The Day My Streak Ended – A Lesson from the Road

Yesterday, something happened that shook me to my core. For the first time in my life, I saw a fatal accident, just minutes after watching the driver recklessly overtake us. One moment, he was alive and boldly speeding past; fifteen minutes later, we found him dead at the scene. That moment left a heavy toll on my heart.

Growing up, I had a deep, unexplained fear of road travel. My father would often be away and only return on weekends, and I remember spending many nights on my knees, praying he’d make it home safely. In the early ‘90s, Kenyan newspapers ran weekly accident death tolls that terrified me. That fear never really left. Though I never witnessed an accident firsthand, I heard of many, until yesterday.

We were driving along the Kisii-Narok route when an old Toyota sped past us, overtaking dangerously in a blind spot. I remember shaking my head and thinking, “That’s reckless.” Then I turned back to enjoy the scenery and the book I was reading.

Not long after, we encountered a scene that will stay with me for a while. We were the first to respond to a horrific crash. The old Toyota that had zoomed by was now a twisted wreck. My heart sank.

Instinctively, I leapt out of the car to assist. The small truck involved in the collision was severely deformed, nearly unrecognizable. Inside, three men were alive but clearly distressed. One repeatedly begged, "Please save me." His eyes reflected terror, and his voice shook. The cabin was crushed, and every effort to open it seemed hopeless. Suddenly, a crowbar appeared, as if by magic. A group of strangers—ordinary Kenyans—rallied together, using bare hands and raw determination to try and free the trapped men.

When we finally managed to wrench the door open, what I saw froze me. One of the men had compound fractures from the knee down. The raw sight of exposed bone and blood overwhelmed me. I stepped back and couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do next. I felt helpless.

And then I noticed something else: a group of people filming the scene with their phones. I felt a wave of disgust. This was a moment of pain and vulnerability, not a spectacle. Yet for some, the chance to post, to be the first with the “news,” seemed more important than the humanity in front of them.

A police vehicle passed by, slowed briefly, then drove off. People around muttered, “Typical.” But to be fair, a few minutes later, more officers arrived. I was grateful. None of us at the scene had proper first aid training. We were using brute force, driven by urgency, not knowledge. The police brought some order, though it still felt like chaos.

Later, the story of the crash became clearer. The elderly asthmatic man driving the Toyota was believed to have lost control of the vehicle. He was moving fast, possibly trying to get somewhere urgently. He died on the spot. A woman seated in the back was critically injured, her body pinned by the twisted frame. His decision to drive despite his condition had now changed the lives of five families forever.

Two haunting thoughts won’t leave me:

First, how much control we believe we have in life, when in reality, it can all change in a moment.
Second, how unaware we often are of how deeply our choices affect others.

That man probably thought he was making a brave decision. Maybe he didn’t want to inconvenience someone by asking for help. But in trying to control the situation, he caused a chain reaction that left devastation behind.

That day forced me to face my fears. It made me realize I need to learn basic first aid. Because on our roads, accidents happen every day. And often, it's not the accident itself but the lack of an informed response that leads to death.

It also made me reflect on our society. We’ve become so desensitized that we treat trauma as content. Someone’s last moments shouldn’t be viral material. We need to return to our humanity.

We may not be able to stop accidents, but we can choose how we respond.
We can be better prepared.
We can act with empathy.
We can choose to care.

And above all, we can remember that life is fragile. The people we pass on the road are not just part of the scenery. Their lives are real. Their stories matter.

Let’s drive slower. Live deeper. And love harder.