So if you didn’t know already from facebook or
word-of-parents’-mouth, I was in a car accident a week ago. No serious injuries, but it was still pretty
ugly. Just in case a PC Malawi admin
happens to be an avid follower of this blog, I’m gonna leave out a few details
to protect the innocent. But they
probably aren’t or I’d have been kicked out by now for being out of site
illegally for practically half my service.
But, just in case…
I was coming home from a lovely Thanksgiving at Lukwe. There’s usually only one car going home on
Saturdays and none on Sundays. So, it
being Saturday, I was anxious to get to Mzuzu on time to catch it. Luckily (well, unluckily in hindsight), I was
having fantastic hitching luck. Grade A
hitching, dude. Get to Mzuzu right on
time. But the pick-up scheduled to make
the trek is PACKED. We’re used to unsafely
packed motor vehicles over here, and usually board them without a second
though, but this was nuts by any standard.
Even my buddy the Reverend (who, as it happens, was also with me on my
last major Chikwina transport adventure when we broke down in the rain in the
middle of the night and had to hike 10km in the mud) was saying he’d probably
sit this one out and wait until Monday if a second car wasn’t recruited. Smart man, that one.
Anyway, I cram myself in between a man and a woman with her
baby. I manage to keep myself from
drowning in the stacks of maize sacks and buckets and keep my head clear of the
sheet metal strapped on top of the truck.
Katundu is everywhere, with people on top, standing wherever they could
fit a single foot or sitting on top of the cab.
I raise my eyebrows as they try to shove even MORE people into the truck
bed. I actually say out loud, “wait,
this is crazy…” If your gut is telling
you something is crazy so loudly that your mouth says it too, it’s probably
crazy.
The old scrap-metal truck can’t take it. First, it refuses to start. Then, hills prove to be such a struggle that
bicyclists are passing us (at this point, the driver is getting jeers from his
passengers). This is exacerbated by the
fact that our goodwill from other countries since Joyce Banda has taken the
presidency has run out, along with their supply of goodwill petrol. We’re back to petrol crisis mode and drivers
refuse to put more petrol into their tanks than is absolutely necessary (or
even less than necessary, which might have added to this particular journey’s
downfall). Thus, it takes us an hour to
go fifteen km. 25km to go. We’re all dying in the back, being choked to
death by the discomfort of numb feet and butts and a newfound hatred of
everything. It’s gonna be a long ride.
Finally, FINALLY we all sigh in relief as we pass over a
bridge that marks the last leg of the trip.
5km to go and one hill. One
single hill! It’s a notorious hill,
however, with switchbacks, sheer drops off the road, and a particularly steep
turn. Last year in rainy season I thought
that one turn would be the end of me as we slid uncontrollably in the mud down
it (that was the LAST time I traveled out of site in rainy season in a village
car, thank you very much). Well, as you
can imagine, the Little Engine that Could just couldn’t. We stalled on the uphill, and lucky us, the
brakes weren’t working. We rolled
backwards, just slowly enough that everyone could work up a good panic as we
saw the edge of a 10-foot ditch approach.
The men that were standing desperately tried to scramble
out, but there wasn’t time. Everyone
else was too wedged in to even move. I
remember hearing screaming women and apparently (I was informed after the fact)
I said something intelligent like “Oh. Shit.” I saw the right back tire take a
sudden dip over the edge and that’s all I remember until I was trying to stand
up (memory loss courtesy of my Brand New Concussion!).
People were everywhere, sprawled out on the ground, on top
of each other, yelling each other’s names, covered in glass. One old lady found herself on the bottom of a
dog pile and looked like she couldn’t move, someone screaming her name. I thought the worst, but she was just stunned
and managed to get herself up. I think
she ended up with a broken hand. The mom
and baby sitting next to me were perfectly fine, having landed on the top of
the old-lady-dog-pile. Another lady
seemed to have been thrown during the fall and had to be hauled out, I think
with a broken arm or rib. A small boy,
maybe 8 years old, definitely had it the worst.
