The Box
Gothenburg, Sweden Picture the situation. There I was on the 16th floor of a tower block on the outskirts of Sweden’s Gothenburg. For some reason the locals had coloured the place black. It was raining; it does a lot of that in Sweden. Two weeks of rain, maybe 50 millimetres each month, is a good average. As I looked out the windows I could hardly see the ground. I was in a suit. Okay it was Marks and Sparks but who cares? My tie was akimbo, half on, half off, and my[...]
Not a good day
Sulaimaniyah, Iraq Generally, members of my family have not done well with the Kurds. Years back, when I should have known better, I was one of three young men following a road diversion through north-eastern Kurdistan, in a grey, clapped-out Volkswagen Beetle. I was somewhere near Mount Ararat of Noah’s Ark fame. Rounding the corner of a mountain dirt-track road at breakneck speed, minds firmly in neutral, our small team slid to a halt in front of 40 villagers who were standing across and to each side of our path. No problems[...]
The Whoopee Yell
Chamonix Mont Blanc, France “Whoopee!” I looked up, ducking reflexly as the large object whooshed, yes whooshed, right over my head. It was so close I could feel its slipstream. Broad, flat, sharp, and seemingly directed at me. For a moment, I ceased my struggle with Nature, that all-conquering opponent; climbing the Brévent in winter was proving hard work anyway. Yet this time it was not exhaustion that stopped me in my tracks; it was shock, maybe awe, for sure laced with fear. I had nearly been beheaded by a speed rider.[...]
Humanitarians need balls
Hitzkirch, Switzerland I am unsure what made me glance to the left as I leaned hard to open the cheap mahogany door into the cold night air beyond. Maybe habit, maybe instinct, perhaps too many moments spent in dubious locations, but look left I did. And there he stood. Five foot eight, or thereabouts, clearly fit, manifestly strong and dressed from head to toe in white. White trainers, trousers, belt and shirt, and over everything, white hoodie. The occupant, because in my world folk do not wear hoodies, they occupy them, had[...]
The F-word
Beirut, Lebanon She stuck it in, I wanted it out, but I had already stuck it in myself. The result? An excellent job and I barely felt a thing. Dear me, I can see what you are thinking so perhaps I had best explain. You see, it started with an operation at lunchtime. One of those long procedures that you think will take an hour but takes three times as long. Surgeon time is as unreliable as it gets. If you think something will be quick, it will be slow. If you[...]
Abdul and his mother
Tripoli, Lebanon They say, as a doctor, you are a window on society. Nowhere is that truer than in war-torn Lebanon. Take one simple clinic, yes one and only one, and I wager the stories will change you forever. I saw 20 patients yesterday, one by one they entered and one by one they left. There was not a soldier among them. Each was a civilian, each was defenceless, and each had been displaced by conflict many, many miles away. Aleppo, Damascus, Homs and places in between. The war in Syria has[...]