jogging, hunting (of the scavenging sort), drinking (beer), singing (out of tune) and laughing (during all previously mentioned activities).

At Duke (Law... ahem... Fuqua would never perform in such a disorderly fashion... high transaction costs and too many inefficiencies), we feature a live "hare" (setting a trail of flour and chalk just ahead of the runners) and gallivant through our Gothic campus. The naming ceremony takes precedence over all other circle traditions, which is the result of low requirements for naming, high attendance and way too much access to scandalous information about our classmates. One of the great things about having an extra year at Duke with the combo MEM/MBA is that I get to take part in fun times with fun people for just that much longer.

In Dar, hares set the shredded paper trail the night before (hoping it's not swept away by the locals) and then accompany us on the run, instructing us at broken trails and checkpoints. We dodge laundry lines and watoto (children) in the slums, puddles in the dirt roads, snakes in the bushes and rocks on the cliffs and beaches (see below). Songs dominate the circle with tunes triggered by keywords, responses to interrogation and complaints. Names are given only to deserving and dedicated hashers (I'm still Just Kiki at number 6). My time here is short, but the folks are welcoming and warm. I've definitely found a number of very paternal Brits and Europeans to keep me honest.

Last night's run was absolutely stunning. It circled the tip of the Msasani Peninisula from the beach on the Northwest across to the East and along the cliffs on the East Coast (see above) and back to the Yacht Club.

It was too good to be true. The night did not end well. One of the staple members of the Hash collapsed at the endpoint. He was looked after by a young doctor until the ambulance arrived, but he had serious head trauma from his fall and was unconscious. As he would have demanded, we continued on with the traditional fanfare, albeit with subdued fanning. We learned at the end of our reduced revelry that he had, in fact, died of a heart attack. We were shocked. Many of the longtime Dar hashers were very close to him. He lived a full life (although still not long enough, he was in his early 60's).

Death seems to haunt me. I feel as if I have said premature goodbyes to more people in the past six years than one should have to in a lifetime. This close encounter is a reminder to be safe, be healthy and be careful... but do it in a way that makes you happy and fills you with satisfaction. Because life is short and YOLO.

This is the story of how we begin to remember

This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein

After the dream of falling and calling your name out

These are the roots of rhythm

And the roots of rhythm remain.