Angel On the Road

Recently, my attention was drawn to a touching picture on the front page of a leading daily newspaper of a boy and a girl covered in their own blood, apparently victims of a ghastly motor accident. I paused and decided to read the story. I was disappointed. No story, except the caption, which read, ‘A bus carrying eighteen passengers, mostly students, ran into an abandoned petrol tanker on the Lagos - Ibadan expressway…  Seven died. Some of the injured commuters, soaked in blood, were trapped in the vehicle.’

My sweet Lord. I looked at the face of the young woman, full of anguish, pain and sorrow, probably crying or sobbing, blood all over her white blouse, and some spattered all over her attractive face. A young boy, a teenager, put his hands on his head in a sorrowful mood – could not have been older than my fifteen year old son. ‘My good God!’ I cried.

‘Where are the mothers of these children? Oh God, I hope people volunteered to assist the wounded ones at least, if not much can be done for those who died on the spot, before help could reach them.’ I was literally speaking to myself. I said that knowing how lives have been lost, that shouldn’t have been, out of negligence.

The problem of people dying on our roads simply due to delayed help is the focus of this real life narration. Which prompts the question: If you witness a horrific accident where victims are hurt, will you stop to take the injured to the hospital in your car? Or you will stop quite alright, only to gape at the injured, dead bodies, and body parts strewn all over the road, then shake your head in pity, shout a few expletives at the drivers and government, get back into your car, and drive on with the hope that someone else would do what you failed to do? Or worse still, you slow down your car to take a quick look at the accident scene and just drive past? Are you likely to fall into any of these three categories? Let’s see what happens assuming you do.

Toyin was on her way back from Ibadan with her teenage son. A prominent woman, and an achiever in her own right, who enjoys her privacy, she is not a known face as she shuns publicity and parties that would put her on pages of glossy gossip magazines. It is only when she tells you her name that you may give her a second look, and when she tells you what she does, you give her a respectable look and admiration. Otherwise she easily passes for the girl next door, in her casual clothes and unassuming stance.

One Friday, she decided to make one of her normal trips to Ibadan. On her way back to Lagos, due to the fatigue of running around to meet one obligation or the other, she practically slept throughout the journey. Thank God she was being driven so that gave her enough time to sit back and have a good snooze. She opened her eyes to see she was already in Lagos. Before she could adjust herself properly, she heard a very loud bang and looked out of the car window to see dust and smoke.

‘What was that?’ she asked her driver.

‘It is an accident, Ma. Two men on okada (motor bikes) just hit each other.’

Toyin looked back and saw two mangled bikes on the road and two lifeless bodies.

‘Stop and reverse the car,’ she said to her driver.

‘Please Ma, I don’t think it is safe,’ the driver said hesitantly. He slowed down but was still moving.

‘I said, stop and reverse the car,’ Toyin repeated the instruction with cold firmness.

‘Okay Ma.’

The driver put the car in reverse gear, moved to the spot and parked properly on the opposite side of the road. Toyin, impatient to even allow the driver to assist, opened the car door herself, pulled up the band of her skirt and dashed across the road to the accident site. A few okada drivers were already gathering and some passersby. Each had something to say.

‘Are they dead?’

‘What’s wrong with these okada drivers?’

‘They are just so reckless. Now that it is an accident between two okada men, let’s see which okada you are going to burn.’

‘Yes o jare, no car for you to burn today.’

‘They drive like James Bond 007, as if they are doing a bike race.’

‘Imagine the recklessness on these bumpy roads.’

‘Check their pockets to see if there are phones so we can call someone.’

‘What happened here?’ Toyin asked no one in particular.

One of the onlookers volunteered an explanation. ‘I think one okada man tried to overtake a car, unfortunately, a lorry was coming, so to avoid a head-on collision with the lorry, he swerved to face the other okada man from the other side of the road, and bang…’

‘I wonder why they are so much in a hurry,’ another retorted.

