Accident Abroad

Just a note before you go on to the rest of this blog. This was a dramatic experience that Julie and I witnessed. It reminds us of how fragile life is and how in seconds everything can change. Praise God for the little things in life. -Andrew

Sabbath afternoon. I spent the day with my sister. We were hanging out at POPPY's house and decided to head back towards the office around 5:00 pm so we could partake in the evening worship in a local church.
The road between Santo Tomas and the San Juan district of Iquitos is dirt. It rained the night before but dried out with the Sabbath sun. We left the "girl's home" at 4:48 pm. The drive, which is about 4 miles, takes 10 to 15 minutes. Our motorkar bounced along the decaying road, with its water tracks. We didn't talk much, just enjoyed the ride - as best you can enjoy such a ride.
5:01 pm. We made it to the entrance. That is where the paved road, Quinones, meets the dirt road that heads towards Santo Tomas. It didn't cost much, just 1 sole a piece. I sometimes wonder how they make a living, it almost seems like it would take 1 sole of gas just to traverse the 4 miles of road to Santo Tomas. I guess that is why they take two people. Wow, 1 sole profit! My sister and I walked away from that three wheeled mode of transportation in hopes of catching a four wheeled bus, which is even cheaper and comes with four wall for protection.
We started walking up the road the 12 yards towards the location where the buses stop frequently to pick up passengers. We never made it to the bus stop. My sister and I didn't get on a bus for over an hour. It isn't right what happened next. It isn't something the law of the government can correct that occured. I would be unable to justify it under any grounds. But it happened. It happened right before us. It tore us apart.
My feet slowly walked along the paved road. Ahead a motorcycle with two men worked it's way up the hill. What happened next can only be described in the few mind shots that my feeble brian can recall. A motorkar was coming down the hill in front of us. I heard a sort of crack as I stared at the motorkar and motorcycle stopped staring coldly at eachother. My sister and I were only 15 yards away.
A man lay in the center of the road. He wore all black and was holding his head. Another man with a green shirt was lying on his side in the dirt alongside the road. His hand was on his back and his face grimmaced with pain. A third man was under a tree, I think his shirt was yellow. He was conscious and squirmming. We picked up our pace and headed toward the scene. I remember telling my sister that we needed to see if everyone was alright. Our senses told us the obvious, that everyone wasn't alright. I quickly turned towards a store close by intending to make a phone call...I had no numbers with me. I needed to get someone here who could help...I needed to call Lisa. She was a nurse. I jumped back towards my sister and let her know I was going to run back to Santo Tomas...I prayed that any help that I would get there wouldn't be needed in 20 minutes, but it was all I could think to do.
As I rode back down that bumpy, mis-shappen road I prayed that everything would be okay. I hoped that I was doing the right thing. Will I ever know? I wanted to cry, but felt it wouldn't be helpful now. I wanted to tell the motokar driver to move it faster, but he was already going as fast as the roads would allow. I wished that the man in the middle of the road had jumped up and ran to help one of the others.
That is it. I saw nothing more. When I got back to the scene everything was gone. Only the motokar was still there, being looked at by a couple men. Julie stood there. She was solemn. She explained how people just stood around and how the buses and motokars honked while the man in the black seizured for 20 minutes before being placed in the bed of a police pick up truck. She was mad. She cried. I wanted to cry. I think people died. We don't know.