Sugarcane, benches, metal rooftops and small children are transported via bicycles, like in most of the developing world. Bikes are one-size-fits-all but one size does not fit all, so small children who are just old enough for the manual wheels sit on the rail which attaches the seat to the handlebars, their legs to short to sit on the actual seat, and awkwardly yet skillfully petal.
When going down-hill, speeds are equivalent to that of a car zooming along, so in hilly Rwanda bikes save significant transport time. Occasionally, an overly-anxious or over-ambition rider will see his entire load of goods fall over. Those passing by will help re-load.
Ever since attempting to go back to riding bikes in Tel Aviv and getting nearly run over by cars and motorcycles, and myself almost running over old ladies, I have been both afraid of bikes and impressed by those who ride them. And carry their houses on them.
Growing income and the number of motorcycles will probably diminish the number of cyclers and people’s impressive balancing skills, as has happened in South-East Asia. But for now, I get to walk around in awe and watch the magic.
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