People just continued to make their statements, one after the other, no attempt to confirm if these people were dead, no attempt to take them to a hospital, no attempt to even touch the bikes let alone the men. Just words and more words. As a matter of fact, the scene was just another one of those bad accidents that could have been avoided.

As Toyin was still thinking of what to do, one of the men on the road, blood gushing from a deep gash on his forehead onto his face, dripping down his chest, groaned.

‘He is alive, he is alive,’ Toyin said with extreme anxiety. As if that was a cue, the other man also cried out feebly holding his head.

‘Please, please help me carry this one with the bad head injury to that hospital down the road.  Thank God we are close to a hospital,’ Toyin said

No one answered. They were all looking at her as if she was raving mad.

‘I can’t carry this man by myself. You are the men, strong. Help me put him on your okada.’

Still, reluctance.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t run away.  I will stand and pay for his treatment.’

They agreed then, but warily. At that moment the other man said weakly, ‘I beg you, I need help too.’

‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to leave you here’ Toyin assured him.

He just nodded.

‘Okay, kindly help me take them both. I will follow.’

Toyin picked up her phone and rang home to narrate what happened.

‘So what are you planning to do?’ one of her assistants asked.

‘Take them to the hospital, of course.’

‘Ma, please don’t do it. It is dangerous to do that.  What if they die? The police will ask so many questions. They may even think you ran them over.  I don’t think it is a good idea, Ma.’

Toyin said, ‘Never mind if it is a bad idea, just come so I can have more people around to help.  Let me take my chances.’

The funny thing Toyin noticed was that people gathered all right, but no one was ready to take on the responsibility out of fear of either harassment from police or rejection from the hospital if there is no police report or money to deposit for treatment.

When the men around the accident scene realised that Toyin was serious, they obliged. They quickly put the men on their okada and drove to the nearest hospital.  Toyin walked behind. On getting to the hospital, the medical director looked at the two blood-soaked men, with a dishevelled Toyin marching behind them.

‘What happened? Who is with these men?’ he asked.

 ‘I am with them,’ Toyin said. I will pay their treatment bills. Please just go ahead and treat them.’

The medical director did not ask further questions. He instructed the nurses and the doctor on duty to take them into the emergency room and commence treatment. Later, he came to Toyin and asked what really happened.

‘Let me first of all clear the air. I did not knock them down if that is what you are thinking. I don’t even know these men. I was just passing by and I stopped to give a helping hand.’

‘You stopped to give a helping hand? You don’t know these people?’

‘No, I do not know them.’

‘And you want to pay for their treatment?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Incredible. Please, what is your name? At least I need your name and phone number.’

‘Toyin.’

‘Toyin who? Mrs who?’

‘Just call me Toyin. This is my phone number in case you need me. But please don’t give my identity to the patients. I don’t want them to feel indebted or anything like that.’

‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

‘Would you have left these men to die when you know you can help? In any case I would not forgive myself if the next morning I discovered they died from lack of immediate medical care.’

The doctor replied, ‘Madam, don’t get me wrong. It is not that some people would not want to help. The truth is that a few would have had one bad experience about trying to be helpful.’

‘Well, I can understand their point, but I am ready to give it a try. That is what my conscience is telling me to do. I just pray they don’t die on me.’

‘They won’t die. You are a good Samaritan.’

‘I am not a Samaritan. I am a Nigerian just doing what my mind tells me to do,’ Toyin replied.

The two men stayed in the hospital for a week and steadily got better.  One of them eventually had his medical bills picked up by his employer, while Toyin sorted out the other, though Toyin knew in her heart she gladly would have paid for both. But the most precious outcome of this true story is the lasting friendship between Toyin and the two victims of the terrible road accident, mostly finding it difficult to believe that someone they did not know decided to pick them up, take them to the hospital, visited them every day and even offered to pay their medical bills.

There was another case of a victim who was not so fortunate to get help on time.

Jimi, an executive director, had to attend a board meeting outside Lagos one chilly harmatan morning. It looked hazy outside and the car air conditioner made it chillier.

‘David, please reduce the chill from that air conditioner. Too cold even with my jacket on,’ Jimi told his driver.

