Bomb run Aleppo

Syria's largest city, Aleppo, is split between government and opposition forces. Since 2013, rebel-held districts have been under siege, battered and bombarded from the ground and the air.
Many if not most aerial attacks come in the form of barrel bombs; crude canisters - often just oil barrels or garbage cans - packed full of high explosives, that President Bashar al-Assad's men roll out of helicopters and transport planes onto the city below.

The impact on Aleppo's densely packed civilian neighbourhoods has been devastating. Homes, business and schools have been obliterated and many thousands of people wounded or killed.
International human rights groups have categorised the use of these weapons as indiscriminate and unlawful, yet the attacks show no signs of slackening. Indeed, recently they seem to be intensifying, with growing numbers of government troops stepping up their efforts to capture this iconic location.
Few know better what the barrel bomb attacks mean in terms of shattered lives, pain and despair, than the makeshift medical teams struggling against impossible odds and great danger to bring help to the victims.
As likely to fall victim to an unannounced attack from the air as any other civilian - and working out of Aleppo's bombed-out hospitals and clinics with the bare minimum of equipment and vehicles - the medics nevertheless perform daily miracles in rescuing and treating the wounded, be they opposition or government supporters.
Earlier this summer journalist and filmmaker Nagieb Khaja spent time with one group of medics as they struggled to do their jobs. He brought back a remarkable report.
Visceral and sometimes raw, it nevertheless paints a harrowing portrait of city and its people struggling to survive