Minieh Hospital, near Tripoli in northern Lebanon, a squat building sheltered by mulberry and palm trees, admits Syrians wounded in the conflict destroying their country. Last Sunday the Lebanese Red Cross delivered 35 men injured during the siege of the Syrian border town of Qusayr by Syrian troops and Lebanese Shia Hizbullah fighters.
Most have arm or leg fractures, and two or three have been shot in the eyes, says Dr Amer Alameddin. “We have no specialists for this so they have to be transferred to another hospital.”
The doctors here are Syrian volunteers from Homs. The premises were rented last week on a monthly basis by the Syrian Relief Committee which provides medicines, equipment and even sheets. Alameddin expresses concern about payment for the premises. "They may have to appeal for money on television."
Syrian fighters not accepted
While government hospitals operate on urgent cases, most private hospitals do not accept Syrian fighters, who may not be able to pay and who also pose security risks. So far, only 108 of the wounded from Qusayr have been admitted to hospitals or clinics, and 60 are said to be waiting in the Leba- nese town of Arsal.
Hassan (18), a Free Syrian Army fighter too young to grow a beard, was wounded in the arm during the offensive. “My family went to Arsal but I stayed to defend my home town. I was thinking of joining the army before the revolt.”
In the next bed, burly Muhammad (32) says he is a farmer who was tending pigeons on his roof when shrapnel smashed his leg. “My friend’s brother was killed. I remained to protect my home from looting. All of them are stealing. They are mercenaries.”
Pacing the corridor while puffing on a cigarette, Abu Wael, a handsome, clean-shaven man in a red vest, slips his left arm from a sling, “It’s paralysed,” he says, pointing to the bullet’s entry wound in his lower back that exited from his shoulder.
“Before the war I was a smuggler living in the western side of Qusayr. I was in charge of the Bahr platoon of the Free Army’s Farouk Brigades. We were 22. One was killed and I was wounded 25 days ago. I stayed 19 days before getting treatment. The rest of my unit joined other groups.”
He is in constant pain from shoulder to fingertips although he cannot move his arm or fingers. “The doctors give me pills so I can sleep at night. They say pain is a good sign. They may be able to repair the nerves.”
He has eight children ranging in age from 19 to two. His wife is in Lebanon with three of them, and five are in Syria with relatives.
Abu Ahmad is 43 but looks much older. He was shot in both thighs 15 days ago. “At a field hospital they sewed up the wounds and gave me crutches but the stitches had [broken] by the time I reached here. They had to clean the wounds and stitch them up again. My bones are fractured. I can only walk with crutches.
“My family left three days before the heavy shelling began.” By then he had lost 11 relatives, including his eldest son, aged 14, two brothers, two brothers-in-law and uncles. He shows me Ahmad’s photo on his mobile and holds up a notebook. “I wrote down the names of the dead after I met a man crying for his brother. We are like each other, I told him.”
