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. When they are seen, it is accompanied by a male relative but protected from view by a full veil.

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.