at the hotel

There is a large building that sits upon a hill on the middle of Monrovia. You can clearly see it from our port. The building is the hotel Ducor.

In it's prime, the hotel was a five star resort. A vacation destination. A honeymoon spot.

Now it's a concrete frame.

The hotel was completely looted and stripped by rebels during the war. Being the highest point in the city, it provides the optimal view for strategic planning.

After the war, the concrete shell was home to more than 2500 refugees. After more than three years, they were finally ordered to leave the building by the government. Even if they had no where else to go.

Today I went to the hotel. I had read about it on the Internet before coming and was curious to See what it was like. The grounds are guarded by security officers. After explaining who we were to the perimeter guard, we were granted passage up the large hill towards the actual hotel. We then went through a series of three guards and were finally accompanied to the top of the hotel.

The two rotted elevators that greeted us when walking into the lobby made it was obvious that we would be taking the stairs. Our security guard-guide lead us through a maze of concrete walls and up a circular series of staircases which took us to the hotels main stairwell.

I sometimes complain about the lack of exercise I get on the ship. I don't know exactly how many stories the building is, but I got a healthy dose of exercise. I felt like at high school basketball practice.

All the stairs proceeded in a uniform fashion. No rails. No carpet. Only endless degrees of solemn concrete.

Each floor contained the same graveyard of broken windows and shattered glass. Everything was lit with only natural lighting which left the halls were dark and murky.

We finally reached the top of the hotel and found a beautiful view of Monrovia. Monrovia is a broken city. The skyline is bombed out and the houses have tin roofs. The streets are filled with trash and urine. The streets aren't paved and the cars aren't nice.

But when you looked down off the roof you saw beauty.

Beauty in what Monrovia was. Beauty in what it may someday be again.

I spent tonight googleing the hotel's name so I could write an educated blog. It made me think about the horrific things which occur ed in that building.

How many women were raped in those halls? How many people were tortured by the rebels? How many limbs were cut off? How many mothers watched their babies starve? How many children played in urine? How thick was the fear? How evil the humanity?

I have been to impoverished places before. But they are different from Liberia. The places I have been before have simply always been impoverished. There were never any reminders of better times. They had never existed.

Liberia has sewers that are filled with trash instead of water. They have roads with random slabs of concrete. They have electrical sockets with no electricity. They have buildings that are unlivable.

The city is like a dried river bed. You know it was meant to hold life and vibrancy, and it did once, but the water has dried. The life has gone. The splendor is only a rumor. A reminiscence.

How much more will it's beauty be appreciated when it is restored.