\u201cWhat the hell?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bus lurched to a stop, passengers scrambling over each other to press their faces against the grimy windows. Sweat dripped from my forehead as the fickle breeze disappeared, while loud voices competed with distorted hip-hop from a dozen mobile phones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In my exhausted state I could understand little of the heavily-accented Creole, but eventually a single word started to make itself heard over and over again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few people snapped photos on their phone as the bus eventually started to move, police waving the traffic on past what looked like a bundle of clothes in the middle of the road. Drawing closer, I realised that what I\u2019d thought was discarded clothing was nothing of the sort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The body of a man lay face-up on the highway, the broken remains of a motorbike scattered up and down the road. Thick, dark blood lay pooled around his head and body, baking in the heat of a tropical morning. The white towel over his face explained why I couldn\u2019t hear the wail of an approaching siren.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There would be no point calling this man an ambulance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The murmurs from other passengers increased in volume as we passed, that single word being passed around like a football once again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dead.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n