In Which Lisa Processes
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re still in Boracay, in the Philippines.
In Which Lisa Processes
This is my newsletter, so I get to write about whatever I want. Today, I’m processing.
We’re at a large resort on the island of Boracay. There was a wedding on the beach at sunset a couple of days ago. There are multi-generational groups from all over the world; we’ve met/eavesdropped on people from Germany, the US, Russia, India, Japan, France, Australia, the Netherlands, and of course, plenty from here in the Philippines.
It’s a great place to bring the whole clan—yesterday there was a huge table at breakfast with twenty people seated around it. Philippine culture seems very family-oriented, and we deliberately chose this resort because it caters to families. The kids are happy in the multiple huge pools. The grandparents are happy in the shade of umbrellas and palm trees. The parents are happy that everyone else is happy, plus happy hour is buy-one, get-one. Aside from the very bumpy ride into town on a half-paved road, it’s kind of perfect for a big, extended get-together.
Our favorite breakfast table is outside, on the balcony at the edge of the pool. It’s pretty, plus there’s a nice breeze; it’s a great spot for getting some working done while caffeinating.
This morning, we were chatting about multi-month overland tours of Africa (because that’s what most people talk about at breakfast, right?) when two things happened at once.
A young man ran past our table, shouting Oh my god, oh my god at the top of his lungs and looking toward the far side of the pool while he searched for the nearest exit from the restaurant. His feet slammed against the tile floor; his whole body was rigid with panic. At the exact same moment, everyone in the restaurant seemed to realize that someone was screaming and screaming, over on that far side of the pool. I glanced over my shoulder in that direction, confused, and for a split second I wondered if someone was being attacked by a swarm of bees.
Then I grasped what I was seeing: the lifeguard was down on the ground, doing chest compressions on a child.
People were pouring out of the indoor part of the restaurant, crowding silently onto the balcony to see. The woman over by the kiddie pool just kept screaming and screaming. Every face around us was frozen in shock and horror. It felt as if two hundred people were holding their breath, and trying to shield their own children from what we could all see.
I don’t know what eventually happened. Lee and I got up and left, immediately. I felt sick to my stomach. I’ve seen enough bad things in my life and travels to know that if there’s nothing I can actually do to help, the best thing is to leave. No one needs me in the way. The people at the center of an unfolding tragedy (or near-miss, I hope) don’t need me staring at their pain and fear.
Of course drowning can (and does) happen anywhere in the world, but it’s a very real danger in Southeast Asia and the Western Pacific; according to statistics I found on the WHO website, drowning is the leading cause of death in children aged 5-14 in the Western Pacific region (which includes the Philippines). Drowning is also much more common in low and middle income countries.
My parents sent me to water safety classes when I was growing up, and when I was pregnant the first time, Lee and I took an infant CPR class. Swim lessons and summer camp and public pools are things I took for granted in both my childhood and my parenthood, but a huge chunk of the world’s population doesn’t have access to such things. In this part of the world, we see a lot of NGOs and non-profit groups dedicated to teaching children and adults to swim.
I have no idea what that child’s nationality was. For all I know, the family could be from Luxembourg (which has the lowest rate of death by drowning in the world). Small children can drown anywhere.
For us, it was all over in just a few seconds, but we’re both still rattled and upset hours later. We don’t know what happened, or whether the child survived, and I’m not sure it’s any of my business to ask. But the death of any small child is a tragedy, even the ones we don’t know about.
Post-script: We finally talked to an American combat medic, on leave from South Korea, who ran over when he saw the lifeguard trying to revive the child. Apparently an ER doc heard the screaming and joined them a moment later, and between them, they got him breathing again. He was four years old. He was then taken to a hospital. The medic kept repeating that the doctor had saved the little boy’s life. I’m beyond relieved—that child was one of the lucky ones.
Take care,
Lisa
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