It’s been a bit of a rough month. At the end of July, I was heading from my regional capital to the town where the newest group of Peace Corps Volunteers was training. Like typical travel goes, I was squished into a van/bus with about 30 other people. When you travel in this country, at any point you slow or stop, there are usually vendors by the side of the road trying to sell something - so people run alongside the vehicle with pineapples/passion fruit/bags of peanuts/etc. We were on a flat stretch of road and came up on a stopped van where just that scene was happening. A boy about 10 years old ran out in front of the stopped van into the path of our vehicle which hit and ran over him, killing him instantly. It was truly a complete accident but that didn't make it any less tragic. Everyone got out of our vehicle, including a handful of children who also unfortunately bore witness to the incident.
My background as a paramedic only reinforced the truth that, although I knew the protocol of what steps to take, I was utterly helpless to actually do anything. While the scene wasn’t completely unfamiliar in a clinical sense, my training was absolutely futile since there weren’t any resources, supplies, trained team members, or even the infrastructure to delay the inevitable of cleaning him up and pronouncing him dead in a hospital somewhere after.
Instead, what appeared to be the entire village turned out and amid the pained wailing, the body was moved to his nearby mud house. Plans were immediately made for the wake as well as the construction of a speed bump (a bag of cement and containers of water suddenly appeared for the latter). It was as if I was in a horrible dream sequence and everything was somewhat blurry - like my surroundings had somehow sped up while I remained stationery. To their credit though, I was impressed by the level of professionalism of the gendarmes (essentially police officers) and the company operating the vehicle we were traveling in. I eventually made it to my destination shaky and emotionally raw, left with the irony that I was there to teach First Aid to the newest trainees (stagiaires).
It was just another senseless occurrence in Cameroon that left me jarred to my core as my mind continues to reflect on the whole thing. Growing up on a farm, I had an intellectual knowledge of death from an early age and could balance my emotional grief with the factual circle of life. As an occupational byproduct of working in the EMS field, my exposure to death and dying was more frequent than the average person’s, and I came to even further diminish a need to mourn loss. Even when I was personally affected by the end of someone’s life, I struggled to have the same outward reaction as others.
But this incident has been different. I think about the countless “what ifs” of that day. I get a bit anxious with every swerve, sway, and bump while riding in a taxi or van now. And, perhaps most lingering, I can picture each instant of the moments before and after the accident with such clarity that it causes a lump to form in my throat if I allow my mind to settle on it. My senses surrounding it were unnaturally heightened, making it painful from every angle – sound, sight, smell, and touch.
With each day I’m getting better and more able to distance myself, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget…and, as odd as it is to say, perhaps that’s a good thing. I had become a bit complacent in my attitude towards Cameroon – unsure what the point of development was, frustrated by the obstacles, and wondering where I fit into the whole picture. Although I still feel like the work I do here is so small compared to the needs, I can fight towards the goal of an improved health system overall.
In the meantime, I’m grateful for the support of my friends both here and back home, and have appreciated the ability to deal with it on my own while reaching out to someone willing to lend an ear when I needed it. Thanks again.
