Before I could see him, I could hear his screams coming towards us through the fabric of the field clinic tent. Carried in a standard issue dark thermal blanket by four young men; he was in tears, screaming and writhing in agony.
18 July 2012
Today is the first day of Ramadhan. The twilight sky starts to appear and there is nothing I want more than to go home and prepare food for the break of my fasting. This year I spend the Ramadhan on my own, far away from home.
A woman of around twenty years old wearing a black dress and shabby flowerish chitenje is in the consultation room. A baby is sleeping on her lap. She hands me a small orange book with a torn cover.
My alarm clock rings and wakes me up. I rub my eyes to keep away the bad dream I had. I look at the watch, it’s 06:30 AM and I realise that I have overslept.
