The Third Wave_ A Volunteer Story - Alison Thompson [64]
I had been unsuccessful in my search for a wheelchair for Oscar. Then, out of the blue, someone gave me a quiet lead that a certain president of a Lion’s Club in the area might have access to one. However, he wanted to meet us first to assess us. We drove to his home along unfamiliar roads and down back alleys until we came to a sliding fence where guards brought us inside to meet him. We sipped Ceylon tea and made small talk. I felt as though I were participating in some type of espionage. The other men sitting around us whispered, and then the president indicated that they would be in contact with us when they had located their target.
A few days later, we got the call: A wheelchair was being made available to us. We couldn’t believe our luck. Now Oscar would be able to get around the house independently. Months later we found out, much to our sadness, that the Lion’s Club men had taken the wheelchair away from a crippled boy. Had we had any clue at the time, we never would have accepted it. Life could be harsh in Sri Lanka.
On the night of September 5, the monsoon rains and wind surged through the village, cutting off all the power in the area. I received a call from CTEC, which was running on backup generators: A fire was raging. A can of petrol had been knocked over in one of the temporary homes and exploded into flames. CTEC called the fire department and rushed to the scene with their megaphones to help get people to safety, arriving before any of the official agencies. Dr. Novil was managing the medical care.
I grabbed my flashlight and put on my cargo pants, stuffing its pockets with medical supplies. Sunil and I were running out the door when Oscar declared that he was coming with us. I didn’t know what kind of help he thought he was going to be. I argued that I couldn’t take an injured person in a wheelchair into an emergency situation and demanded that he stay home.
Sunil and I raced over to the village. The fire had already engulfed thirty homes, but thanks in large part to the efforts of the CTEC officers, the flames were subsiding. Eighty-four people had lost everything—again. Villagers walked around in despair asking why they were being punished so much. This time I began to question it all myself. I held a woman tightly as she sobbed in my arms. I was rummaging through the charcoal rubble when I recognized a charred Disney doll I had given to a family upon my arrival in Sri Lanka. It felt like hope had abandoned this place.
Then I looked over to the road, where I spied a tuk-tuk with a wheelchair hanging off the back. It was Oscar; he had come to the village on his own to help. He maneuvered his chair over rough ground and comforted people. Oscar was lucky this time. Coming into a dangerous situation like that in a wheelchair could have cost us both our lives.
Luckily, no lives were lost in the fire. There was one strange injury that night, however: A man was bitten by a snake. I had felt the evil presence of the snake when I arrived back in Sri Lanka from New York, and I was prepared to do battle. One of the volunteers later told me that he had left his bike on the ground when he rushed over to help, and it had been stolen. The snake was alive again, and worse things were in store.
Driving to the village on my scooter, I felt exhausted. It was the third morning in a row that I had burst into tears for no real reason.