vida y muerte

(i need to preface this post by reassuring everyone that jonno and i are fine – what follows is pretty distressing, but we’re absolutely okay.)

we left uyuni by bus this morning, on the way to sucre, via potosi. uyuni is pretty much a podunk town, so after shopping around at the different transportation companies (which were all much of a muchness) we and several of our companions from the uyuni trip decided to go with the company with the nicest bus. it was pretty modern looking in comparison with the rest of the vehicles on offer, and we wanted to be comfortable. as we wound our way up and down the steep mountain roads, we read and dozed. we stopped for lunch. shortly after lunch, however, our tranquil little world was rocked. as we came around a curve into a wide plain area, we were confronted with a horrific scene of devastation.

a smaller bus lay overturned on its roof, crushed like a tin can. what at first glance appeared to be bundles of clothing strewn about, were in fact people thrown like limp rag dolls. adrenaline started pumping and my cpr courses started flashing through my head as we rushed to the scene. wailing and blood everywhere. jonno ran to the bus to see if there was anyone trapped inside, and i tried to see if there was anyone i could help.

it quickly became very clear that they were beyond my paltry knowledge of first aid.

there were people crumpled in heaps, people with brains coming out of their head, people crying out desperately for help amidst the scattered metal and luggage.

i couldn’t help the ones who were dead and i couldn’t help the ones who were alive. the ones who were dead had been killed instantly. the ones who were alive were broken to bits.

i’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life. in the end, i am ashamed to say i was no help at all to anyone. and all i could think was that i wish my dad was here, he would know what to do. i stood like a lump and cried.

and at that point our friend recognised the bus as one we’d almost taken from uyuni that morning. that’s when i lost it.

there was confusion as to what to do. we were two hours from the nearest hospital. cell phones were useless. finally some of the men began carrying the injured towards the bus on blankets. survivors in shock began picking through the wreckage for their belongings and climbing aboard the bus with their bundles and bags. the four most critically injured were hoisted and dragged into the aisles, where they had to be stepped over. a little girl of about 10 stared wide-eyed, blood streaked across her face.

and two dead were left behind, covered with blankets, watched over only by a herd of llamas who continued to munch placidly beside the carnage. what else could we do?

with every bump of the road, the injured cried out in pain. moaning, asking for water, pleading for help. the rest of us sat in deathly silence.

so i prayed – not for my beliefs, but for theirs. i prayed the “our father” and the “23rd psalm”. i said “hail marys”. i prayed every catholic prayer i could recall.

the sign said 55 kms to potosi. as the distance dragged on, the bus grew progressively quieter.

a passing jeep was asked to send ahead for help, and an hour later we were met by an ambulance and a doctor. but he could do nothing more than administer morphine. one of the four was already gone.

we continued on towards the hospital. i became fixated on the woman in the aisle nearest me, who was twisting and moaning in spite of the morphine. her skirt was akimbo and all i could do was stare at her stockinged leg. the nylon had a tear in it and small droplets of blood were seeping through. she’d lost her shoes in the impact.

eventually her leg stopped moving, and her stockinged foot became still. i turned away.

we all sat on that bus, willing the distance to pass faster, studiously avoiding acknowledgement that we were now carrying two corpses.

after two torturous hours, we drew up to the hospital. there was more confusion, as the bus couldn’t fit through the gates. eventually stretchers were sent for, and the four carefully unloaded. the little girl was lead away after she tried to wake the woman whose foot had stopped moving.

the bloody fingerprints of a dying woman were dried on the side of the seat.

for a distance of 55 km, two more lives were lost.

and then we were left at the bus station. left to grieve for the tragedy we’d witnessed and the people who never made it to potosi. left to ponder why we were alive, and they were not. left to wonder at our incredible luck at having access to mediflight choppers, and the best medical care in the world only minutes away from our houses. left to suffer the guilt at taking that for granted. left shaken, drained, confused.

what do you do after something like that?

in the end, we simply continued on – because we could. we took comfort in friends and familiarity. we ate and drank and stuck together, drawing strength from each other in the face of the somber reality. life is precious. and although it wasn’t us, it could have been.

there but for the grace of god, go i. or you. or any of us.

so if you’re spiritual, please say a little prayer. and if you’re not, please think a good thought.

for the dead – and for the living.

This entry was posted on Monday, 4 September, 2006 at 4:08 pm and is filed under bolivia. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.