Yesterday morning I went over to my friend Juani's house to learn how to make "arroz con leche." In the middle of washing dishes, Juani called me outside to peer over the neighbor's fence at the scandal that was erupting on the other side. One of the family's many children had just fallen out of a very tall mango tree, and the mother was carrying the girl back to her house. We rushed over to the neighbor's house, along with a large group of people who had just witnessed the accident. Juani started applying alcohol to the girl's stomach, which was hurting. I was relieved to see that she was moving and thus was not paralyzed and hadn't broken anything, meaning she was probably going to be fine. Nonetheless, I called the mayor, who rushed over and took her to the hospital right away.
The girl who fell was 13 years old and was part of a band of 4 sisters who are always out playing in the street and are quite out of control. Their hair is always unkempt and their clothes dirty and they always ask me for a quarter when they see me, but they are truly very sweet and always rush to give me hugs and yell "elli!" when I pass. I've made each of them little bracelets, and they constantly ask me for another one. The girl was the oldest of this band of sisters, and was probably a little slow. I remember she could never understand what I was saying and that her sisters called her "africana," which is slang for stupid here (a strangely racist term of which I'm not sure of the origins). She fell out a tree while trying to collect green mangos to sell. The reason why she and her sisters are always running wild is that they are part of a family of 12 children, the parents give them almost no supervision and they are extremely poor.
Anyways, after the girl was taken to the hospital, I finished my arroz con leche and left for the capital where I had planned a meeting that afternoon with fellow PC volunteers to organize a girls' camp this year. As I left I asked Juani to text me any updates of the girl's condition, confident she'd be fine. Juani walked out the door with me and immediately repeated the scandal to the neighbor across the street and I was amused at how quickly sensational stories spread from house to house in these small towns.
Later that day, after the meeting I got a text from Juani saying that there was something wrong with the girl's liver and they were taking her to Rosales, the hospital in San Salvador. I began to realize that the condition must be quite serious. An hour later, she wrote me to tell me the girl had passed away.
I was in shock and didn't know what to do. I called my friend Claudia, who had spent the past year in my town fulfilling her "service year" requirement to become a doctor. She knew the girl, because her aunt was their neighbor, and she was currently working at Rosales, the hospital where the girl had died. She agreed to go with me to the hospital to see if there was anything we could do to help the family.
Going to the hospital was quite overwhelming. Rosales is probably the best hospital in El Salvador, but it is so acutely under-staffed and under-funded. Patients are held in giant, dreary rooms, which smell bad and carry a strong air of sickness. There are so many grieving families who have obviously come from the countryside so far away.
I didn't know the elder brothers or sisters who were there, but identified them by their conversation about the girl. They were waiting beside her body, which was only covered by a sheet. I will never forget that girl's pale face, which I had just seen alive earlier that day. Her body was one of three on stretchers in the entryway, awaiting pick up. The elder siblings were waiting for their mother to arrive, who was en route with the mayor, who was not only driving her but had bought a coffin for the girl, who he hadn't even known. Though I've had problems with him in the past, the generosity the mayor showed yesterday is something I will always remember.
Finally the girl's mother and an older sister who I knew arrived to take her away. The whole thing was so sad, so tragic. It made me think a lot about death and the differences in the way people deal with it here and in the U.S. In America, death is such a foreign concept for a lot of us. When it happens, it comes as such an extreme shock; I think in some ways we believe ourselves immune to premature death. Here, death is more common, less unexpected. I've seen more funerals in the time I've been here than in my entire life in the United States. Funerals here are a lot less sad, sometimes they feel just like any other lively gathering of people with cake and coffee.
I didn't go back today for the funeral, but I did give the family some money to defray the costs, I didn't really know what else to do.
I can't stop thinking about that girl, and I wasn't sure if posting about it was a good idea, but I wanted to do something to perserve and share the memory of yesterday, a day I will never forget.