I hope I never have to visit Garhi Khuda Bakhsh for burials again.
When I first saw Dr Pfau sitting under a banyan tree, it reminded me of a childhood story told by my great grandmother.
A 13-year-old sexual assault survivor from Malukabad cannot stop reliving his horrific ordeal
AS darkness settled over the Swat Valley, Mehmood* with other children would huddle around his grandmother, called...
The old man nodded at visitors, lifting his hands in silent prayer every time someone came to condole his son's death.
Injecting new life into the ailing arms trade, al-Qaeda and the Taliban breathed deadly fire from North Waziristan.
In the blink of an eye, the legend of the ghosts and the darkness turns real in the village of Anghar, North Waziristan
At the relief camp, the midday sun emits fire as a long queue of weary tribesmen desperately wait under it for food.
What can I say? My comrades are out there, somewhere, amongst those shadows, fighting one another.
‘Our mountains have been burnt so the birds are building their nests on our palms’—Pushto couplet.