Deep rest in Monrovia

Hi BoBers,

As I was leaving Robertsport I had another torn sidewall and another burst tube. I was on the verge of just getting a taxi to Monrovia, but luckily nobody turned up, because I would have missed what came next. I sewed it back together again and rode on another 20km to the next guest house.

The music at the bar outside was deafening. Reception was empty and there was a group of about 15 staff and locals yelling at each other out back. I went and joined the only foreigner, yelling at eachother over our beers. He was South African ex-special forces, had been living on-and-off in Liberia for 15 years and was working on a project, building solar powered water towers - a huge improvement over the ever-present hand-pumps and wells.

I stayed with him in his air-conditioned (!!) guest house that night and he gave me a tour of the brilliant work they’ve been doing the following day. His wife came and picked us up that day and I’ve been staying with them in Monrovia since.

I’ve been absolutely spoilt. After a pretty woeful diet in Robertsport, the first night we had pizza and beer. The next, pub food while watching the Springboks play the Wallabies. The next quinoa, salmon and salad. They’ve been unbelievably hospitable. We watched movies on the couch in the evenings with their beautiful dogs. They’ve singlehandedly cured my homesickness over the past few days.

The Liberians have also been wonderfully generous. I stopped and chatted with a shop owner who gave me his own charging cable for free when we realised that he couldn’t sell me one that worked. A guy at the bike shop gave me a tube for free. I’m learning that the trick is to have time to stop and chat. Sometimes the time stress of expats can feel dehumanising for people used to a slower pace.

I left Monrovia almost too rested - I’d ridden 3 days of the last month. Time to get back on the bike and head to Ivory Coast.

Refuelled,

J&BoB

Sewn up tyre wall. In the end, I only needed it for 20km before getting a lift to Monrovia.

My repair site. Luckily it wasn’t raining too heavily.

Chris’s guest house. Very spartan. He was cooking basically with a kettle and a barbie.

Pub food while watching the Springboks/Wallabies match.

Home made salad and Salmon. Divine.

Monrovia has the feeling of a mid-sized American city, strip malls an everything. Not like anything I’ve seen in Africa so far.

Fried fucking ice cream!

A lot of very old-school hellfire Christians in Liberia as well. “Life is short. Death is certain. Hell is real. Jesus saves”. Oof

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