‘Okay, Sir.’

Jimi strained his eyes to make out the road ahead, wiped the frost from the glass of his door with the palm of his hands, and then glanced at his watch.

‘Damn, it is 9:00am already, and the traffic seems to be moving slower, even almost at a standstill,’ he said as he rolled down the window to see far into the front.

‘Sir, I think something must have happened, because it is too early for this go-slow,’ the driver said.

The car joined the long queue of cars, lorries, tippers, buses and petrol tankers.

After waiting for fifteen minutes at the same spot, Jimi got out of the car, looked around to make conversation with other commuters who also came out to discuss and find out what the problem was. One driver shouted from the other side of the road, that a fatal accident had occurred in front. He advised that it is either they wait it out or divert to another route through the bush.

Jimi looked at his watch again. ‘Fine time for this to happen,’ he muttered. Nevertheless he had no choice but to wait as he was not ready to take a route he was not familiar with in case of armed robbery attack. Luckily, in another few minutes the traffic started to inch forward at snail speed and, within half an hour, they came across a trailer that had emptied its goods on the road with about five or six mangled cars and two executive buses in different directions and positions. People were still screaming, or gasping, limbs, blood, flesh everywhere. It was a gory picture. Jimi’s car passed along slowly, while he tried to take in as much of the sight as he could.

‘My God!’ he said several times, but he did not stop his car.

He looked at his watch. He was already late and had to be at this crucial meeting before it ended. It was very important to continue his journey. However, he remained sad as his mind kept going back to the scene. He had flashes of children still trapped, and young girls and boys, men, women sitting down on the side of the road, drenched in their own blood, or lying on the ground, lifeless, while some were still confused from shock.

At 3:00pm, Jimi’s mobile phone rang.  It was his wife sobbing hysterically. She was almost incoherent.

‘What is it? What is it?’ He asked, panic creeping into his voice.

‘Please come home quickly. It is our daughter Tolani. She has been involved in an accident and she’s in critical condition at the hospital.’

‘What do you mean involved in an accident and in critical condition?’ he repeated stupidly.  'Tolani is in boarding school, so how come she is in an accident?’

‘I don’t know. My God, I am finished.’

‘Hello, darling, are you there? Answer me,’ Jimi screamed.

No answer.

Other members of the board meeting wanted to know if everything was all right.

‘It is my daughter, lying in the hospital in serious condition.  There has been an accident.’

A lot of heads shaking, mouths opening and shutting, hands on heads and one consolation word or disbelief comment or the other.

By the time Jimi joined his wife at the hospital, Tolani had given up the ghost. There was a deep gash on the side of her neck and according to the doctors her death came from the loss of too much blood and the delay in giving her medical attention.

‘Where did this accident occur? And how come she was not in school where she belonged? Which vehicle? Was she with a group of people? Where was she going? Was the school aware?’ Jimi queried.

The answers to Jimi’s questions were shocking and unbelievable. 

The accident occurred on the road Jimi passed in the morning on his way to the meeting. Apparently, Tolani, who was travelling in a bus with some of her schoolmates on an excursion, was one of the victims.  Yes, the school authority was in the know, but Jimi never thought his own daughter could be a victim. Moreover, none of the two buses had the school name on it for recognition. Jimi wished he had stopped at least to give a helping hand. Perhaps, and at least, he might have been able to take Tolani for immediate medical care, and she may have survived. He blamed himself for the death of his daughter and has never recovered from the psychological trauma.

There are a lot of kind people around who would gladly want to help accident victims, but afraid to do so for one reason or the other. People must realise that lives have priority over any administrative protocol. And yet administrative hurdles are no excuse to ignore the slightly or fatally wounded in any accident, not only on the road. The truth of the matter is you could actually be saving one of your own. Keep in mind that kindness is a hard thing to give away, because it keeps coming back to the giver.

Story Credit: Waving in the Wind by Bisi Abiola; Publishers Outskirtspress

Photo Credit: Creative Commons.