Accidents

Well, it happened. When I spent a semester in Spain as a college sophomore, I tore a ligament in my right knee. In my second year teaching English in Costa Rica, I caught mono. And now, ten months into my time in Bolivia, I can check one more off the list of overeas experiences: I got into a car accident.

I’ll leave the finer details for the insurance report, but what happened, briefly, was this. Last month, my work partner, Sandra, and I were on our way to visit a library in a small town an hour and a half north of Santa Cruz. We were rolling down a two-lane highway that had a thick, recently-laid layer of gravel on it. All was going well—although I do remember we were having a faintly ominous conversation about traffic accidents people we knew had been involved in—when we swerved just a bit too sharply to get out of the way of a taxi coming from the other direction. We skidded on the loose gravel but were on our way toward regaining control when the right front tire popped. That was the end of our steering ability, and once we slid into the deeper gravel on the right shoulder, we were in for it—although I remember thinking, even as our 4-Runner started to tip, that we couldn’t possibly be rolling over. And yet we did—one and a half times, to be exact—which left us in the ditch with the passenger side of the vehicle resting on the ground, hanging from our seatbelts and rocking slightly.

Immediately—almost miraculously, in such a remote area—a dozen people were on the scene. A young man climbed on top of the tipped-over car and helped pull Sandra and me out through the driver’s-side window. Another offered us the use of his cell phone (unfortunately, the MCC office was out of range for reception). Half a dozen men heaved until they were able to roll the 4-Runner back onto its tires, then hooked it to a semi and hauled it out of the ditch. Two of them set to work changing the tire. Meanwhile, Sandra and I looked at each other and asked each other, “Are you all right?”. Aside from bruises and a couple of scratches from the shattered windshield, we were unhurt. Amazing.

Twenty minutes later, I was riding shotgun with a truck driver and his son to Santa Rosa, the next town along the highway, where I’d call MCC by pay phone. The driver told me August is known to be a month of accidents—that people here say the devil walks abroad at that time of the year.

I thought for a moment, wanting to be respectful of this folk belief but at the same time share what I believe. Then I thought about this truck driver and the others who’d taken the time and effort to help us, all without asking for anything in return. So I told him I hadn’t heard before about the devil being on the road in August—but that there must also be a lot of angels.

That was over a month ago. My cuts and bruises have now healed (see photos for evidence). Both Sandra and I have been going to a local chiropractor for the minor whiplash we suffered during the roll-over, and are now feeling “back to normal.” Thanks be to God for bringing us through; to our friends and colleagues at MCC for their concern, comfort, and encouragement; and to family members and friends at home whose prayers surely helped protect us throughout this experience.

Photo at left: This is the only visible damage I suffered from the accident. (Look—the colors of the Bolivian flag!)
Right: The same arm now—no permanent damage, as you can see!