Almost Anywhere, First World … Alarm bells ring out for an emergency at the nearby fire station while firemen dressed in emergency gear scramble for the trucks. An ambulance speeds out from the station the building, as firemen climb aboard fully outfitted units. Down the street policemen in full gear scramble to their cruisers, and in seconds several cars speed from the parking lot with their sirens screaming a warning. A serious problem exists somewhere down the street, and the resources of a modern city are rallied to respond. At the major trauma hospital downtown medical personnel are put on alert. The highly trained staff makes rushed preparations as three of their ambulances scramble to meet the caravan of first-responders heading for the accident scene.
This is the way the first moments of a major tragedy would be reported in first world countries. Malawi is, however, not a first world country, nor is it second, or even third. By many standards Malawi is a fourth world country, a country slipping farther and father behind. Hospitals are totally unprepared for even the simplest emergency. The first responder is a neighbor with an ox card, and there are no fire trucks or police cars to rush to most village areas to respond to a tragedy. Here is the way a recent crisis was reported from Malawi. Reporting is Samantha Ludick, the owner of the Cool Runnings Lake Resort, and the director of the Clinic at the Gate medical care program.
Senga Bay, Malawi … It is nearly 4 in the morning and I am already awake. The sun coming up over the lake, with the bright blue sky, reflecting off the crystal clear water is always a magnificent way to greet a new day. Then suddenly the telephone rings.
“Please come quickly”, the voice at the other end summons. “There has been an accident. Many children. A wall has fallen.”
I am up in an instant. A call to the Senga Bay Police Unit, gather my medical bag, jump on my quad bike, and off to the scene. When I reach the scene I am amazed at the number of people who have gathered around. All of them in panic, wanting word about their children. Whispers grow louder as each person seeks to be heard. I move to help the medical people who have reached the scene. The crowd grows silent as we cover the thin frame of a little boy who has died. His father has made his way through the crowd, and he looks at me as though asking me to assure him this is not his son. He shakes his head in disbelief, but reality comes all too soon, and his arms reach out to hold his son, and his eyes fill with tears. “Why… Why my boy? Why not me?” I stand there speechless, unable to find words with which to comfort him. My heart is ripped in two. I try to find words, but am faced with the same question.
Finally we help the father out of the room so the nurses can clean the body and take the child home for burial. As I step outside the people begin opening a path in front of me. It is not for me, but for the mother of the small boy who now looks toward me with the same expression her husband had conveyed. Please assure me this is not my son her expression seemed to say. But I could not find an answer, nor could I find words. There just are no words at a time like this, are there?
Editors Note: Samantha Ludick, with her programs to help the people of Senga Bay, is serving in one of the most resource poor nations on earth. It is life in a very difficult, yet beautiful part of the world from what most people will ever experience. So much suffering. So little in resources. No ambulances to rush paramedics to the scene who are trained to restore life. No crane to lift the debris off the children. No trauma unit where they could be rushed for treatment. Perhaps it would not have done any good in this case. But there are so many where just a few more resources could allow them to survive, to reach adulthood, to give their best to their village and the world, to create the changes the world needs. What might they contribute if they have a chance?