Fire in Dedza

8:00 Friday night in Dedza, Dana's husband, Macfarlen, received a call from a friend of his who said that there had been a road accident, that the vehicles were on fire with people burning inside. Macfarlen is not a medical professional (he's an electrical engineer) but he lives nearby and he has a truck. In a world without EMS, without quick responders, and few ambulances, the lives of people involved in MVAs often depend on local good samaritans and those who happen to be passing by.

We hurriedly piled into the truck and drove the 10 minutes to the scene but by the time we arrived, the flames engulfing the three vehicles had already devoured everything carried and were now hungrily licking at metal and rubber. A large solemn crowd encircled the wreckage at a safe radius, passing around fragmented versions of the collision in shocked voices. Macfarlen's friend had come across the scene on a motorcycle just minutes after it had occurred, the fire just beginning to build and screams of trapped people close but unreachable. He called the hospital, the police, and the local law enforcement but when those responses were unsatisfactory he called Macfarlen. We didn't learn much that night other than the fact that several people were rescued including one man who had been pinned under a truck and had his leg hacked off with a hoe in order to attempt to preserve his life. Four vehicles were involved in the wreck, a two ton open bed truck that was carrying people. A three ton truck loaded with potatoes and tobacco, with a couple people perched on top, a pickup, and a sedan. Only the sedan, which was pushed to the opposite side of the road escaped the fire. Recognizing that there was no longer anything to be done, we climbed back into the truck and drove home. In front of the truck, just millimeters above the horizon hovered the most amazingly beautiful and enormous full moon. The vision was somehow both comforting and confusing. The night illuminated by the serene timeless beauty of the full moon juxtaposed with the horrifically tragic end of so many human lives. I imagined our individual lives as short flashes of light over the planet filled with incredible motion and emotion . . . searching for meaning, loving, living, struggling, surviving . . . but why this type of end?

The next day Macfarlen met the man who had driven the pickup and we all got his story. Apparently the large truck was loading potatoes but was parked in the road facing oncoming traffic with its lights on (the night was already thick) and the other side of the road was blocked by minibuses loading passengers. The driver in the sedan saw the impasse and slammed on his breaks, as did the pickup which followed, unfortunately, the open bed truck was unable to stop in time and slammed into the others pushing the sedan across the road and the three remaining vehicles into the ditch. The fire began instantaneously and the driver of the pickup was only able to extract his wife and child from his truck. By the time they were safe all he could do was watch and listen to the screams of those trapped under the burning wreckage.

Certainly accidents happen everywhere. Fatalities from motor vehicle accidents are common everywhere there are motor vehicles, but once again I am reminded of the differences between poverty and wealth. In addition to the obvious difference of the absent 24*7 EMS response, there was an unknown number of people who died in this wreck. Open bed trucks are a common means of transportation here and no one will know how many people died or even the identities of the dead. These people will simply never return home sparking mysteries partially solved over time only by probabilities. Lives in the developing world so often are not counted, they are estimated in, imperfect but easy to work with, round figures. I imagine if this happened in the States, the names and perhaps pictures of the dead would appear in the paper along with interviews with family members and pieces of their personal histories. The fact that these people entered and left the world perhaps without any official recognition does not mean they were loved any less, or that their deaths were any less tragic, but just that their individual beauty and worth is more difficult to convey. I believe that those of us who live in the developed world should be grateful for what we have but never complacent, we must resist the tempting illusion that round figures are merely figures.

Apart from the tragedy, the weekend in Dedza was wonderful. Dana and Macfarlen have a really sweet cozy little home located at the base of Dedza mountain. They own a few hectars of land and have planted gardens with vegetables, flowers, and trees. From their plot the view is spectacular - the pine covered mountain (which is quikcly becoming deforested), other houses nestled in the trees, and more moutains pink and tan in the distance. It was cold but we made a fire every night, we ate well, spent hours and hours talking, visited some near rock paintings that are over 2000 years old (unfortunately they being defaced), and just had fun. Dana took lots of pictures which I will have to post as soon as I get them from her.