Medical Doctor

“I’d rather get bombed and die straightaway. Don’t make me lose a limb or something. I’ll be very upset,” quipped Singapore-based Dr.
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.
In the streets of Chaman, in Pakistan’s southern state of Baluchistan, women are not easy to find.
I never thought that my life will be so dynamic.
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.
I have been living in this village for almost 7 months now, but I am not even close to mastering the local Chichewa language.
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.
13th of June 2012, Wednesday. In Thekerani Health Center.
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.
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