I once picked up a wounded Karamajong warrior in northern Uganda. He'd had his throat & abdomen slit by a Turkana warrior during an argument over who owned a cow. I was taking him to the nearest hospital in my Bell Jet Ranger helicopter. We got about halfway to the hospital when he sat up on the stretcher, looked out the window and saw that we were "halfway to heaven", smiled at me and died.
There was an Irish nurse in the back seat, tending to him. I told her, "We picked him up alive. This was the first time his village has seen a helicopter. There is NO WAY we are taking him back dead. The hospital does not want the body. We'll take him to the mission station in nearest town and they can drive him out in a Land Rover."
Wow, what a story. If you don’t mind telling what year did that occur and, if a long time ago, do you think the mindset is still the same?