Fieldset
Morning

I open my eyes. The call to prayer wakes me up as the sun has not yet risen. I listen and feel calm. The call to prayer has always had that effect on me. I have many memories of the Muezzins words from locations around the world, from Lebanon, Tanzania to Indonesia.

I open my eyes. The call to prayer wakes me up as the sun has not yet risen. I listen and feel calm. The call to prayer has always had that effect on me. I have many memories of the Muezzins words from locations around the world, from Lebanon, Tanzania to Indonesia. I am on a small bed in our courtyard; I spend my nights here until half past five. That is when the flies wakes up, making sleep impossible.

I get up and make a cup of tea with lots of sugar. I sit down, pondering yesterday while it slowly dawns.

All afternoon and evening was full of more serious casualties. We ran from patient to patient and did the best we could. We sent the last patient in a taxi but we had to run around and look for an oxygen tank for almost half an hour before he could leave. I hope he’s alive. One patient is still imprinted on me. A man stepped on a homemade mine and got most of his right leg blown off two days ago. He rode on a truck from the other side of the border to get here.

He sat up on the trolley and looked at me while I examined the damage. The wound was infected and I can still smell the pungent odour while sitting here with my tea. The body is a mystery that will never stop surprising me. The body can withstand an enormous amount of trauma at times, yet sometimes a small fragment in the wrong place at the wrong time is enough for life to flow out of the body in minutes. He could move his toes, even though there was not much left of the leg. I do not understand how this was possible, as I could clearly see the nerves and they were completely destroyed. As we dress the wound and immobilize what was left of the leg, I told him in my best Pashto that we will send him to Quetta. If he is lucky he will not lose the whole leg.

A helper in the emergency room is my Pashto teacher. We call him Misha, which means ant. He is so young but he always has a smile on his face. He is so proud of his little moustache. He is a great teacher and his plan is that I will speak fluent Pashto in six months. Inshallah. I’ll do my best.

It is time for me to start the day. Hope your day will be just as eventful as mine.

Jon