I heard the sirens and saw the crowd gathering. Several police and fire vehicles arrived and were followed by unmarked government cars. I walked quickly along the Malecón toward the action. As I approached, I realized that officials were not in any particular hurry. I wiggled my way up to the seawall and soon discovered that there was a body washed up on the rocks. As I observed the authorities drag the body out to rendezvous with a patrol boat, I noticed how quiet and somber the crowd was. This festive horde of rum drinkers and dancers stood by with real concern on their faces.
What were they thinking? I imagined that they were wondering if the poor dead man drown while trying to escape from the island. Perhaps he was washed overboard from some make-shift raft. Perhaps he was shot by a military patrol.
I think it was a stark reminder to all about where and how they are forced to live.