“Teacher, come quickly and bring your truck!” shouted Omina franticly as she hurried up our steps. “It’s my young sister, Semah,” she panted. “She has been hit by a bus. Hurry!”

Just down the road, I could see a growing crowd. When we reached the spot, we saw a motorcycle lying in the middle of the road. A group of villagers were holding the injured young lady. She was unconscious, and blood dripped from her head.

“Semah was to be married next month,” a friend whispered.

A lump grew in my throat as Philip whisked her off to the nearest hospital. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. Semah had pulled out onto the road without looking. People rarely stop at intersections and, most of the time, fail to look. People also drive too fast in pedestrian areas. Anger welled up inside me as a taxi van sped towards our group standing on the road, his horn blaring.

The small local hospital couldn’t help Semah. They informed the family that she needed to be treated in the capital city, a four-and-a-half-hour drive away. The ambulance would cost $150, paid up front. This is an impossible price for subsistence farmers, but they all put their money together and came up with half the amount. However, the ambulance wasn’t leaving until the full price was paid, so Semah lay on a mat bleeding and waiting. When Philip figured out they weren’t leaving because they didn’t have enough money, he realized he hadn’t brought any money in his rush to take the girl to the hospital. He pleaded with the hospital staff. “Don’t wait for the money, take her right away! I’ll pay you the rest of the money later. I’ll go get the money now.” When Philip returned with the money, the ambulance still hadn’t left. Poor Semah had been lying there for an hour and a half. Two days later, she died.

The very next day, a breathless man pleaded urgently for us to take his brother-in-law to the hospital. By the time the doctor came to examine the man, he was dead. The doctor looked put out. “He’s dead already,” he said coldly as he walked out, returning to his game of chess with the other staff. The dead man’s wife collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor.

Life is so cheap here, and hearts are so cold. For many, the only question is, “What can I get from you?” My heart is sad and angry. Oh Lord, may the tender love and sympathy of Jesus shine out from us in stark contrast!

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