Biking is always a great way to get a feel for the land. Now that we are well into the rainy season, this becomes literal too. The land actually drips off of you! On Sunday, I pedalled out with two friends. Although it was clear, I was suspicious of the weather, so I wore sandals instead of shoes. (Shoes turn into heavy sponges where sandals remain the same.) My instincts were correct.
We biked into downtown Monrovia because the roads are of better quality than if we were to head in the opposite direction to Dwala Market, and are better equipped to handle the waters. (I have always gone the other way, through the market down to the beach. A few days ago I was told that the road washed out down there. We made a good choice.) The further we cycled from the ship, the more ferociously it rained.
We made our way to Ducor Palace. It sits highest in the city close to the ocean. In its day, it was a five star hotel that American presidents would visit... Two months ago, a ship with UN tanks and soldiers arrived at night next to our pier in the port, unloaded, went to the Ducor Palace, and cleared out the squatters that were living there. Now, someone has purchased the property and is beginning a long process of renovating it. They have a long way to go.
I walked the grounds, next to the empty swimming pool looking up at the windowless rooms, down at the mounds of rubbish on the hill, and out at where our ship would be visible if it weren't raining cats and dogs. The palace must have been quite the place. Now it is but a shell of what it used to be.
The rain didn't relent, so we headed home down the hill as it poured and poured. It was so much fun on my bike! The roads were small rushing rivers- empty rivers with almost no cars on them. About 80% of the traffic is usually taxi traffic. With such heavy rain, no one was going anywhere. The people were all plastered next to buildings under the overhangs. I would watch them as we moved along. They would look, and stare with a perplexed look. I would look back. And then, when the recognition set in that there were indeed three white people sloshing by in the rain on bikes, they would smile a big glowing white teeth contrasted by dark skin smile... I thought it was pretty funny too.
Biking is also a reality check. For example, when I watch family home videos from back in the day, and there is a cute little four year old named Scott who appears on the fuzzy video, although this is a long time ago, I know that the curious, mischievous little guy is me, but I have to continually tell myself this. It is a reality check to have to keep telling myself how things really are and were. In the same way, I have to continually tell myself how things really are here in this place. Of the people that I roll past on a bike… an estimated 10% of the population has AIDS. 80% unemployment. Much of the population living on a dollar or two a day. Half of the little ones in Monrovia (the age of me in those home videos) will contract Malaria this rainy season… It is a reality check. It is challenging to wrap my mind around this, especially when some of the faces are becoming familiar.
We biked into downtown Monrovia because the roads are of better quality than if we were to head in the opposite direction to Dwala Market, and are better equipped to handle the waters. (I have always gone the other way, through the market down to the beach. A few days ago I was told that the road washed out down there. We made a good choice.) The further we cycled from the ship, the more ferociously it rained.
We made our way to Ducor Palace. It sits highest in the city close to the ocean. In its day, it was a five star hotel that American presidents would visit... Two months ago, a ship with UN tanks and soldiers arrived at night next to our pier in the port, unloaded, went to the Ducor Palace, and cleared out the squatters that were living there. Now, someone has purchased the property and is beginning a long process of renovating it. They have a long way to go.
I walked the grounds, next to the empty swimming pool looking up at the windowless rooms, down at the mounds of rubbish on the hill, and out at where our ship would be visible if it weren't raining cats and dogs. The palace must have been quite the place. Now it is but a shell of what it used to be.
The rain didn't relent, so we headed home down the hill as it poured and poured. It was so much fun on my bike! The roads were small rushing rivers- empty rivers with almost no cars on them. About 80% of the traffic is usually taxi traffic. With such heavy rain, no one was going anywhere. The people were all plastered next to buildings under the overhangs. I would watch them as we moved along. They would look, and stare with a perplexed look. I would look back. And then, when the recognition set in that there were indeed three white people sloshing by in the rain on bikes, they would smile a big glowing white teeth contrasted by dark skin smile... I thought it was pretty funny too.
Biking is also a reality check. For example, when I watch family home videos from back in the day, and there is a cute little four year old named Scott who appears on the fuzzy video, although this is a long time ago, I know that the curious, mischievous little guy is me, but I have to continually tell myself this. It is a reality check to have to keep telling myself how things really are and were. In the same way, I have to continually tell myself how things really are here in this place. Of the people that I roll past on a bike… an estimated 10% of the population has AIDS. 80% unemployment. Much of the population living on a dollar or two a day. Half of the little ones in Monrovia (the age of me in those home videos) will contract Malaria this rainy season… It is a reality check. It is challenging to wrap my mind around this, especially when some of the faces are becoming familiar.
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