Sunday Morning

Note: I'm not correcting this. This is pure processing that I need to do and I hope however incoherent my thoughts are, that they help explain my own thought process. I just needed to write this down.

Every twelve hours I'm making a trip to a local clinic to get antibiotic injections for my pnemonia. The journey starts with a jeep ride down the hill to the "redoma" the market place here but also central hub for transportation and then a van/bus ride up another hill to the clinic. Four legs of a journey in total. This morning I thought I'd stop in la redoma and eat an empanada. I got one and like any good Venezuelan I was putting some sauce on it. Specifically, guasaca (which is really fun to say, gua-saw-KA-ka) which is made from avocado, cilantro, garlic and other stuff. The top was a little plugged though and when I squeezed the bottle, I put a little to much into it and shot a stream of guasacaca straight into a strangers arm, shirt and pants. I apologized profusely, helped to clean up and offered to pay for his food. He was cool about it and the girls at the counter all smiled and laughed. I tried to pay for his food, but he wouldn't let me. Thankfully, he was able to clean everything off too. Oh mornings.

After that I was off to the bus to the clinic. On the bus already was one of the nurses at the clinic I had already met. She had just completed a 24 hour shift the day before and I asked her if she was working. She said she wasn't. Then another nurse I had met jumped in to. One thing to note about this particular medical program is that Venezuela has a medical exchange program with cuba. This means that all the doctors that work in the government medical system, specifically in the barrios, are cuban. They come to work for two years and then go back. At least that's the idea. Some stay.

When the bus got to the clinic it stopped directly in front of a car washing place. As I exited the bus, there were no cars being washed and all the workers were talking and standing in a circle more or less. Except, it was the kind of talking that happens after a major event: some people don't move, some can't stop moving and everyone looks unsure. In the middle of their circle was a pool of water stained red. It was bright, but my immediate thought was that of blood. But then I thought it could be paint or dye from a car. It's amazing how much you can pick up in a second with one glance. Stepping away from the door of the bus and going around it to cross the street, I noticed huge drops of what was now clearly blood on the street. They made a clear trail, they were close together, but not overlapping. My path to the clinic and the trail of blood drops were the same and I couldn't help but notice them.

The clinic was abuzz when I got there. I'm not sure how I learned exactly what had happened, but amid the tears of family and patients and doctors, it was thick in the air that the mad had been shot twice, and just minutes ago. One doctor walked up to me. He had helped diagnose/perscribe me when I first came there days ago. When he learned we were from the states, he jumped at his chance to practice his cuban learned english. Today he spoke in his mildly accented english too. "What kind of f#%@ing country is this?"He mentioned how Cuba isn't like this and ran off to some important task.

Sitting outside the room where I normally get my injection, they started to wheel the shot man out on a stretcher for surgery. I decided I'd better look. I've never seen anyone shot before and it honestly didn't seem that bad. His ear was covered in red and blood along with that whole area of his head. He had also been shot in the led, but his legs looked perfect to me. He must have been shot in the back.

A lot of family came in and out. One of the nurses I had seen on the bus told some guys that they needed blood, O+. I'm that blood type and I've given a lot of blood in my day. I volunteered, but they said it had to be processed. The next 30 minutes I spent waiting I saw her calling everywhere trying to get blood. Apparently all the blood for the city is held in one spot and then gets sent out when needed. After my injection, she informed me kinda how I can donate blood here. I certainly want to since it looks like there is no donation program at all here.

My nurse for the injection mentioned that the man's wounds were very serious. She said the doctors aren't accustomed to this kind of violence and consequent injuries. She said there are no guns in Cuba and if you get caught with one, you go to jail for 13 years. She has a year and three months left here and then she's heading back to Cuba. Everytime I say something she doesn't understand. I think she's partially deaf.

I left and there was a huge crowd gathered outside the clinic. There were more women crying, and seriously crying. There were a lot of people just standing around. I couldn't do anything and a van was there ready to go so I jumped in it. On the way down, I saw the ambulance coming up. It was for the blood. I thought that maybe it would have the blood in it. Except when I was back at the redoma, it passed me going the other way. They had mentioned they needed it to go look for the blood. Crazy system.

I'll find out tonight what happened to him. I felt pretty dazed after getting back. There was a lot of blood. I have blood that can help, but it wasn't useful/usable. I didn't know what if anything I could say to the crying women. I prayed; only because there was nothing else I could do. Thankfully, the reason the nurses that were there was that sunday morning, all the doctors and nurses show up to clean the grounds around the clinic. Good thing they were there.

Who shot the guy? They also said that a man on a motorcycle came by and shot four times. I don't know why or if he was specifically targeted, but I don't think it matters. I could say I was lucky to get an empanada before hand or I could have been there when it happened, but this doesn't concern me on bit. I hope he lives. I wanted to do something. There are still so many walls too, language, recovering from sickness. Somehow when I'm weak He is strong, but I don't know how that actually played out at all.