He face planted when we went down. Both eyes, his right cheek, and a massive bump
on his head swelled up immediately. I
mean a massive bump, like a second head.
Unbelievably (well, I’m sure it was just major shock), he just pulled
himself up onto a ledge and sat there, not making a sound the whole time. That is, until we tried to get him into a car
going to the hospital. He was NOT ok
with getting into a car that didn’t lead to home. I’ve never SEEN such a tantrum. That poor little kid, man! Luckily, I had splurged in Mzuzu on some
frozen chicken, which he held to his face to ease the swelling. Also had some advil to pass out for people in
the most pain and THANK THE LORD BABY JESUS the health center’s medical assistant
was in the truck too and was able to perform African Bush First Aid a hell of a
lot better than I could, with my expired lifeguarding credentials… and a
concussion.
I got off pretty easy.
Just a bruised cut to the leg, some scrapes, and a cut on my foot from
stepping in glass, whiplash and a small head injury. I wasn’t worried about the head injury until
my vision went blurry and I got nauseous and after a call to a PC nurse friend
who said I shouldn’t go to sleep or be alone.
Help arrived unbelievably quickly to the scene. Two MUCH better trucks came to the rescue
from Chikwina faster than any ambulance response I’ve ever heard of in
America. We were trucked up to the Chikwina
Health Center within fifteen minutes, where the Nurse was already waiting. Then the really injured people were loaded up
and taken to Mzuzu Hospital. The Peace
Corps Med Office bade me stay overnight in the hospital and then called me to
Lilongwe the next day for a CT scan and a neurological exam (both clean. But let me tell you, the LAST thing you want
to do after an accident, sore from whiplash and jonesing for your own bed, is
get in a crowded African bus for 5 hours.
MAN, that sucked hard). I went back to the scene later to take a picture, but they'd already hauled it out. I'd draw a picture, but my artistry is abysmal.
We got really lucky though.
Really Freaking Lucky. That crash
could have been so much worse. We could
have rolled off the other side of the road, which leads into a deep valley, in
which case we would have rolled and all died.
The ditch was perfectly truck-shaped, but if we were going any faster,
the truck could have easily tipped over to rest on the other side of the cliff and
trapped us.
The worst part by FAR was just how insanely shaken up and
scared I was. I was crazy shaking after
the accident, from shock. But after
that, I refused to think or feel anything about it until a few days later, in
Lilongwe. I mean, we talked and
debriefed and exchanged thoughts on it, but eventually, when I was far enough
away from the incident, physically and chronologically, I was overwhelmed by my
feelings of lack of control over the whole situation. Just total helplessness. I couldn’t chose my transport method. It was that matola or wait another two days
to go home, and even then, I still might be in the same situation. There was no phone service, no way to call
911, no option for a seat belt, no way to free myself from a doomed car once in
motion, completely at the mercy of the man driving up a road that isn't a road, just a dirt path, in a car that could barely handle tarmac. And this is every time I have to leave or come back to site. It's enough to send you into a panic every time. And after all that, I'm STILL not in control of my own existence. I was informed by the Med
Office that I WILL go to Mzuzu for observation, I WILL come to Lilongwe for a
head scan. Fine, I probably would do
that in America. But that's another story. Going to the hospital in America is a walk in the park. Do you understand
how hard it is physically and emotionally to travel 40km back down to Mzuzu,
and then another 5 hours in a bus to the nearest passable health care? I knew I was fine, I just wanted to go home. But I, again, had no control over my transport and
no control over my healthcare, which was impossibly far away. I know this is a Malawian’s reality, it’s all
they have, no other option. Which is
terrible. But if this crash had been
serious, it would have been devastating.
And there was nothing anyone could have done about it. If my injuries had been any worse I would STILL have to make that same 2-day journey to Lilongwe. And that scares the hell out of me. Probably also scared the waiter at the chinese restaurant, where I finally broke down and started crying at the table while he was trying to take my order.
Something to be thankful for in America - more control over
our own disasters.
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