So yesterday after all our patients were stable, the commissioner and a few of his friends came to help identify the injured. Those who could not talk (unconscious, or dying), had been identified by other travel companions, except for one.
He had sustained neurological problems after a concussion; and although he was conscious, he could not speak. So our compound manager spent the afternoon allowing small groups of spectators to filter in, to see if anyone could identify him.
I watched the eager rubber-neckers come, click their tongues in empathy, talk over him with hushed excitement, then grow bored and move on.
Then a few minutes later, a new crowd would come, and it would start all over again.
Gawking. Clicking. Whispering. Bored.
Dozens came and went, but no one identified him. Eventually, the spectators grew tired and hungry and made their way home.
Our John Doe stayed on the back porch until this morning when a couple came by asking to see him. When they realized he was their missing son and that he was alive, they exploded in joyful thanks.
The father was some high-ranking military man. He had been informed his son was dead and had come to collect the body. But when he and his wife could not find it among the rest of the cadavers, they decided to stop by our clinic --just in case.
“What if... what if he was still alive?” they wondered.
When they realized he was in fact alive, they were thrilled! He was disoriented and suffering from partial paralysis, but he was alive!
They decided to take him back to Wau where he could get more specialized care. What a blessing!
Please continue to pray for these hurting families. Thanks.