This collection reflects on modern day conflict and the effects of war.  It aims to open up a space to view not only the devastating impact of war but also the everyday realities of living within conflict and it's aftermath.  

Childbirth in Gaza



As the emergency department of the al-Shifa hospital becomes increasingly overcrowded, a steady stream of pregnant Palestinian women is arriving in a building tucked behind the main hospital. Receiving between 25 to 50 women per day they are now having to redirect medical supplies to the intensive care unit.

Among the women is 28-year-old Hanan al-Mahessn. On the second day of the air strikes, her neighbour's home was hit and destroyed. "I started to feel sick. Then the bleeding started," she told Al Jazeera. Hanan was rushed to the hospital and lost three pints of blood. After going into surgery, her baby was delivered, but had died in the womb. The doctors made the decision to tell her that her little girl was in a special care unit as they felt she was too ill to receive the news. A day later she learnt the truth.

"My children are used to this war. They have grown up with the sound of bombs," said Mariam Guneed, 39, a mother of eight. "We must have many children here, because we lose so many in the wars," Mariam reflects as she returns to her room to sit and await the birth of her ninth child.

Less than a few kilometres from Shifa is the al-Awda hospital in the Jabalaya refugee camp of Gaza, one of the poorest areas of the city. At just 30 minutes old Nisreen has been born into a country under siege. The sounds of Israeli drones and bombardments can be heard above and the all too familiar whoosh of a Hamas rocket breaks the silence of the city. In a few days time, she will leave the hospital with her mother into an area which has suffered a large number of Israeli air strikes.

"Sometimes the women just don't want to leave. They know they are safe here. We don't turn them away, we keep them as long as they want to stay," hospital director Dr Yousef Soueti said.

Things we left in the sand




When we made our descent into the Camp Bastion the lights were out, the shutters down, helmets and body armour on. I can only relate this to the feeling of going to space. Stepping out into this enormous infrastructure in the middle of a vast area of nothing was altogether surreal. Then the briefs, the settling in to the tent, the shower routine, the escorting from one place to the next. Then I opened my eyes and got to work.

This set of pictures relates to a phrase from a pilot friend whom I interviewed. When I asked him to describe his time in Afghanistan to me he replied:

"Afghanistan is like a grain of sand behind your eye. You know it’s there and you can keep looking forward, but it will always be there."

After several trips to Afghanistan between 2011 - 2014 I wanted to show a collection of images which still sit like the grain of sand. Rooted into my heart reminding us of this far away but familiar war which has shaped the course of modern conflict. A tribute to those who lost and felt pain, love and friendship melt into one catastrophic melody of war. To our absent friends.

Men, women and dogs.