Michael Benjamin faced death and concludes… “God spared my life for a reason”

Sep 07, 2008 News

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Lookout Mike! Regina was sitting behind my Geely 125 scooter and she spotted the blue 4×4 sports utility vehicle trying to cross the busy railway embankment. She attempted to alert me but I heard her call a mite too late.
The vehicle was already in my path. I slammed on the brakes in a desperate attempt to stop the machine. Apparently, the driver of the errant vehicle panicked, instinctively slamming on his brakes.
His vehicle came to a dead stop just in front of mine. It was impossible to avert a collision. There was a deafening sound as steel collided with steel. Darkness mercifully enveloped my world.
Someone rigorously shook me. I opened my eyes and looked into the face of a complete stranger. He asked me a question. I must have muttered my telephone number because he was able to get in contact with my family to inform them of the accident. I am not certain what happened next.
A friend that had been on the scene later told me that a police patrol that was in the area picked me up, placed me in their vehicle and amidst wailing sirens and screeching tires, raced me to the Georgetown Public Hospital Corporation.
I regained consciousness while lying on the dressing table in the treatment room at the hospital. I did not immediately open my eyes. I heard the medical practitioners debating on my chances of survival. It was then that I spoke. “I am all right,” I said, even though that was far from the truth. Thereafter, a barrage of questions cascaded on my ear.
“What is your name? What do you do for a living? How old are you?” They were mundane questions that any little child could have answered but I was later told that the doctors were merely attempting to establish whether I was in control of my major faculties.
After that, everything was a blur. The doctors diagnosed my injuries. I had sustained a gaping wound just over my right eye from which the blood poured freely. I had also sustained a crushed femur (thigh bone). My body felt as though someone had washed me and hung me out to dry.
A male technician arrived with an object resembling an electric drill in his hand. He deftly drilled a hole through my shinbone and inserted a steel rod, the two ends protruding on both sides of the leg.
At around 22:30hrs, I experienced another bout of pain as the porters lifted my aching body onto the stretcher for a bumpy ride to the surgical ward.
Upon arrival, they hoisted me on the bed and the technicians took over. They placed my leg on a makeshift traction and secured two small sand bags on both ends of the protruding steel pins.
They then tied a length of bandage on both sides of the pin and affixed several small satchels filled with sand at the end of the bandages. My leg was then placed on a traction. Having done what was necessary to stabilize my condition, the technicians and medical crew disappeared.
I know that they had done as much as they possibly could to mitigate my discomfort but my entire body screamed in pain. I vividly remembered the words of one of the medical practitioners. “Young man you are a lucky fellow.
There are not many people that would have survived such a blow as you have received.” I refused to ponder on my luck, simply attributing the circumstances to the will of God.

MISERY
Traffic accidents leave a trail of misery and grief. As a journalist, I had rushed to the scene of many accidents and witnessed the unmitigated suffering and pain of the victims. I remembered standing helplessly by as the seriously injured bawled and groaned. April 3, 2004 was one such time.
A huge palm tree in the Cemetery Road had fallen in the path of a motorcyclist, Pastor Courtney Abrams of the Faith Tabernacle Ministries at Alexander Village. The young man is now a cripple from his waist downwards. Despite his best efforts, Abrams received no form of compensation.
He had approached the M&CC but was told that the Ministry of Public Works was the culprit.
Thereafter, he was buffeted around from one entity to the next. In frustration, he decided to give up.  On 27 June 2003, 31-year-old Jeremy Mbozi and three others lost their lives after a GEB security vehicle careened into their car at Church and Oronoque Streets.
Jeremy was sitting in the back seat of the car. I recently spoke with Mbozi’s mother, Yvonne. To this day the memory of that accident still haunts her.
A few years ago former world rated boxer, Andrew Murray lost his life after his Toyota Carina 192 careened into a ravine in Moblissa, Linden/Soesdyke Highway. All that remains of the former Medal of Service awardee are fond memories.
In Friday’s edition of Kaieteur News, a senior traffic rank of the Guyana Police Force reiterated the call for a denial of bail for errant road users that inflict grave pain and suffering on their fellow human-beings.

PENALTY
While many people empathize with accident victims or the families of those that lost their lives, they will never fully understand the deep pain and suffering.
At first, minibus drivers were blamed for the existing la

wless culture that heaped such great misery on the citizenry. However, other categories of vehicles have now joined the parade.
One only needs to observe the lawless practices by some motorcyclists and bus and car drivers to appreciate the need for stringent legislation.
It is my view that some of these errant drivers should be taken on a guided tour of the accident wards to observe the deep pain incurred by their irresponsible use of the roads. They must be introduced to the fatherless and motherless children who are left scarred for life.
They must be told of the many mothers who are left to manage their children on their own because of their irresponsible driving. After this reality is impressed upon their psyche, they must be placed for extended periods to chew over their actions.

The lighter side of the experience
Most of my friends that visited me on the night of my mishap told me that I had adapted a humorous approach.
They told me that I had the medical personnel erupting in laughter at my witty remarks. I really cannot remember any of that. I know that my mother’s perspective is that people belong to either of two classes.
There are those with a sense of humour and there are others with no sense at all. I remembered that shortly after I was released from the hospital, I attended a function at NCN studios and met Minister of Agriculture, Robert Persaud. He queried whether I was ‘knocked down.’ “No,” I replied, “I was knocked up and had it not been for the effects of gravity I would still be in midair.”
The popular Guyanese saying “If you have seeds don’t laugh at goadie man” rang true when a friend, Porter, chided me, saying that he had been riding motorcycles for years without being involved in an accident. He jokingly told me that I was an amateur rider.
Two days later I returned to the very ward that I had once occupied. On one of the beds lay my good friend Porter. He had collided with a car and sustained an injury to his leg that necessitated surgery and steel implants. I reminded him of his words and we had a good laugh. 
I recently saw Regina. She complained of niggling pains in her leg but otherwise everything is peachy. My colleague Dale Andrews looked at the scar on my face and commented on how ugly I looked. “I’ve been involved in a nasty accident,” I informed him. “Now what’s your excuse?”
Notwithstanding my sense of humor, I am in daily pain. I hope that one day those that use the streets as though it belongs to them will be told in no uncertain manner that such is not the case. Only our legislators can forcefully drive home that reality.

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