Imagine what it feels like to know you were born in the country of Angrois and Adamuz

I was 37 years old. On July 24, 2013, I was in Santiago with my family having dinner at a restaurant on Franco Street.

Reuters reveals the discovery of a broken joint on one of the tracks in the Adamuz accident
Information about the tragic accident involving two derailed trains in Adamuz

We had gone to the capital of Galicia to see the fireworks that are set off that night, on the eve of the feast of St. James the Apostle. While I was having dinner, I checked my phone and learned that a train had derailed in Santiago, in a place called Angrois. What happened next I told you about here 13 years ago. I will never forget some images that I didn't want to publish: bodies covered with sheets on the tracks. 80 people died and 144 were injured in that disaster.

These last few hours, like many Galicians, those memories are resurfacing in my mind with the terrible images of the Adamuz train accident in Córdoba. I'm already 50 years old, an age when you think you have a thick enough skin that almost nothing shocks you anymore, but seeing the Adamuz tragedy is like emotionally reliving that terrible night in Angrois.

But although it may seem incredible to reflect on something like this at a time like this, today I want to focus on that thread of light that sometimes pierces the darkest clouds, to remind us that beyond the storm there is always hope. Sometimes that thread of light seems difficult to see, but other times it shines dazzlingly.

A few hours after that tragedy in Santiago, I could see that thread of light in this image. It's a photo I took in Angrois the day after the accident. As an amateur photographer, I like to think that sometimes there are beautiful things in the details that escape us, and that's why I often scrutinize my photos to see what I've missed. But that day I knew exactly what I wanted to photograph:

What we see here are the blankets, sheets, and towels donated by the residents of Angrois to cover the victims of that terrible train accident. This is a rural area of ​​Santiago, a place where ordinary people live without great luxuries. Those blankets, sheets, and towels were an act of enormous generosity, as most of those who donated them never got them back.

In the last few hours we've seen something similar in Adamuz, a town whose existence many of us were unaware of, but whose name, like Angrois, we will never forget. When I first heard the news of this latest accident, I thought: poor people, now their town's name will be forever associated with a tragedy. But we live in a country where good people appear in droves when help is needed. We've seen it many times before.

Every time I read the name Angrois, I remember those generous people who went out of their way to help those who had suffered a terrible ordeal near their homes. Now Adamuz is one of those names we should think of when we ask ourselves if there are still good people left in Spain.

Of course, just as I did with the Angrois disaster, I will continue writing about the Adamuz accident and those responsible, whoever they may be, even when others have forgotten, because it is the very least the victims of this tragedy deserve. But today, overwhelmed by seeing so much pain, I want to believe that even on such sad days there are reasons for hope. Mine is clear at this moment, and I would like us to always remember it, especially whenever we complain generically about "people."

Imagine what it feels like to know you were born in the land of the people of Angrois and Adamuz, a country where, in a disaster, a stranger comes and covers you with their warmest blanket, selflessly offering help to people they've never even met. There are many things to improve in Spain, and I believe that patriotism means being demanding of those who govern us, but also recognizing the good people among us, people like those from Angrois and Adamuz, who, despite everything, make Spain a great country, a country we should never lose hope in.

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Main photo: Rafael Jiménez.