I knew. Or I thought I knew. But on Saturday, I finally learned what it truly means to lack access to medical care.
My host family and I traveled to Bomboiza, a village consisting of a few hundred residents buried deep in the Amazon, on Saturday to visit some family friends and attend the town's festivals. The day passed tranquilly; we jumped in the river and frolicked amid raindrops and rainbows.
Unfortunately, the day took a radical turn from the worse when we returned to our friend's house. As we drove up, it was immediately evident that something was severely wrong. Dozens of individuals had gathered outside the house and huddled in small groups sobbing. An acquantaince had just revealed that he had passed the family's motorcycle about fifteen minutes outside town. It had been involved in a severe crash and, the man reported, their were no survivors; the family's fifteen-year-old son was believed dead.
As there is no hospital, centro de salud, or subcentro de salud in Bomboiza or within any nearby communities, the family had not even bothered to call for help. Lacking a car, they could not even go retrieve the bodies. Rather they were forced to wait helplessly until an acquantaince with a car (my host father Fausto arrived).
After Fausto departed to retrieve the corpses, the hoards remained outside the house. As I tried to console family members or distract toddlers, I felt utterly helpless in the midst of such tragedy. There was no cell phone signal; I couldn't even call for help had ambulances and EMTs actually existed. Hopelessness prevailed and rumors swirled. All four victims (two from each motorcycle) were believed dead and many feared bing attacked by the families of the other victims in an act of vigilante justice which highlighted the lack of a functioning justice system in the area.
After a painfully long time had passed, Fausto finally returned with the son and his friend. Miraculously, both had survived the crash although they were not wearing helmets. Though gravely wounded, they were brought to the hospital and continue improving. We later found out that the other victims survived as well, although too remain severaly injured.
In spite of the miraculous end to the terrifying events, the afternoon has left a resounding impression. Although I have long understood that many poor communities lack access to fundamental social institutions such as healthcare and justice, this problem is not simply manifested as a lack of services. Rather it creates a sense of hopelessness and fear. No one would wait to see the bodies before believing that all had died; they assumed the worst. Similarly, they assumed the worst of their neighbors when fearing mob violence. Their was no hope for the best, no trust, and, unfortunately, the lack of such fundamental emotions may be one of the most insurmountable obstacles facing those in Bomboiza as they search for a better tomorrow.
Although the near tragic accident certainly put a damper on our trip to Bomboiza, the night still had many bright spots. Whether listening to children boldly declare that they will be doctors so that they can live in Bomboiza and save people or listening to teenagers grumble about their classes but ultimately admit that any subject could be a means of escaping poverty, there we abundant signs that change may someday come. Although, while all deserve a better quality of life, I sincerely hope change does not require that the community abandon its cultural roots, since another highlight of the night was most definitely the indigneous dances celebrating the town's foundation however many years ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment