Ron, the Hash and the AK47

My friend Ron published a post on his blog a few days ago, inviting his readers to check out my ramblings here because I'm "doing well". Well, to return the favour (kind of...), let me tell you how I met Ron.

I was working with an NGO in Luanda at the time, young and idealistic and innocent, ya know, those kind of adjectives you just grow out of after a certain time... We were still in the middle of the civil war, stringent security measures restricting our every move and improving our chances of survival. Anyways, some not-so-innocent-anymore friends of mine talked me into attending the Hash House Harriers gatherings. Now if you've never been an expat, you've probably been spared the knowledge of what HHH stands for and you might as well remain in this blissful state of ignorance until the end of time. However, for the purpose of our little story here, I must give you some basic information.

The Hash is a regular meeting in most major cities housing a sizeable expat population. The idea is simple: the hares (usually a group of 3-4 people) set the track across town / slums / people's backyard to be followed by everybody else in a run (walk for the feeble and weak) that lasts about an hour. The physical prowess gets its reward at the end in the form of copious amounts of beer or soft drinks (again, for the feeble).

That particular day the pack was going through downtown Luanda which was a crowded and rather decayed part of town, blazing in its own bygone glory. However a lone cowboy decided that it was time to rewrite history and the expat crowd provided the perfect opportunity to finally demonstrate the superiority of the local people over this imported riffraff of assorted oil workers, UN executives and NGO do-gooders. He stood right in front of the charging hashers and pointed his AK47 at them.

Now, most people did what everybody in their right mind would do in such circumstances: disperse and keep low. Not so my friend Ron. He was the last man standing, right in front of that gun, glancing from left to right at his fellows crouching behind bushes, cars and garbage pails with that bewildered look on his face, shouting all around: "What's wrong with you, guys??? Have you never been shot at!?!?"

Erm... no. Sorry to disappoint, Ron.

So, this is how I met Ron. Nowadays he's living in the UK, being a part-time Dad to his five year old daughter. He writes a blog where he tells about his fight for his child, baseball and drinking in the UK, among other things, you can check it out here.