The Red Crescent bibs are suggestive of authority, but, amidst lots of dust and confusion, it is an older man in casual shirtsleeves who shouts out the orders. Dead bodies have been lined up alongside those of the living. Now there’s a heated debate about which stretcher to lift first.
We hand out our pizza and chips.
At last, the stretcher-bearers move forward and scoop up a shrapnel-damaged child whose green and gold T-shirt is splattered red. They stumble and sway down through the rubble toward the open doors of the single ambulance waiting below.
We agree that the chips are a disappointment. The oven cook ones are much easier and safer. However carefully prepared, fresh-chipped potatoes spit darts of pain when deep fried in spluttering hot fat.
And look, these lie here all short, stodgy and lifeless. Pass the ketchup sauce please.